Redemption Song (7 page)

“Very funny, Mom. Hilarious, really.” Ethan let out a frustrated sigh as he paced back and forth in the garden. He gave a swift kick to a ceramic flower pot sitting at the base of the porch swing, but it didn’t make him feel any better; it only made his toe hurt. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.”

His mom’s tone abruptly changed from mocking sarcasm to blatant disappointment.

“Ethan, there are a lot of things you’ve done lately that I can’t believe.”

To this, Ethan had no reply. Even he had to admit, there was no arguing that one.

“So how long am I stuck here?”

His mother’s tone softened. She could sense that Ethan was giving up the fight. “I guess that all depends on you, honey. When you find the old Ethan—the one that sings and performs because it’s what he loves to do and not because it’s what makes him money—you call me back and we’ll talk about it. Until then, get some rest and take advantage of the time off. Your Granny Mae is getting older and there’s no guarantee how much time you have left with her. Use this time wisely.”

Ethan could already see there was no getting out of this. He knew his mother well, and when she got that tone there was no backing down. He’d seen it a thousand times with his producers. If she didn’t want it, they couldn’t talk her into it. There was nothing he could do.

His final plea came out more as a whimper. “Mom . . . please . . .”

“Honey, I love you and I want the best for you, and sometimes that means doing things you’ll hate me for. I’ll talk to you later.”

The flat silence on the other end of the line let Ethan know that his mother had hung up.

That was that.

Ethan remained unmoving, taking on the appearance of a statue at the edge of the tiny garden. Given a pointy hat, he could’ve passed for a really tall gnome. He thought about his next move. Was it worth it to call Bruce? No, probably not. He knew his mother well enough to know that she had already taken care of any avenue Ethan could use to get out of this place. That only left one option.

Stay in Alabama.

Well, of one thing Ethan was entirely certain; if he was going to have any hope of leaving the house during his stay in Fairhope, he was going to have to do something drastic to keep from being recognized. He knew what he had to do . . . and the thought made him almost nauseous. His image consultant was going to kill him—it was his signature look and everybody knew him by it—but he had no other choice.

The hair had to go.

Her voice broke through Ethan’s fog of panic, startling him with a tiny jump.

“Hey, you okay?”

Ethan looked up toward the patio doors. Alaina gazed back at him with an odd expression. He wondered how long she’d been there. Had she heard any of his conversation with his mother?

“Yeah . . . I’m fine. I was just talking to my mom.”

“Oh.”

What was that in her tone? Concern? Why did he already feel calmer? There was just something about this girl’s confident presence that seemed to soothe Ethan’s nerves.

Alaina had been the first and only person his age to treat him like a real human being and not a rock star since he’d quit high school and began his music career. At least if he was going to do this, he could do it with her company, if she’d allow it.

“Alaina, would you mind helping me out with something today?”

Her eyes sparkled with partial confusion, partial intrigue, but her smile told him right away that she was thinking yes.

Alaina

Alaina was a little surprised when Ethan’s directions landed them in the parking lot of the Wal-Mart Supercenter.

It hadn’t dawned on Alaina that Ethan was without personal transportation, but considering Granny Mae had picked him up from the little airport upstate, it only made sense. So Alaina’s vehicle was providing the transportation for the day and Ethan was enjoying playing navigator from the passenger seat.

Although conversation between them had begun on the awkward side, it escalated smoothly. Sometimes, it was so hard for Alaina to believe that Ethan was a worldwide superstar. He acted so normal around her—well, except for when they reached a stop light and he put his hand on the side of his face and hunched down in his seat to keep from being seen by the vehicle next to them. That was a bit strange, but understandable, she guessed.

As they drove through the enchanting downtown area of Fairhope, Ethan regaled on memories from his childhood visits there. Shopping at the market with his Granny Mae, first learning to surf in the Bay, skating and riding his bike in the huge parking lot of the abandoned warehouse on the edge of town. Ethan’s bright blue eyes glazed over in a sense of nostalgia as he pointed here and there as she drove. At times, Alaina picked up on slight altercations in his expression, hints of regret . . . or possibly sadness. She wasn’t sure what that was all about, but she figured that everyone, no matter how famous, had their own personal memories that acted like triggers on their emotions. She knew she sure did.

Alaina chose the safe road and just let Ethan do most of the talking. She actually enjoyed hearing his stories. He had a kind of raw sarcasm that in one sense made her want to laugh, but in another, made her take every single one of his words seriously. He spoke from his heart, however vulnerable and exposed it made him seem. She wondered why she hadn’t gotten that same vibe from his music. His songs were all about some impossible idea of love—a love that could never exist, no matter how perfect the couple.

Did he really believe in a love like that?

Alaina was more of a realist. When she experienced love for the first time, she wanted it to be a real, God-sent kind of love. The kind of love that wasn’t always easy and wasn’t always fun, but was never, ever boring. The kind of love that, in one moment, filled her stomach with butterflies, and in the next, made her want to throw something. She knew it sounded crazy—or maybe just a little masochistic—but Alaina had witnessed this kind of love firsthand and she knew that, although it wasn’t always a bed of roses, it was affective when it came to longevity. Her parents had loved each other that way. At times they seemed to hate one another, but at other times, there was such an unbelievable, passionate companionship between them.

Memories flooded through Alaina’s mind with the intensity of a tropical storm. Why had she reminisced? It was always like this. She gave her head a quick shake, doing all she could to focus on Ethan and get rid of the huge burning lump in her throat. This was why she had agreed to come with him in the first place—to get out of her normal routine and get her mind off of her old mountains and the new mountain she was about to climb.

“So . . . Wal-Mart . . .” Alaina said unsurely. Per Ethan’s instructions, they were parked in the very back corner, in the most possibly remote parking spot on the lot. This wasn’t quite what she had expected when he’d asked her to hang out with him.

“Yeah . . . well . . .” Ethan spoke slowly, being extra careful to choose the correct words. Finally, he sighed and spit it out. “Okay, here’s the deal, and please don’t take this the wrong way because I don’t want to come off sounding like a total jerk, but . . . I can’t really hang out with you looking like this.”

Alaina blinked, quickly hiding the offended scowl from her expression. She glanced down at her black and purple tank top with matching Converse shoes, paired with faded blue jeans with a frayed hole in the left knee. She didn’t know how the girls Ethan was accustomed to being around dressed, but she hadn’t realized there was a dress code stipulation involved in this outing. “I’m sorry. . .” She wasn’t sure what to say.

Ethan’s eyes widened in understanding and he jumped to try to cover his tracks. “No! I didn’t mean you! I meant me! There’s nothing wrong with how you look. You’re beautiful. I just meant I can’t go out in public looking like
Ethan Carter
. I’m going to have to change my look up, or something. I thought maybe some hair color, a new cut . . .”

“You think I’m beautiful?”

Ethan slowed his rant and his cheeks flushed. He glanced down and started picking at a bit of nothing on his shorts. “Oh . . . well . . . yeah, sure I do.” When she didn’t reply, he went on. “So, I wondered if maybe you could do me a huge favor.” His eyes met hers and he gave a timid smile.

Alaina grinned. “You want me to go in alone and buy you hair color so you don’t get mobbed by the masses of the Fairhope Supercenter?”

“Something like that.”

“Is it really that hard, being you?

Ethan shrugged and gazed out the front glass. “Being famous definitely has it perks. It’s the normal part that I have trouble with. People don’t like to let me just be normal.”

Alaina had never thought about it like that. When she saw celebrities on TV, she never gave a second thought to what their real life was like off screen, but then again, this was the first celebrity she’d ever known personally.

She resituated in her seat, regaining her confidence. “So, Ethan Carter, pop sensation of the twenty-first century . . .” Ethan gave an amused laugh. “What identity would you like to try on today? Platinum blonde beach dude? Black-haired Emo kid? Fiery hot-tempered red head? Or maybe just plain old brunette all American boy? What’s your look of choice?”

Ethan remained silent for a moment, contemplating his options. Finally, his eyes sparkled and a mischievous grin spread across his cheeks. His description online had nailed him perfectly, Alaina thought involuntarily. He was one of the cutest boy’s she’d ever seen, but that grin looked like he was up to something.

“Uh . . . you’re not going to do anything crazy like green or orange, are you?” she said. “Because I’m pretty sure that will draw more attention than your normal hair.”

Ethan laughed. “No, not green. And definitely not orange.”

“What then?”

“You pick.”

Alaina snorted. “I’m sorry, I think I heard you say, ‘You pick’, as in you being me in this particular situation.”

“You heard correctly.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Maybe a little. By the way, how are you with a pair of scissors?”

Alaina let out an exasperated sigh and reluctantly took the cash from Ethan's outstretched hand. As she made the hike toward the entrance of the store, she turned back once to view her car. Ethan’s currently blonde hair was no longer visible in the passenger side window, undoubtedly because he was hunkered down in the floor board attempting to remain unseen.

By the time she reached the front door, Alaina had considered the situation and decided that she was definitely going to have to choose wisely, or forever be known worldwide as the girl who messed up Ethan Carter’s perfect hair. But it wasn’t a hard decision. She already knew exactly what she wanted to get. A picture of Ethan’s wide smile plastered in her memory, she easily found the perfect color to suit him. Ethan wanted to look like a normal guy. So Alaina chose a normal brown for a normal guy, just like he wanted, and just like she wanted for him.

Ethan

Ethan suppressed the urge to mock Alaina as she grabbed small sections of his freshly colored hair, and lifted them to the scissors that rested tightly between her fingers. She gave a frustrated sigh—her brow scrunching in a tight line of concentration that made cute little wrinkles form on her nose—and released the hair back to its original position without so much as a snip from the scissors.

Ethan sat in a straight back wooden chair next to the bay window in Alaina’s bedroom. A bed sheet was draped around his shoulders. He’d tried to take his shirt off to keep the hair off of his clothes, but Alaina had insisted he keep his white tank top on—which he found a little amusing.

He looked around her room wondering if it would give him any clues to her personality. Her bedspread was a deep purple. A picture of his talkative young roommate, Ben, sat on a nightstand beside the bed in what appeared to be a frame made of cardboard and construction paper. A present, he guessed.

Posters hung here and there from her wall, mostly of different bands—several Ethan had never bothered listening to. They were mostly Christian rock bands. Ethan had never really bought into the whole Christianity thing. If he couldn’t touch it or see it, he didn’t see the point in believing it. Where was the proof? On the little table in front of him sat a soft leather-bound Bible that was clearly worn. Colorful bookmarks stuck out of random pages. A journal lay under the Bible and a cup with pencils and highlighters beside those.

Was that really what made Alaina different than the other girls Ethan had met? Her faith? Was that the source of her smooth confidence? Ethan only hoped she wasn’t one of those religious fanatics. What did they call them? Jesus freaks? That would ruin everything. He liked Alaina because she seemed to accept him as a real person and not a superstar, but that didn’t mean that he wanted to be judged for all his little vices. He knew he wasn’t perfect; he didn’t need to be reminded of it every day.

But that’s what this little visit to the South was all about, wasn’t it? To serve as a constant reminder of what he had done. The danger he’d put himself and others into when he drove that car after drinking all of that Tequila. What had he been thinking at the time? Why had he let Vanessa get to him like that? What’s funny is that he hadn’t even received so much as a text from her since arriving in Fairhope. Not only did Vanessa not know where he was, but she hadn’t even bothered to call and find out. She was probably still mad at him. He couldn't believe she'd gotten so upset just because he refused to dedicate his latest song “Girl from My Dreams” to her at his Staples Center concert. He was with her and everyone knew it—especially considering she never passed up the opportunity for a photo op with him when they were being swarmed by the stupid paparazzi. Why did he have to announce it to fifteen thousand fans during a concert meant for entertainment purposes only? It seemed like a little overkill.