The Achilles Heel (5 page)

My happy was short-lived when I visualized my “To Do” list which was getting longer
by the minute. Call Lloyd, the manager at the concierge service in St. Croix, to get
the house and the boat ready, unpack then repack my suitcase, close down my house
here and ask Wade to keep a watch on it for me‌—‌and oh yeah, tell everyone that worked
for me to get a new job. I guess a plan was needed after all. My thoughts were interrupted
when the phone rang. It was Mama D calling me over for dinner.

Damn, I’m going to miss that family.

I threw on a shirt and went out the back door. It was a five minute walk across the
field which separated my house from the Rutledge home. I’d made this walk so many
times, I’d worn a path in the grass and could walk it on the blackest night with a
face full of whiskey; I’d had plenty of practice. At one time, there was a six-foot
privacy fence I’d have to climb over if I took the path instead of the driveway, but
a few years ago when Wade was on tour, I chain sawed myself an opening. I got tired
of climbing that damn fence, so I cut a hole in it and waited for Wade to notice.
It took a while, but when he did, we all had a good laugh over his temper tantrum.
I didn’t want to upset Hope, so I built an arbor in the opening and filled it with
colorful flowers and plants to keep me in her good graces.

As soon as I walked in, the smell of the best Southern food in the state smacked me
in the face and turned me knock kneed.

“Hello?” I called out.

“Hey, sugar! Come on in!” Mama D yelled back.

A smorgasbord of food was spread out across the kitchen; it looked like they were
filming a cooking show. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes‌—‌with brown gravy of course‌—‌coleslaw,
deviled eggs, and cheesy grits‌—‌my favorite‌—‌caught my eye. It was apparent I was
going to eat too much, and might need another ride home.

After saying hello to Hope and Mama D, I heard Wade start hollering from downstairs.

“What in the hell is this?” he demanded as he walked up the stairs into the kitchen,
holding up a picture frame. “Well? Why is this hanging on a nail in my man cave?”
he asked again, only this time he was walking towards Mama D and pointing his finger
at her.

“I wasn’t aware the basement only belonged to you. I thought that wall was for the
family
to showcase our awards,” she answered condescendingly.

“Did you notice all those platinum records or any of the Grammy’s on the shelf?” he
shot back at her. “Even the boy’s trophies aren’t down there because that is
my
space!”

“I thought it was a nice addition and made the room feel a little homier,” Mama D
said, with a slight smirk as she looked over and gave me a wink.

“It’s a pie recipe! Why in the hell would you think a framed pie recipe should be
hung up in my cave? Don’t you think it fits in a little better with the kitchen décor?”
he asked her, slapping the counter.

“Hey!” she snapped back. “That is an award winning pie that dates back all the way
to my Grandmama. Didn’t you see the blue ribbon hanging next to it? And furthermore,
since we’re talkin’ about awards, you’re getting a little too big for your britches
with your Grammy this and Grammy that. You sing, we get it, so you can just cool it!”
she snarked.

“Y’all both need to cool it; you’re givin’ me a headache,” Hope muttered under her
breath, rolling her eyes.

Mama D and Wade had an interesting dynamic when it came to their relationship. They
loved each other and would put their lives on the line where the other was concerned,
but they were both full of so much fire; Hope always needed to throw water on one
of them. The battle of control over the homestead wages on year after year between
the two of them, but the permanent bantering back and forth was a constant source
of entertainment for me, and I was always happy to be a member of the audience.

Just then, the sound of a wild buffalo herd came stampeding down the stairs, making
all kinds of racket, and a gang of Rutledge boys filled the kitchen‌—‌the volume increased
twenty decibels. The boys have their mama’s good looks and their daddy’s fire. Samson,
almost reaching six feet, is the oldest and tamest at fifteen years old and my personal
favorite; I’m hoping to see him play college ball in a few years. Carson is twelve
and a daddy’s boy. He wants to do everything his dad does. Wade acts like it annoys
him, but I know he wouldn’t have it any other way. Kroy is the youngest and Hope’s
namesake. That boy has been spoiled something awful by Mama D. No ten year old boy
should be more mischievous than coons around midnight and get away with murder day
in and day out, but Mama D thinks he does no wrong, and he’s got her suckered good.

“All right y’all, let’s say a prayer before we eat. I’m going tonight, it’s my turn,”
Hope said. “Dear God, thank you for this wonderful food and the hands who prepared
it. Thank you for my loud and passionate family; please help me to survive them. Amen.”

After around seven seconds of quiet, everybody started talking at once. It didn’t
seem to matter that no one was listening to anyone else; they all just kept on talking.

Hope was smiling at me from across the table, and yelled, “Don’t you want to get a
couple of these someday?” pointing at the row of boys over-stuffing their faces with
chicken like food had been withheld over several days as a means of torture.

I just sat back in my chair and smiled.
Maybe I do.

After we cleared our plates from the table, and the boys scattered to who knows where,
Mama D put me to work plating the leftovers in Tupperware.
No time like the present.

“I want y’all to listen to what I’m going to tell you-all the way through before you
start asking questions or interrupting. Okay?” I asked, catching them by surprise
as I looked at all three of their nodding heads. “Here’s the thing; I haven’t been
happy with where my career’s been going for the last few years. Now, it’s not what
you think. I know I’ve made plenty of money, received lots of awards and bought more
toys than one man should have, but that’s not what I’m really looking for anymore.
I’m not real sure what I’m looking for to tell you the truth, but I do know I need
a break. Not a tour break, a permanent break. I’m going to retire.”

Hope let out a sharp gasp, and Wade hung his head down at the table, shaking it back
and forth while he let out a long sigh. I instantly thought I might be letting them
down, but kept going.

“You three are the first to have this information, and I’d appreciate it if we could
keep it in this kitchen until I have a meeting at River Rock Records to tell them
myself. I’ve got six months off until I’m supposed to start going over songs for the
next album and sign a new contract. That gets me a December deadline before I have
to let anyone over there know I’m not going to renew. I’m spending that time in St.
Croix, and I would love it if y’all came out to visit. Now it’s your turn,” I said,
turning over the floor for questions.

They just stared at me in silence. The quiet was complicated by the ticking from the
Granddaddy clock in the hallway, and every stroke seemed louder than usual; each second
was clear as day.

Hope spoke first. “Honey, you’ve worked so hard to get to the top, why would you throw
it all away?” she pleaded with me.

“Well, I really don’t see it that way. I’ve gotten almost everything I could have
ever hoped for and carved out a life for myself that far exceeds anything I ever thought
was possible. I’m proud of my accomplishments in this amazing, sometimes dirty rotten,
and insatiable, industry. It’s been quite a ride, but I just don’t want to spend half
of the year traveling to city after city and the rest of the year glued to my phone.
I hope y’all aren’t too disappointed. It’s not like I’m dying; just taking a break,”
I explained.

“I never thought I’d live to hear you say you’re gonna retire. I don’t agree with
this decision and I think you’re gonna get bored, but if it’s what you want, then
I suppose nothing we say is gonna change your mind; and you bet your ass I’m coming
to the islands! St. Croix doesn’t know what it’s up against!” Wade yelled as he stood
up and high-fived me so hard, my head jerked back and my hand stung.

“Oh, lord,” I said, rolling my eyes. “All right then, I’m glad y’all know. I feel
a hundred pounds lighter, but I’ve got to get home and get some things taken care
of before leaving and only got a week to do them,” I said.

Hope hugged me and told me she always had my back, even though her eyes said, “Big
mistake!” As Wade followed me out, Mama D called over and said, “Let me walk you home
honey, I could use the exercise.”

“I would love that!” I beamed as we linked arms and headed back towards the path.

The night air was dark and thick, but the fireflies and the sky full of stars were
working together to light the way for us. When we reached the arbor, Mama D turned
me around so we were face to face. She looked directly into my eyes, put her hands
on my shoulders and said, “I’m not out here ‘cause I need the exercise. Hell, walking
all the way to your door might kill me. I’m out here to tell you I’m proud as punch,
Kessler Carlisle, and I want you to know that. I’ve been wondering for a while when
you were gonna figure it out, and it looks like you finally came around. The first
half of your life was a great success story. I don’t deny that, but the second half,
the second half will be your masterpiece. You go out there into the world and find
what you’re lookin’ for and when you do, you bring her back here to meet me,” she
said as she gave me a big hug and smacked my face.

She just always knows.

My heart felt almost as full as my stomach as I watched her make her way back to the
house, whistling a little tune as she skipped along the path.

ANNIE

J
amie dropped me off at the edge of my driveway. I wanted to make the walk to my door
alone. As I suspected, my two acres of land didn’t have the same curb appeal, and
my house seemed less like a home since the last time I was here.

Jack found this house in Kansas City over ten years ago, and I was floored walking
through it for the first time. The red brick, walkout ranch sits on 2.5 acres, and
was built in 1942. It has two creeks running the length of the property, one in front
and one in back, and it sits across the street from the seventh green of a golf course.
The craftsmanship and the location of this home are unparalleled, and for me, it was
love at first sight. We’d put so much effort and money into renovating it year after
year; customizing it to become our dream home and today, I can’t even stand the sight
of it. My hope was to grow old with my husband here, watch our kids play in the yard,
take hikes in the woods behind our house, and now, it was an absolute certainty none
of those things would ever happen. Fighting hard against the tears made my nose burn,
but I still forced myself to go inside.

Everything and nothing were the same when I walked into the house. All the tangible
items sat in their proper place, but suddenly, they each had a memory attached to
them, telling me a story as I walked by. I kept my head down walking through the house,
not ready to reminisce yet, and then got into the shower to clean the overwhelming
stench of failure off me.

The water warmed my chilled skin, helping me to feel less like a corpse and cleared
some of the pain of my thoughts.

I need to get dressed for the meeting with Gail, and I don’t have a go-to widow outfit.
I have: girls night, wedding, running and church outfit’s, but seem to be fresh out
of clothes for a new widow to wear. This is such bullshit.

I finally decided on a white button down, three-quarter sleeve shirt, a black pencil
skirt and turquoise Brian Atwood heels. For a moment, the clothes helped me to feel
like a real person that wasn’t consumed with tragedy, and I prayed to God that feeling
would last, at least until my meeting was over.

After plugging the address into my GPS, I was surprised to find that Gail’s office
was located on the bottom floor of the Allen Enterprise building, in a popular and
quaint shopping district known to Kansas City locals as “The Plaza.” Her insurance
agency was only three doors down from where Jack and Jamie ran a capital funds management
company.

I guess that explains why he chose her.

I also knew why her office was on the back side of the Plaza instead of the main street-money.
Lord knows the rent throughout the fifteen blocks of couture merchandise, espresso
bars, luxurious linens, and trendy restaurants is astronomical, and it’s baffling
how some of the boutiques have stayed in business over the years.

As I turned onto Ward Parkway heading towards the Plaza and Gail’s office, a wave
of urgency came over me causing me to lose all interest in dealing with the responsibilities
of Jack’s afterlife-which also happened to be my present misery. I busted a U-turn
and caught HWY 29 north. The thought to turn around never fully registered in my brain;
it just happened, as if I was the passenger in the car, not the driver. I had to see
where he took his last breath, had his last thought and touch the scars on the tree
that captured the last moment of his life. The thought of feeling his last earthly
location was dreadfully agonizing and sickly comforting; the spot consumed my focus.

Daydreaming is a yin and yang personality trait passed down to me from some distant
ancestor; I have been known to “lose time” in varying amounts depending on the situation.
For some reason, driving a car almost always puts me in a functioning trance. Sometimes,
I wake up in the parking lot of my destination; other times I have missed a turn and
had to backtrack. This appears to be a dangerous habit, but even though I’m not always
aware of my surroundings, the fact that I’m still driving a car never escapes me.
Often, it’s the music from the radio that takes me away before I even realize I’m
gone.