The Girl of Sand & Fog (30 page)

I lower my gaze, since I can’t say this looking
at him. “Is my dad messing around on this tour with Jen? He comes in late every
night. He hasn’t called my mom since we left. Not once. Is Alan seeing someone
and planning on divorcing my mother?”

Graham’s features instantly alter; expertly
inscrutable.

Oh fuck.

I set down my coffee. “Don’t give me that blank
look. I’m not a child and I just want to know the truth because the waiting for
everything to come apart is excruciating. Especially since it’s my fault. I
can’t take it anymore. I just need to know how badly I fucked this up for them.
Security knows where my dad goes and what he does 24/7. You know more about him
than I do. I’d really appreciate it if you’d just talk straight to me.”

Before I finish that nifty little speech,
everything inside me is bouncing around like a ping-pong ball and I can feel
I’m all glassy-eyed with threatening tears.

Graham purses his lips as if debating what he
should say. “If he were, it wouldn’t be your fault.”

I lean toward him, anxious. “Are you saying he’s
not?”

“I’m not saying anything,” he says on a semi-growl.
“Kaley, I can’t talk about this. Not what your dad does, who he sees or where
he goes. We all sign nondisclosure agreements. I’ve given my word, personally
and legally, not to talk to anyone about what I see and hear. That means not
even to you.”

I cross my arms. “Don’t pull that with me. I’m
not just anyone. I’m his daughter.”

His cheek twitches. “The NDA applies even to
you.”

We square off with our eyes and I can see that
not answering me isn’t easy for him—it restores his status with me, but doesn’t
help anything.

He breaks eye contact first, leans back in his
chair, exhales loudly and runs his fingers through his hair.

“I can see how much pain you’re in all the time,
Kaley,” he says slowly. “I hate seeing you hurt and worried and thinking badly
of yourself. I’m not just your bodyguard. I think of us as friends, and I would
answer every question you asked me if I could.”

Oh shoot, now I want to cry. I hug my legs, lay
my cheek on my knees, and close my eyes, hoping to will the tears away. I can
feel him watching me.

“I have an idea,” Graham says and I open my eyes.
“How I can answer you without answering you so I don’t breach my NDA.”

He grabs the laptop and clicks on something, and
angles the screen between us. He’s opened a video.

“Do you know why your dad is so mesmerizing when
he’s on stage?”

I sit up, shaking my head.

“He’s totally, nakedly exposed, emotionally and
spiritually, the second he gets near a microphone. All of him openly revealed
for everyone to see. Who he is, the man he rarely shows, and he is an amazing
man. Never doubt that, sweetheart.”

I study him, not sure where he’s going with this.

He hits play and concert footage I shot two weeks
ago starts.

“He’s never done this cover before on stage. He
just started closing the show with this song this leg of the tour. I know it’s
from back in the day, but it gave me chills the first time I heard him sing it.
So much of him out there for everyone to see in six minutes on stage. Do you
know the song? The lyrics?”

I nod. Scorpions,
“Still Loving You.”

“Have you ever truly listened to him when he
sings it?”

Frustrated, not seeing the point in this, I roll
my eyes. “Of course. About gazillion times since we’ve been on the road. I shot
that video. Yes, I’ve listened to him sing it.”

Graham’s eyes sharpen. “But have you
heard
him?”

My eyes flash.

He lets out a frustrated groan and stands. “Give
me your hands, Kaley. Up. Up. Up.”

I make a face. “
Up. Up. Up.
”

But I stand anyway and before I know what he’s
doing I’m folded against his chest with his powerful arms surrounding me.

I try to step back. “What are you doing? Jeez,
Graham, everyone is staring at us. I don’t need the press writing more wrong
stories or people inventing new gossip about me.”

“Forget them. I’m answering you the only way I
can, sweetie. Close your eyes, empty your mind, let go of everything and really
hear your dad when he sings.”

He starts moving me gently as if we’re dancing.
This is so humiliating. His cheek presses against my head and, oh crap, he’s
singing along.

His lips move in my hair. “You know the words.
Don’t just hear them. Sing them like I am. Feel them the way he feels them.
He’s telling you so much, sweetheart, things he will never say directly, and
you can’t hear him.”

We move and we’re singing, and then he eases
back, holding my face in his palms, his eyes intense as they fix on mine. “
I
will be there. I will be there.
”

He takes me back against him and I hide my face
against his chest, hearing him sing now and again as he moves me slowly in the
tight cocoon of his body.

I hadn’t really listened to my dad.

Graham’s right.

It’s like being drawn into a whirlpool and
feeling all things Alan Manzone. You just have to want to hear it to hear him.
A splattering of tears trickles down my cheeks because I know why Graham did
this, but beyond what this tells me about how Alan feels about Mom, what I hear
most is how much my father hurts and I know—though not completely—I caused a
lot of it.

“Everything is going to be all right, Kaley,”
Graham whispers, his lips moving in my hair close to my ear. “
I’m still
loving you.
Does that sound like a man thinking about walking out on his
marriage? And does that sound like a father unable to forgive his daughter?
He’s not going to let go of either of you, not ever. He loves you both.”

The tears give way like a tidal wave.

I let them drain from me.

He slowly caresses my back.

“It’s all right, Kaley. Let it out. Their
marriage is not your weight to carry. Put it down and walk away. That’s the
best thing you can do for your family.”

*  *  *

Sydney,
Australia, three days later

I
sit in the hotel room with my head on the table, using my arm as a pillow,
surrounded by my brothers and sisters, and pretending to do homework.

This is so freaking stupid. It’s like study hall.
I don’t need group educational hour
à
la
Mrs. Barton, with her
sitting in the chair making sure we don’t talk or goof off. I’m freaking
eighteen years old.

Krystal copies my posture, facing me, in that
time-for-a-covert-sister-conversation way. “How did you get access to the
Internet?” she asks suspiciously.

I give her the wide-eyed innocent stare.

Her eyes grow intense. “I hacked into your cloud.
You’ve been uploading things. Pictures. Videos. All kinds of stuff.”

Oh fuck.

“Krystal, how could you hack into my private
junk? That is such a violation of the sister rules.”

“Really? You’re asking me that? And how was
pretty easy. I cracked your password in like a half second.”

Inwardly, I groan.

“You’re not going to tell Alan on me are you?” I
whisper.

She shakes her head.

I smile.

“What computer have you been using?” she asks.

“Sometimes yours, but Graham lent me one about a
week ago. It’s hidden in my suitcase.”

Krystal’s eyes widen. “You used mine? How? It’s
password protected.”

I lift my brows. “I cracked your password in like
a half second.”

Krystal’s eyes flash, and then she laughs. “I’m
glad we’re talking again.”

“Me, too, baby girl.”

“Everything is finally getting good. Dad seems
really happy the last few days. I think he’s calling and texting Mom. I think
they’re talking again. He’s on his phone all the time.”

I frown. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“That’s because you are always cutting out on the
family stuff”—she makes her silly lovey-dovey expression—“so you can hang out
alone with Graham.”

I glare. “That’s not true.”

“It is so true and Graham is totally not
interested in you. You’re just too vain to see it.” Krystal grows serious. “Are
you and Bobby talking yet?”

I shake my head.

“I thought maybe you were. You’ve seemed kind of
happier, too, lately.” Krystal makes a compassionate face. “It’ll be OK, Kaley.
If Mom and Dad can start talking again anything is possible.”

“I hope you’re right. I miss Bobby so much.” I
lean forward and kiss her on the forehead. “You’re a pretty good sister.”

“You’re a pretty good sister, too.” She makes a
comical face that so resembles Chrissie. “Someone around here has to be the
calm, logical one. You, Mom and Dad are definitely the extreme, unpredictable
personalities.”

I start to laugh and then choke it back when I
see Mrs. Barton glaring at us.

“Do you really think everything is OK with Mom
and Alan?” I ask.

She nods enthusiastically. “Yep, and I’m so
relieved. I really miss Mom.”

“Me, too.”

“I hope she gets here soon.” She crinkles her
nose. “Maybe Jen will go away. I can’t stand her. Can you?”

I shake my head. The way Krystal says that causes
a knot to form in my stomach. “Why don’t you like her?”

She does a shudder. “Jeez, are you blind? She’s
always hanging on Dad, flirting with him, even when we’re there.” She leans
closer. “She sent him the grossest text message ever when we were in Melbourne.
Even worse than the ones you used to send Bobby.”

I blow past this latest Krystal spying
confession, more desperate to know what she knows about Jen and Alan. “How do
you know?”

“Oh, I hacked your phone a long time ago when we
first moved to the ’Sades.”

I groan, frustrated. “No. The other part. About
Jen.”

She does a soundless gag. “Dad left his phone
unlocked and I read it—don’t get mad, I heard a notification and I wanted to
see if it was from Mom because he was happy—but no it was
her
. And just
gross.”

I pale. “What did it say?”

Her cheeks grow brightly pink. “I can’t say it.
It’s too embarrassing. The same kind of stuff you text Bobby the nights after
you pretend to stay at Zoe’s.”

Oh fuck.

“I don’t know why she does that,” Krystal
whispers.

Duh, Krystal, Alan isn’t happy about Mom; he’s
seeing Jen and that’s who he’s playing salacious phone text with, not Mom.

“I wish she’d stop. It’s so obvious that Dad
loves Mom,” she adds, annoyed.

I stare at my sister, feeling like the air’s been
punched out of my lungs.

“What’s wrong?” Krystal asks, worried.

I shake my head—
everything and it’s all my
fault, no matter what Graham says. My fault.

That momentary respite I had from my guilt
abruptly ends.

I lower my gaze. “I just miss Mom. I wish she
were here, too.”

Krystal smiles sweetly. “She’ll be with us soon.
I know it.”

A door opens and I turn to see Alan exiting his
bedroom, sharply dressed and looking like he’s going somewhere.

He doesn’t look at us as he crosses the room. Not
making eye contact with us; not comforting.

He checks his watch and then stops at the table.
“We all good here?”

Krystal frowns. “Where are you going?”

I shift my gaze to her. Oh crap, she’s
suspicious, too, and I don’t need one more thing to add to the list of things
I’ve done wrong—like tipping off my baby sister that I think Dad’s messing
around.

He drops a kiss on each of the boys’ heads and
then on Krystal’s. “I have something I’ve got to do. A last-minute schedule
change. Don’t wait up. I’m going to be late.”

He turns quickly toward Mrs. Barton, and is even
smiling at Prune Face. “Things might run long. You probably shouldn’t expect me
until after morning. Don’t go anywhere with the children. I want them in the
room until I get back.”

Oh, he’s definitely avoiding eye contract with
me. Ding. He checks his phone. I catch a not completely contained smile.

He clicks off the phone and moves to the door.

He opens it and I see his security team waiting
in the hallway. “No fighting. No calling. No texting. Nothing. I don’t want to
hear from any of you unless it’s a real emergency.”

Oh God, he’s never said that before.

He quickly disappears into the hallway.

Krystal stares at me. “That was weird.”

I fight to keep my emotions from my face, but
weird doesn’t cut it. Very overt and very
busted.