Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
“Mama, I promise you, if I see a bear, I will run the other way.”
“No! That’s the exact wrong thing to do! I looked it up, and you should just quietly back off. If you can’t, you have to make yourself look big, make loud noises, and clap your hands.”
“Make myself look big?” I was five-foot-two on my best big-hair days. “Not sure that’s possible.”
She sighed. “Your brother’s going to be furious, you know.”
“I’ll deal with him when he gets back.”
“I’ve got a mind to come up there and paddle your backside for making me fret like this. I can feel the wrinkles forming! And your father is beside himself with concern.”
Since when? I thought.
“He says he needs to talk to you. I’ll put him on.”
“No, don’t! I have to—”
“Kelly Jo? That you, peanut?”
I grit my teeth. “It’s me, Daddy.”
“I was just making breakfast and thinking about how you and I used to get up early and make waffles for your mama and Kevin. What a mess we’d make.” He laughed, and the sound took me back to our tiny yellow kitchen in the house where I’d grown up. Batter spilled on the counter. Syrup on my fingers. Comfort. Security. Love. Before.
“I remember.”
“You sign that new PMG deal yet, peanut?”
“Not yet. I’m still thinking it over.”
“It’s a good deal. A lot of money. What’s to think about?”
“I’d like more creative control. I want to work with some different producers, more women. I want to record my own songs.”
“But the label knows best, peanut. They’ve got all the experience. You should do what they say.”
Something dark in me wondered if the label had offered my father money if he could get me to agree to their terms. “I need to concentrate on the road, Daddy. I’ll see you in two weeks.” If you stick around.
Without waiting for him to argue, I hung up and put my phone on Do Not Disturb.
The trip took me almost twelve hours, but it was still light out when I arrived at my new home for the next couple weeks—an A-frame chalet nestled deep in the woods without a single neighbor visible in any direction.
Elated with the privacy, the mild temperature, and fourteen days of freedom, I tossed my hat aside, shook out my hair, and jumped out of the van. I was giddy with excitement—I’d stopped once for gas, once for a sandwich at a drive-thru, and once for a few fresh vegetables at a roadside farm stand, and I hadn’t been recognized a single time. Twirling in a circle, I breathed deeply, taking it all in.
The air smelled like wet dirt and dead leaves and something tangy and herbal—like the dandelions you picked when you were a kid and thought were beautiful. I used to pluck tons of them from the vacant lot near our house and give them to my mom as a “bouquet.” Poor Mama would dutifully put them in a mason jar with some water every time.
The A-frame was small, its façade painted moss green and its roof—which extended all the way to the ground—was a deep orange. A wooden porch ran the width of the front, with two rocking chairs to one side of the door and a large potted plant on the other.
Glancing to the left, I noted a fire pit surrounded by four red Adirondack chairs. I wondered if I could figure out how to build a fire without accidentally burning down the house.
I approached the front door and quickly checked my email to find the code the rental company had provided to Jess, which she’d then forwarded to me. Punching in the numbers, the lock released and I opened the door.
Unlike my home in Nashville, which had been newly decorated in soothing whites and pale grays when I bought it, this place offered only comfy shades of brown. Knotty pine walls, coffee-colored couch, russet brick hearth, carpet the color of sand. I sniffed—it smelled slightly musty. Since the place had a screen door, I left the wooden front door open and cranked open the casement windows on either side of it to air out the room.
Straight ahead was a galley kitchen that would have fit within the breakfast nook of my Nashville home—just a dishwasher, a stainless sink, and a brown electric range that looked like it predated me. A butcher-block-topped peninsula jutted out from the wall, and two stools were tucked beneath it.
I wandered down the hall and found the bathroom on one side and the bedroom on the other. The white and yellow bathroom wasn’t fancy, but it was bright and clean, and the towels folded on the vanity looked thick and fluffy. The bedroom was small, and the steep pitch of the knotty pine wall opposite the door made it seem even more confined, like a cross between a treehouse and a teepee.