Sloan saw that the countertop was strewn with blocks of cheeses, an open tub of butter, a loaf of bread, and several sharp knives. “Where’s Gloria?”
“Grocery store.”
“Does she let you cook when she’s gone?”
He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “She cut the cheese for me before she left, and I know how to do the rest. Cole taught me. I use three different kinds of cheeses, buttered bread, and a hot fry pan.”
She was certain Cole would have supervised any cooking Toby did. “Can I help?”
He slid the spatula under the sandwich and flipped it over. “I got it. See? It’s perfect!”
She saw that it was, and thought back to when she was a kid making meals out of anything she could find because LaDonna was out partying. “Looks tasty.”
Toby placed the sandwich on a paper plate beside the stove, turned off the gas, and hopped down from the chair. He held up the plate, smiling broadly. “Told you I could do it.”
Sloan followed him into Lindsey’s room, where she was propped up on several pillows. Oxygen cannulas stretched from her nose to a bedside oxygen tank. Dark depressions made half circles under her eyes, and her cheeks looked as if they had melted away. Just the day before, Lindsey had looked rosier, her face fuller, and she hadn’t been on oxygen.
Lindsey held out her hands for the plate and gave Sloan a wan smile. “I’m so happy you stopped by before going home.”
LA, home? Sloan had never thought of the city that way. She lived in an apartment leased from a real estate management company.
Lindsey hugged Toby. “Baby, run on now and let me eat in peace and talk to Sloan.” Once Toby was gone, she set the plate aside and took Sloan’s hand, urging her to sit on the bed. “Your concert was amazing. I can’t thank you enough for setting everything up so I could ‘attend.’ ” Lindsey moved and winced. Sloan winced in empathy. “Anyway, getting to watch you perform was one of the highlights of my life. Oh, how I wished Daddy could have been here to see you. You were so pretty up there, and you had people eating out of the palm of your hand.”
“Show-biz hype.” The concert had raised a large amount of money to pay off Lindsey’s medical expenses and also to create a trust fund for Toby’s future.
“I was hoping you’d stay around a few more days,” Lindsey said.
“Me too, but Terri has a load of interviews lined up for me. I have to leave, but I promise to come back for Labor Day.”
“Cole’s doing his annual Labor Day cookout, a barbeque, so you have to come.”
“I won’t miss it.” Her phone chirped with a text message. Sloan read it, sighed. “The airline reminding me of my flight.” She still had to drive back to Nashville, turn in her rental car, and navigate through TSA to her boarding gate. “I hate to rush off, but I must.”
“Thank you from the bottom of my heart.” Lindsey cradled Sloan’s hand on her cheek. “I need to ask a favor before you go.”
“Anything.”
Lindsey’s gaze drifted to the paper plate. “Would you please take this sandwich with you? I can’t swallow a thing, and I don’t want to disappoint my Toby.”
Sunday morning sunlight splashed across Dawson’s balcony and the café table where he and Lani ate a leisurely breakfast, both postponing her leaving for Memphis as long as possible. Dawson shoved back from the table, stretched his long legs out in front of him, and continued listening to Lani tell him about her encounter with Kathy and Cole the night before, what she’d overheard before stepping between them. “I don’t remember Kathy,” he said, “but from the sound of things, I wouldn’t want to.” He took a swig of coffee. “Question…why did you feel the need to defend Sloan to the woman?”
Seeing guarded coolness in Dawson’s eyes, Lani settled her fork on her plate. “Because I thought it was wrong for Kathy to trash Sloan, spread gossip from old days in high school just because she never liked Sloan…and especially after all she’s done to help Lindsey. It was just plain wrong to say hateful things about her to Cole.”
“How do you think he fits in?”
“He’s Lindsey’s neighbor and friend, and I’m pretty sure he’s crazy about Sloan.”
“His mistake.”
“Don’t be that way. We all saw how she sang that last song right to him. He means something to her too.”
“Sloan already has everything she ever wanted—her name in lights, people all over the world playing her music, adoration by the masses.” Agitated, he cleared his dishes and went inside, where he dumped the plates and utensils into the sink.
Moments later Lani was behind him, her arms around his waist, her cheek resting against his back. “We’re not fighting, are we? It’s not the way I want to leave you, Daw.”
He heaved a sigh, turned, and wrapped her in his arms. “Sorry, didn’t mean to get all wound up. It’s just that it’s August.” In tandem they turned their heads to stare at the calendar hanging on a nail in the wall, one particular day circled in black ink and marked with Dawson’s hand-drawn balloon. August had been the month when Sloan and Dawson had fractured and split apart. Three years later on a cold February day, Lani had stepped into the picture and changed it forever.
Tears swam in Lani’s eyes. “Did you think I’d forgotten what’s special about that date? I could never forget! I purposely worked double shifts that day at the hospital. I was so wiped out, all I could do was fall into bed at midnight, so I understand how hard August is for you.” Grief was like that, two steps forward, one step back. It lurked in the background, and on some level owned its victims for the rest of their lives.
“Not all of it…like right now,” he said, placing a kiss on her forehead. He rocked her gently while they stood without a hairsbreadth between them. “I’m all right, baby…just wishing you didn’t have to go.” He closed his eyes to shut out the sight of the ink-stained date on the calendar, and the memories that always came with it.
“Congratulations. Your album is number one on the Billboard country charts and number seven on the pop charts. The concert was a success in every way…money for Lindsey, and you in the public eye. Huge success, Sloan. Good news. Enjoy it.”
Sloan had slept in and was coming into Terri’s office on Monday afternoon when her agent met her at the door with news of her album. “You got coffee?”
“I thought you might be a little more excited about your numbers.”
“Jet lag.” Sloan sauntered to the familiar orange chair in front of Terri’s desk and poured herself a cup from the silver carafe sitting on a silver tray. “Of course it’s good news. My mind’s still on Lindsey, that’s all. She didn’t look very good when I left.”
Terri scooted behind her desk, swiveled her chair to stare quietly as Sloan sipped her coffee. “Honey, you’ve done everything you can for Lindsey. You’ve given Toby a future and his mother peace of mind. I’m not unsympathetic here, but you need to start living your life again, and let me tell you, it’s a beautiful life.”
“I hate that little town and the hold it has on me.”
Terri steepled her fingers. “I felt the same about Hoboken, New Jersey, when I moved out bag and baggage. Couldn’t get far enough away fast enough. I came here with nothing but determination, and for the good weather, of course. So, let me give you some news to lift your spirits. What are you doing on Labor Day?” Sloan, who’d been staring into her coffee cup, looked up. Terri gave a Cheshire cat grin. “I got a call this morning. How’d you like to open for the Rick Searle Band in Atlanta’s Mercedes-Benz Stadium?”
Sloan shot out of the chair. “Rick Searle! Are you kidding? They’re the biggest band in country music!” The band had shot to the top of the music charts a few years before, and every album they produced went to gold and platinum, one to triple platinum.
“Yes, they are, and their fan base is rabid. And the band wants you to open for them.”
Sloan paced, her head spinning. She stopped, whipped around, ran to the desk. “I thought Lauren was opening for t
hem.” Lauren was a well-established singer already.
“She was, but polyps on her vocal cords started hemorrhaging. She had surgery last week, and she can’t speak for a month, much less sing. Don’t worry, she’ll be back in six months better than ever, but she’s out for Searle’s Labor Day show. And Searle wants you in her place. I know this is last-minute, but it’s huge. I accepted on your behalf.”
In the blink of an eye, Sloan’s priorities shifted and turned her world upside down. Windemere and her Labor Day plans were whisked away and quickly shelved. “What do I have to do?”
“On Wednesday, you’re going to Sondra’s studio for a wardrobe tweak.” The atelier was one of Hollywood’s most famous, with creations worn by many a star on Oscar night. “I’m having new outfits designed for you, head to toe change-up. I want you looking like the star you are onstage…gowns with lots of glamour that show off all your assets. At the end of the month you’ll go to Atlanta for rehearsals with the band. Rick’s a taskmaster, but he knows what his audience likes and wants, and he always delivers. Sound like a game plan you can embrace?”
The opportunity was golden, beyond her wildest imagination. Her spirits soared, and she thought of what climbers must experience when reaching the top of a mountain. She offered a self-satisfied smile. “Embracing the plan with arms wide open. Wouldn’t miss it for all the world.”
The first time Sloan stepped inside the Mercedes-Benz Stadium, the sheer enormity of the place took her breath. A stunning wall of glass soared upward in a spacious lobby where banks of escalators led to upper levels that could seat eighty thousand people, all with a clear view of the main attraction—the Atlanta Falcons football field. Three hundred feet above the green patch of exquisite turf, a hundred-foot 360-degree LED video board encircled pinwheel metal panels that could retract and allow daylight to flood the arena. She was standing at a railing, gazing in awe at the field, when a woman came to stand alongside her.
“Impressive, isn’t it?”
“Words can’t express.” Sloan turned to see a pixie-sized brown-haired woman who offered a warm smile.
“A modern day marvel to the gods of football. I’m Kathryn Searle, and you’re Sloan, aren’t you? Pleased to meet you.”
“My pleasure, for sure.”
“Our tour bus just pulled up and the baby’s asleep, so I thought I’d take a peek while I could. The guys will be coming along in a minute. I threatened their lives if they woke our baby.”
Sloan had flown into Atlanta the day before and checked into a downtown hotel room Terri had reserved. A driver had picked her up around noon and brought her to the stadium, where security guards had been told to expect her. “I’ve watched games on TV, but even the overhead photos from a blimp can’t really do justice to the place. It’s huge.” She again looked upward at the vast number of seats.
“Those far upper tiers will be closed off for our show. Our audience will be in the lower two. Based on ticket sales so far, we’re expecting around forty thousand. The Falcons are on the road for the next two weeks, or we’d have never been able to get this space for our show.”
Sloan’s biggest live audience to date had been five thousand, in the late spring and early summer days before her album release. As if sensing Sloan’s apprehension, Kathryn said, “Ten thousand of those tickets were sold after it was announced that you’d be performing too. We’re pleased to have you on board.”
Just then six men, the Searle band, barreled in noisily, Rick the tallest and most recognizable. After a round of introductions, some horseplay, and verbal banter, Sloan felt less like a stranger on the sidelines. Rick settled everyone down. “Our crew’s in the bus behind us, to start setting up. What about your musicians?”
“Coming from Nashville tonight.”
Rick put his arm around his wife and said to her, “The girls on the bus want to shop. You want to go with them?”
“Not much fun taking a cranky baby. I’ll stay on the bus with him, maybe get some sleep.”
He kissed her. “We’ll wrap the tour in October. Then we’ll stay home. I promise.”
Kathryn gazed out at the empty stadium, a wistful expression on her face. “Until the road calls you back.”
Sloan understood. She’d felt the exhaustion of touring herself, of sleeping on planes and grabbing catnaps on buses, of eating a diet of road food and giving shows in cities she couldn’t even recall. Must have been even harder with a baby. Still it was the life she’d planned. Fame came with a price, and she was willing to pay it.
“The hospice people says it’s nearin’ the end for Lindsey. She’s had a couple more brain seizures, so they’re keepin’ her heavily sedated.”
Walking to his truck parked outside the fire station, Cole heard a tremble in Gloria’s voice through his phone. “Just getting off from my shift. I’ll swing by the house.”
“I—I told my supervisor that I wouldn’t be coming in for the rest of this week. I just think I should hang here at the house with the hospice folks. I want to be here…be with her as much as I can.”
Cole closed his eyes, pressed finger and thumb into his closed lids, fighting exhaustion. “Okay. But I don’t think we should say anything to Toby yet.”
“I won’t, but Monday’s Labor Day and there’s no school, so he’ll be home, and I’m not sure I can keep myself together in front of him.”
“I’ll keep him busy. Stay calm.”
Cole disconnected and climbed inside his truck, where he sat staring out the windshield at green trees that would soon dress in the colors of autumn, colors Lindsey would not see again. His thoughts drifted to Sloan in Atlanta rehearsing for a concert, and he wondered if he should let her know. The Searle appearance would make her star shine more brightly, shoot ever higher. Yet the campout night lingered in his head. Sloan, scared by nightmares. His arms around her, holding off the dark. Her story of a scarred childhood. Then came images of her concert, where she had stood onstage, a sparkling vision of a woman in total command, a princess reigning over a kingdom that adored her.
He’d read that the Searle show was breaking ticket sales records for a country band concert. Cole realized there was nothing Sloan could do for Lindsey now, nothing more anyone could do. He forced away thoughts of Sloan Gabriel and his desire for what he wanted but could not have. He cranked the truck’s engine and exited the lot, heading not home but to the house next door, where death crouched.
“You coming to the after-party?”
The question came from Tate, the band’s bass guitarist, who’d been flirting with Sloan since the first day of rehearsals. “I’m not one to miss a party.”
Tate’s grin widened. “Good, ’cause I’m looking for an excuse to stay close to you after the show.” He winked and strutted off. Sloan watched him go, a good-looking guy with a hard body, a killer smile, and a glib line for women. Most of Rick’s band and crew either were married or had girlfriends. Tate had let her know from the start that he was unattached and interested. She’d met men like him—one-nighters, Good night, good morning, goodbye.
This was concert night, and she’d be onstage in less than two hours. As the stadium filled, her nerves were tighter than a steel drum. Through the glass wall she saw the buildings of downtown Atlanta cut sharp lines into a red-and-gold sunset sky and streaks of pink clouds. Beautiful night, she told herself. She was ready. The band was ready. The fans were ready. A trifecta.
Her life was moving at breakneck speed. CC had sent three new songs for her to evaluate for her second album, scheduled to begin recording in January. Another video was in the works, and her fall tour schedule was full—certainly not as big and grand as Searle’s, but one day, she told herself, it would be.
Terri had sent roses to her hotel room to celebrate her big night, compliments of the agency and Sloan’s record label. Sloan swore not to disappoint either. Labor Day…it would be the beginning of a whole new chapter in her life.
“I think it’s time to gather the family, b
ecause it won’t be long now,” the hospice worker told Gloria, who was curled up on the sofa with a box of tissues.
Cole was standing on his deck grilling hamburgers with Toby, knowing that people at Lindsey’s had to eat even if they insisted they weren’t hungry. His plan was to bring the cooked burgers to Lindsey’s, but then Gloria texted—Come now. He shut off the gas tank on the half-done burgers, closed the lid on the grill. “Time to go,” he said to the boy.
“Is it happenin’ now?”
“Soon.” There’d been no hiding the truth from Toby so close to the end. Cole took the boy’s hand. “What say we walk over?”
Toby slipped his hand into Cole’s, and they went down the deck steps and across the grass and clods of red dirt that separated their houses. “Will leaving our house and going to heaven hurt Mama?…You know, like the cancer hurts?”
“No…all her hurting is done now. Her soul just steps from one place to the other, like when you fall asleep in the dark and wake up in the sunshine.”
Toby looked up at a red-and-gold sunset sky and streaks of pink clouds. “Does the sun shine in heaven?”
“Always. Forever.”
“That’s good. Mama likes sunshine.”
Sloan couldn’t come down from her adrenaline high. The rush she’d felt from forty thousand voices chanting her name, stomping, cheering, shouting after every song, had been exhilarating but had left her feeling as restless as a caged cat. The wrap party was being held in a plush VIP lounge on a secluded upper deck of the stadium, with cushy furniture, a fully stocked wraparound bar, and a panoramic plate glass window where Sloan was looking down on the stage. Lights and sound equipment were waiting to be broken down, boxed, and carried to trailers and buses that would take Rick’s show to the next scheduled concert tomorrow, after a night’s rest in a hotel.
She was sipping her second margarita when Tate came alongside her, a drink in one hand and a plate of food in the other. “I brought this for you, pretty woman. Been watching, and haven’t seen you take a single bite. I’m way different. I can’t eat a thing before a show, but after? Starving! Rick always gets the best caterers in a city for his crew, so try a taste.” He proffered the plate, along with a devilish smile. “You won’t be sorry.”