Chapter 1
**Sister tries to keep it real, clothes are washed and house is cleaned but hearts are broken and heads hang low**
"WHISKY AND WATER Lyrics"
Home.
Being here was nothing like she’d feared.
What had she expected? She wasn’t sure. Would it be awkward? Yes. Did she feel like a stranger? Absolutely. Was there a heavy weight of guilt pressing down on her? Without a doubt.
She’d never imagined she’d want to be here; she’d worked so hard to get out and stay away. But being near Evie filled her with a sense of familiarity that actually was good and comfortable. Trouble was, she didn’t know if she’d be welcomed by anyone other than her sister.
She should have come back before today. Even for a short visit.
She discarded that idea as quickly as she’d had it. Coming home at any point until now would have been stupid. Toxic.
Good grief. Isn’t that what momma would say? There was so much negativity rattling around in her head, too much doubt and uncertainty.
Standing next to her sister, Evie, with Evie’s husband, Grady, on the far end, she wondered if the people behind them were thinking about her momma or how she, Shea, had been the worst daughter in the world.
She should have stayed away.
Evie reached out her hand and entwined her fingers with Shea’s.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Evie whispered.
At least someone was.
“Let us pray,” said Reverend Parker.
Shea bowed her head. Whether it was from the pull of the earth’s gravity or the realization that goodbye was coming soon—they would be officially laying her momma to rest—the unshed tears that had pressed against her eyes all day slowly began to fall.
Evie handed her a handkerchief, the cotton soft and worn, her momma’s initials embroidered on the corner, and Shea began to cry harder. It used to infuriate her that while their father was out drinking and spending money they could’ve used, her momma had sat quietly in her rocking chair, humming and embroidering fabric squares.
Now she was gone and Shea would never get to say goodbye. Or that she was sorry for causing her so much grief. Or that she loved her. She would never be able to tell her momma that she was finally turning things around and success was at her fingertips.
She buried her face in the soft cloth and tried to breathe in her momma’s scent but all she could smell was Evie’s light perfume. Her chest burned with need to take in more oxygen, for all Shea could manage were little gasps as she held back her hysterics.
Shea’d been a terrible daughter. She’d been a terrible sister for that matter, leaving Evie to deal with the day to day. But no one was under any different illusions. No one expected Shea Barker to be good, upstanding, or hell...anything. They saw her as they expected someone with her troubled childhood to be. Evie may have broken the cycle, but no one expected Shea to.
At least she’d been able to afford giving her momma a nice funeral with an abundance of Gerbera daisies in all colors. Her momma’s favorite. She already had enough bad karma to atone for; making her momma’s funeral the best it could be was a no brainer.
One hit song, the equivalent to hitting the lottery, and this quarter’s royalties were enough to cover the cost. She figured Evie would be worried about the expense Shea had gone to. When they had a quiet moment, she’d try to soothe her sister’s worries—she’d tell her about the song. Though, superstitious to a fault, she’d wait to tell the rest of the story until everything was set and in motion. But any conversation about her life was a loaded topic requiring courage, and right now Shea’s emotional bucket was depleted.
“Shea?”
She looked up to find Evie staring at her and she broke, her once contained sobs set free.
Evie wrapped her in a hug. “Talk to me.” Her voice was low, a whisper in her ear. She rubbed up and down Shea’s back.
“I didn’t get to say goodbye.” She tried not to wail, her sobs ragged and gasping. She’d started the day short of breath, afraid a deep one would set free her tears, and now she couldn’t get ahead of them to get control.
“I didn’t either. Come on.” Evie wrapped her arm around her shoulder and led her from the pew out through the side of the church door. Shea was relieved to have her sister’s support, her legs unsteady beneath her.
She hiccupped, sucked in a deep breath, and wiped her cheeks with the handkerchief. “But you were there. I wasn’t.”
“Neither was she. It’d been a long time since momma was really with us. I think she’d been slowly slipping away each day. I didn’t realize that until it was too late.”
A black town car waited to take them to the graveyard. The crowd of mourners made their way to their own vehicles. She saw so many familiar faces, so many friends of her momma’s. Some Shea couldn’t look in the eye—too afraid all they'd remember were her teenage antics.
Her eyes met those of a tall, handsome stranger who gave her a friendly smile. It was nice to see many of Evie’s friends come out to support her.
Grady held open the car door and Shea slid in, followed by her sister.
“I’m sorry for sticking you with all the responsibility, letting you do it all, Ev. I’ll never be able to make it up to you.” Shea took three deep, ragged breaths, trying to steady herself and contain the hot mess that she was.
This was certainly a conversation for a different time. Had she arrived as early as she’d hoped yesterday, maybe they would’ve had it. But planning and timeliness had never been her strong suits even when they needed to be. She covered her wrist with her hand, hiding the pink tint of emerging hives that was beginning to speckle her skin.
“Stop, you didn’t stick me with anything. I stayed because I wanted to. You have your path to follow and I have mine.” Shea watched Evie and Grady share a look and thought she might burst out in a second round of tears. The way her brother-in-law looked at her sister, with such longing and love, the way he stood behind her as if he was prepared to catch her should she fall—Shea had never experienced anything remotely similar to that unless she were to count the unconditional love of her dog, Roscoe. She scratched a spot on her wrist.
Lord, if her momma were to see her, she’d call her a sad sack. She’d tell her self-pity was as useful as hen shit on a pump handle—though her momma would have found a different word rather than use an expletive.
“After the burial, lots of people will be coming by the house. Are you up for that?” Evie asked.
“I have to be. Just tell me how I can help.” Shea wound the handkerchief through her fingers as she rolled her shoulders back.
With a weary sigh, Evie nodded.
“Here.” Shea reached up and wiped away the smudge of mascara on her sister’s cheek.
“So much for waterproof.” Evie laughed and returned the favor by dabbing a tissue under Shea’s eyes.
Because she and Evie looked so much alike, every time Shea looked at her sister she was struck with a sense of belonging. For all the twisting in the wind she’d done as a child, hating her home and the hand they’d been dealt with their father, there was no denying this was where she was supposed to be. As horrible as it had sometimes been, today, looking into Evie’s brown eyes, so like her own, she found comfort. A unity with their red hair—though Shea’s was a tad more strawberry—the smattering of freckles, and very pale skin. Their shared history, ironically, gave Shea the sense of being tethered as if she’d found her way back on the map. A feeling she’d lost long ago. Truth was she’d turned her back to it years ago and drifted so far off course she’d been unable to find true north.
The burial was gut-wrenching. Watching Evie break only made it worse and she felt so helpless as she watched Grady hold her up. Somehow they made it through.
As she stared down at the fresh mound of earth, Shea found herself wrapped in the arms of Lorelei Parker—Williams now, she supposed, having married her high school sweetheart last summer.
“Remember that summer my parents took us to Steinhatchee?” Lorelei asked.
Remember? How could she forget? Even the constant smell of the sulfuric waters the town boasted had done nothing to diminish the greatness of her first and only summer vacation. “Your daddy made us eat rattlesnake,” Shea said and let out a deep exhalation.
Lorelei gave a small laugh. “That’s right, I’d forgotten that. Daddy thinks things like gator and rattlesnake are delicacies. It’s no wonder I like to experiment with my food. Anyway, after that trip, when we dropped you all back off at the Crawford’s, I started to cry on the way home. When daddy asked me why, I said I was sad, sad that nothing seemed to be turning out all right for you all, sad that everything had been so difficult. And daddy told me a story. Said he got to talking with your momma one day, asked her how he could help her...”
Shea scratched a new welt on her upper arm. “I wish he could have talked her into leaving my dad.”
Would their life have been any different had their momma left their daddy? She’d likely be alive today and would’ve been someplace other than standing in their front yard when he came home one evening, drunk, overshot the driveway and crashed into the house. Pinning their momma between the house and car. He’d died instantly in that wreck and she hadn’t, living the rest of her days in a nursing home.
“I bet a part of him does as well, but he asked her what she needed help with and she told him that her one wish was for you two to have a good life, to be able to chase your dreams. She spent her days setting you up for that journey, building you up so you could fly. She loved you, Shea, and would be so proud of who you’ve become and what you’re trying to achieve.”
There was no way Lorelei could know that she’d not only embedded a knife deep in Shea’s chest, but had twisted it as well. Until now, what could her momma possibly have been proud of? In true Shea fashion, she was once again too late to show she’d changed. Several years of trying to break into the country music industry, and what did she have to show for it? More broken-up bands than she could count, a handful of bad relationships, a suitcase of broken promises, and proof that she was slow to learn lessons and change her ways. Sure, she’d written a few songs, sold them, and one had done well, but she’d been an absolute failure at what she’d set out to do and holding on to it was killing her from within.
“Thanks, Lorelei.”
“You may not think this is true, Shea, but you have friends here. Just reach out. We care about you and your sister.” Lorelei gave her another hug, rubbed her hands up and down her arms before slipping away.
The drive back to Grady and Evie’s house went by much too quickly and Shea had only a few minutes to catch her breath, cover up with a light sweater, and reapply her makeup before the first mourners rang the front bell. She spent a long moment hugging her dog, Roscoe, finding comfort in his unconditional love.
With a glance at her cell phone, she saw Kimberly, her agent, had called. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t convince herself that she wasn’t a flash in the pan and might actually be talented enough to warrant an agent.
With shaky fingers, she pressed the button to listen to the voice mail.
“Hi, Shea. Again, my condolences about your mother. I hope the funeral went as well as these things can. I don’t expect you to call me back. I just wanted to touch base with you about the interview. They’re really excited to meet you. I was able to postpone it until Friday but they head back to LA after that. I’ve sent an email about what they're looking for; an original song is essential. I know you’re not interested in writing children’s music but this is a step in the right direction for building your name. Call me if you have any questions. Being a songwriter for a TV show is a great opportunity, one that doesn’t come around often, if ever. I’m here, day or night. Reach out. Bye for now.”
She had six days to get her tail back to Nashville. Surely that would be enough time to do whatever else was needed for her mother’s estate, or lack thereof. The hardest part was today and she was half way through that. She would get out of Lakeland, head back to Nashville where she could secure her future. She would finally be something more than the havoc-making, troubled teen. She’d be more than her childhood.
One Billboard number one song had done more for her in the year since she’d sold it than nearly twelve years of trying to break into the industry had even hinted toward. She was not about to let this chance to pass her by.
Shea stared at her phone. She didn’t want to go downstairs and make nice with people who still judged her for her past. She wanted to get lost in the now with the people who were emailing and calling her agent, people who wanted a product from her. Who she knew how to respond to. It was far easier to give than the emotional commitment needed downstairs. Jumping out the window and escaping in her pickup was more like her. But she wouldn’t leave Evie to handle it all. She’d done that for far too long.
Her guitar and banjo rested against the wall and she promised herself she’d spend some time with one of them tonight. Maybe she’d have a breakthrough on a new song, either way she’d find some comfort.
The turnout was larger than Shea expected and she saw a whole new side of her momma. She was able to look past her anger that her momma had never left their drunk father. Instead, she saw a woman who had given repeatedly at her church, helped fundraise and taught Sunday school. She saw a woman who’d sat on the PTA while she and Evie were in school and whose friends were not just the lunch ladies she’d worked with in the school cafeteria. She saw a woman who had been well liked by her community, who had a stream of friends that were standing out on Evie’s deck near her hydrangea bushes holding handmade handkerchiefs, gifts from her momma, laughing, crying, and telling stories that simultaneously warmed Shea’s heart and broke it.
“What a tribute,” the guy next to her said. It was the same guy from the funeral, the one with the sympathetic smile.
Tall, with dark blond hair cropped short except for the top, which flopped over his eyes no matter how many times he pushed it back—he’d done it twice since she looked over—he was not the sort who normally chatted her up. He looked too scholarly for them to have anything in common. Dark brown, round, tortoiseshell glasses gave vision to light blue, laughing eyes. He sported a beard that at first glance looked to be the result of a busy life and a few days growth but upon closer inspection was actually manicured enough that she knew this was part of his look.
And what a look it was.
He was fine, if one liked the Indiana Jones type. Which, honestly, who didn’t? At his root, Professor Jones was a player and all women liked a guy they could chase and reform. Shea certainly did. But she liked guys who were easy to figure out. This one she couldn’t get a read on.
“How did you know her?” she asked. He looked to be a few years older than her sister, which made him too young to be a friend of her momma’s.
“I didn’t. Not really. I knew of her through your sister.”
“Oh, you went to school with Evie?” That would explain why she didn’t know him. By the time Shea got to high school, Evie was in her senior year; this guy was probably a class or two ahead of her.
“No, I know Evie through Lorelei and Cole. It’s a winding trail, I’ll explain on another day. I hope you don’t think I’m being too forward, but you look like you could use a break. I brought Krispy Kreme donuts hoping sugar might help. If that doesn’t work—” he tapped his suit jacket breast pocket, making a soft thunk “—I’ve brought with me a liquid painkiller.”
She raised her brows.
“Sounds like I have a problem, doesn’t it? Does it make it worse or better if I told you I was a writer?”
Shea wasn’t sure how to respond.
“Benjamin Franklin said, ‘In wine there is wisdom. In beer there is freedom. In water there is bacteria.’”
“That might be a nice line. If I drank. If my dad hadn’t been an alcoholic.” Normally, at this point, she’d turn and walk away, shutting out any further attempts at a second conversation or more, but today she stood firm and waited for...something.
“Cripes. I’m sorry. I totally forgot. I didn’t mean to offend you or your sister. Shit, I’m really sorry.” He scrubbed at his beard, his eyes darting to hers.
“Did you say ‘cripes’?”
“Yeah, my mom says it all the time. It’s kinda stuck.”
“My mom said, ‘good grief.’ It’s kinda stuck as well.” She gave him a watery smile.
“I’m Leo. Leo Marshall. You’re Shea, right? Evie talks a lot about you.” He held out his hand. The nails were chewed and small dots of ink stained his fingers.
She smiled and put hers in his. “Nice to meet you. Thanks for coming.” She pointed to the fluffy hound at her feet. “This is Roscoe.”
Roscoe lifted his dark head, sighed, readjusted his front paws, and laid his head back on them.
“He seems very loyal,” Leo said, giving Roscoe’s head a brief scratch before standing up to face her. “Nice to meet you, Shea. Your sister says you’re in from Nashville. What do you do out there? Wait, your sister said something about writing songs. You’re a songwriter, right?”
“Yes—”
“That’s got to be a whole lot better than a wanna-be country star. I bet those are a dime a dozen.” His smile and raised eyebrows spoke of the levity he was attempting.
“I was gonna add that I moved to Nashville to break into the country music business as a performer. Songwriting has been another way to pay the bills.” Until now. Now, songwriting meant something more to her. It was therapy and healing. It was comfort and acceptance. It was the success she’d been chasing.
“You’re kidding me, right?”
She shook her head and drew her fingers over her heart, crossing it.
Leo closed his eyes and groaned. “I should quit while I’m ahead.”
“Who said you’re ahead?” She threw him a bone. “You said you’re a writer? Let me guess, satirical greeting cards? Op Ed pieces?”
“Satirical greetings cards, that’s funny. I’m one of the sports writers for the local paper.”
He had to be kidding. He was wearing a button-down, oxford shirt under his—obviously tailored—suit jacket. He wasn’t wearing tennis shoes and didn’t flex his arms every chance he got. A writer? Yes. A professor? Absolutely. Working in the field of sports? Not a chance.
“Do you play sports?” At the risk of offending his delicate male sensibilities, she posed the question with a modicum of disbelief. She figured she was due a gimme.
“Yeah, tons. Football’s my thing. Your sister and I play on the same charity team.”
“Aw, I see. You play on the girls’ team.” She stifled her snicker.
“All right, you can tease me. But I want one chance at a defense and that’s to say it’s a co-ed team.”
“Sure.” This time her smile did break.
“On that note, I’m going to leave while I am ahead. My objective has been achieved. It was nice meeting you, Shea Barker.” He stuck out his hand and waited.
She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. “What objective?” she asked as she raised her hand to take his.
“My one goal was to see you smile. Even for just a moment.”
Her hand slid into his and he clasped it tightly between both of his, leaned in close and said, “As the great Shakespeare said, ‘Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.’” With the slightest squeeze, he slid his hands from hers and walked away. She glanced at her arms, surprised that she hadn’t scratched once while talking with Leo.
She wondered what it was about herself that drew the attention of oddballs. Could they smell her chaotic childhood on her and assume she’d be more understanding? Tolerant? She’d had one decent conversation, well, as decent as one can have considering she was at her mother’s wake, and it was with a booze-toting, dead-guy-quoting, oddly dressed jock who hadn't known the teenage Shea.
Shea sighed and Roscoe looked up at her.
Though she found herself curious about Professor Jones, football player and journalist, and the dichotomy that he was, she couldn't go there. This was not the time for that. Besides, she no longer trusted her perception of people. For the last ten years, she’d been so heavily surrounded by naysayers and takers that negativity had become her normal, her instrument for decision-making and a broken one at that.
Today was about the future, about getting it right from here on out, and she was more determined than ever. She’d never get over the regret of the lost time with her momma or even Evie. Her only silver lining on this dark and cloudy day was knowing she had at least changed her direction or rather, was grabbing for a new one. She’d finally figured out that the bigger picture was not about making it in Nashville, about being famous. That was not what was going to make her happy. Help her overcome her past. Nope. But a respectable job like song writing for a TV show might. A steady income, investments, even healthcare would be her markers for having arrived. Like Evie, she would show everyone that she was not the sum of her parents.
Earlier, when she’d stood over her momma’s grave, she’d promised her she’d get her act together, that she’d become the person her momma had always hoped her to be and letting herself get distracted by an attractive guy was not the way to achieve that. She would not get in her own way. She was going to use those wings her momma had worked so hard to give her.
