In the Lyrics Page 22

  Dusty and my mom both agreed I should leave Smashtown in hopes that Robert had my best interests in mind. So I made the best choice I knew how to at the time. Will and I left Smashtown two weeks before they closed the doors. Looking back, we know we made the right decision. I mean, who wouldn’t want to be on a stage in Paris playing in October? It’s absolutely beautiful here.

  Things weren’t easy at first and we had to make a lot of decisions. It was sort of like we were starting from the bottom. What really helped us was the fact that Will already had a huge following from being with Broken Roads. Their fans became our fans. I think that people just assume that once a big label signs you, your rise to stardom is effortless. That couldn’t be farther from the truth. Looking back several months, I was a nobody opening up for somebody. Nothing comes easy in the entertainment business and I’ve had to work my way to the top, with blood, sweat, and tears. But I’m here now, and I have my new label, Robert, and Will to thank for making my dreams come true.

  “Are you done in there?” Will pounds on the bathroom door.

  Huffing, my hairdresser rolls her eyes. “A few more minutes!”

  Laughing, I pick my phone up and scroll through the contacts. Hovering over Colby’s name, my heart skips a beat. I haven’t done that in so long. I was doing so well trying to forget him and what we once had and now I’m randomly stalking his contact in my phone. It must be pre-show jitters.

  Robert’s been great to work with and things have really taken off. Today is the first day of our overseas tour. It’s only a mini tour; I think we have a handful of shows lined up, but still it’s in Paris, of all places. It’s been a journey getting here. Basically, Robert had to start from scratch with his new label. Until now, we’ve mostly been in Will’s recording studio laying down our own tracks. Robert said that people eat up the glammed up country star, so in return for complete control over my music, Robert gained complete control of my image.

  It didn’t take long for Will and I to lay down the tracks for our first CD. After all, since I had the freedom to write my own music, I used it to help heal. Instead of harboring my feelings, I wrote them down, and they turned into lyrics. Before I knew it, Colby and my pain from losing him became my reason to sing.

  I remember the day we heard our first song on the radio. Will wasn’t nearly as thrilled as I was. Having already been in a band and having a number one hit before, he was used to it. I, on the other hand, was like a girl who just won tickets to her favorite concert. I was jumping up and down and screaming like a juvenile. It was truly a bittersweet moment knowing a song about my love for Colby was what got me on the radio, and things only escalated from there. The song hit the top and was played on every country station in the nation. And now here we are, getting ready to sing during our very own tour.

  My heart aches as I sit getting my hair and make-up done, knowing how my dad’s doing, how his condition has been diminishing at an alarming rate. It makes me feel guilty about being here, living my dream. My mom called two weeks ago and said that they had to hire a Hospice nurse. The doctors say he’s lucky to still be alive, and Mom says he’s tenacious as all get out. I know I need to get home and visit – it’s been a while – but we just started this tour. My very first with me as the headlining gig. If he can just hold on, the holidays are right around the corner. Robert said we will have some time off to go home and visit with our families before our schedules get chaotic and we’re on the road again.

  “You look like a Southern Belle,” Jewel, my hair dresser/make-up artist/only female friend, says with a grin. She knows how much I hate being this picture-perfect country star. It’s all a front – one she saw through the moment Robert introduced us. Jewel’s head is shaved, and her arms are covered in tattoos. I’m only envious of her because she can be herself one hundred percent of the time. Meanwhile I’ve morphed into whatever Robert and the label want me to be. That’s what sells CDs. That’s what puts money in the bank – money that covers my dad’s full-time nurse and doctor bills.

  “Bonjour!” Will says to the crowd as he climbs onto a wooden stool.

  We’re playing in a smaller venue located in the heart of Paris tonight. It’s a little more intimate than our usual crowd, but I like it. It reminds me of home.

  Grabbing my pink crystal microphone, I plaster on a smile as I shout, “Hi, y’all. How you doin’ tonight?”

  After our introductions we start to play. I’m lost in the music and the places it brings me to. It’s like my mind turns off. Long gone are thoughts of my dad’s illness, Colby, and home. All that fills my mind is the music.

  “Just like a star, you captured my gaze

  Just like a bottle, you left me in a daze

  Like the melody of my favorite song, you amazed me,” I belt out, as Will finds his spot and chimes in. We sway to the beat of his guitar. The crowd grows silent, and I know they’ve been moved by the song.

  AFTER OUR SHOW, we travel back to the United States and sing in Las Vegas, Colorado, Maine, New York, and lastly in Florida. I’d never been to a place where women dress in just their bikinis to stroll the boardwalk, but I hadn’t barely been out of Tennessee either.

  Our days are filled with radio shows, pod casts, and appearances at award shows. It’s all incredible, and although I had Will, our band, and Robert by my side, it was also really lonely. In the blink of an eye, my world changed. I’m not complaining because I love singing for a living, but I miss home a lot too. I miss working at the center, and seeing Joshua all the time. I just miss home.

  Trying to make the best out of the situation, I smile – every day, every minute. I keep that damn smile plastered on my face, hiding my true feelings, when all I want to do is pick up the phone and call Colby. I’d grovel at his feet if it meant he’d forgive me. But I refrain. I don’t know if it’s my pride, or my own way of protecting him from this life. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.

  It’s a hollow life I’ve been living, and I do my best to reel myself in and remind myself that I chose it. I could have turned down Smashtown, but I didn’t. It’s just one of those things in life I’m going to have to accept. I did this to myself. I pushed Colby away and there’s nothing I can do to change it.

  Raising my hand, I find the inked skin behind my ear and trace its imaginary lines. Not that I can even see the outline without holding a mirror up, but it’s the fact that it’s there. We loved one another so much to permanently mark ourselves. We loved one another…and I still do. There are two things I have to feel guilty about in life, and both have to do with my Southern boy.

  JUMPING UP IN my bed, my clothes are wet with sweat and sticking to my body. Glancing at the clock, it’s only two a.m. My palms are sweaty as I pull them from underneath my covers and rub my eyes. Lately I’ve been having really bad dreams. It’s been the same one recurring almost nightly. At first I didn’t see any connection, but then it kept happening, over and over. Brushing it off as me missing home, I didn’t read into it much, but something happened in this one that hadn’t happened in the rest.

  I’m standing on our county’s border line. The welcome sign only inches away, my feet move forward, trying to carry me home, but I never make it. A line of flames form in front of me, stopping me from entering town, but this time is different. I’m not the only one there. My dad is standing on the other side of the flames, reaching out to me. The fire is too big and too hot, I can’t cross it. I can’t get to him. His moans and screams of helplessness wake me up, startling me and shaking me to my core.

  Squinting into the darkness, I try to grab my phone from my nightstand. The sound of it ringing startles me as I grasp it and hit the small round button on the side to silence the noise. I know Will loves his beauty sleep, and our condo walls are so thin, the phone’s bound to wake him. God knows he’d be a crabby-patty tomorrow for our photoshoot if he doesn’t get a full eight hours.

  The time change leaves me curious as I see my mother’s picture and name appear on my cell pho
ne. She knows how early it is here, so why would she be calling? Sliding the screen over, her voice shakes as she speaks, “Baby, you there? I’m so sorry to wake you. You know how much I love you, right?” My throat feels dry and my skin burns.

  Hoarsely I whisper into the phone, “Mom, what’s going on? Is everything okay?”

  It’s not like her to call me in the middle of the night.

  “No, honey, it’s not. Your daddy…” she chokes on her words. “Your daddy is gone, baby. The coroner just arrived. He’s dead.” Sobs overwhelm her and grief creeps its way around me, surrounding me with a black blanket of despair.

  My childhood packed with good memories races before my eyes as I climb out of bed, the phone held tightly against my wet cheeks. Sliding on a pair of pajama pants, I go to my walk-in closet and hit the light switch.

  “Calm down, Mom. It’s going to be okay,” I squeak as I attempt to calm her down. It doesn’t work. Why would it? Her husband just died. “Listen to me, you need to pull yourself together just long enough for me to get home, okay? I’ll call Dusty. He’ll come sit with you until I get there.”

  She sniffles, “What on earth would you call Dusty for, especially at a time like this?”

  “Why wouldn’t I call Dusty? He’s my best friend. You and I both know he wouldn’t mind coming to sit with you.”

  Sighing into the phone she pauses. As she does, I rip sweaters and jeans off of their hangers and start stuffing them into my suitcase.

  “Hensley, I know you’ve been busy, honey, but Dusty’s gone.”

  My hands stop pulling items from my drawers and my heart sinks. She just told me my father died, and now my best friend.

  “What?” I wail.

  “No, no, no, honey. He isn’t gone, gone, but he’s not here. As in he doesn’t live in town. How long has it been since y’all talked?”

  “A while,” I whisper, ashamed of myself.

  “He’s in New York, modeling.”

  Stop the clock, is this a joke?

  I’m ashamed to admit that Dusty and I have sort of lost contact. I know it’s my fault, just like pushing Colby away was, but he’s modeling? He was my best friend, my confidante for years, and I don’t even know what he’s doing with his life. It’s a tough pill to swallow, but I know now isn’t the time to reminisce on my failures as a friend.

  “Mom, I don’t have time to talk about Dusty’s whereabouts. I’m coming home. Just stay calm and I’ll be there. I love you.” I hang up before she has a chance to say it back.

  Sadness of not only losing my father, but losing my best friend, overwhelms me. How awful of a person am I? I’ve cut all connections I had to everyone I loved and that loved me. I’m still the selfish girl that pushed Colby away. Sadly, I thought it was better that way, but now look – I didn’t even know my only friend moved to another state to model. I didn’t know he was even interested in modeling in the first place. My father’s gone, and the last time I saw him was…oh my God, I don’t even remember. I think it was a few months ago, on a video chat. Tears swell in my eyelids as I recall him telling me how proud he was of me and that he loved me. That’s the last memory I have of him. I know I have to be strong for my mom. I’ll have time to mourn later, but right now I need to get home and be there for her. I need to be strong, I repeat in my mind several times.

  Thoughts of home make me think of Colby. Just the thought of seeing him makes my chest tighten. I hope he isn’t even there. If Dusty left, maybe Colby did too. Going back to town isn’t going to be easy. Maybe no one will notice I’m there. I’m praying I can slide in, take care of Mom and lay Dad to rest, and then slide out without anyone realizing I was even there. I grab my cell phone and type a message to Robert.

  My dad died. I’m going back to Tennessee. Be back soon.

  Rolling my suitcase into the living room of our condo, I go into the kitchen and write a message on our refrigerator board for Will. He’s like the overprotective brother I never had. Thoughts of Dusty swarm around my mind like a dozen crows just waiting to pick apart their meal. He might as well be dead to me too; at least that’s how I’ve been acting for the last year. Shaking my head, I throw my hair into a messy bun on top of my head, remove my pajama bottoms, and slide on a pair of jeans and a hoodie and walk out the door.

  Robert can deal with canceling the photoshoot. I need to be with my family, for once.

  “HI, YES, I’D like to have a town car ready for me at the baggage claim in about fifteen minutes, please. We just landed. Hensley Bradley. Yes, sir, just one, thank you.” Hanging up my phone, I slide it into my back pocket and patiently wait for the flight attendant to open the doors and allow the first class flyers out, one of the benefits of being up front.

  My ass vibrates as incoming messages and voicemails buzz in my back pocket. Another benefit of flying is being able to turn off your phone without feeling guilty about it.

  Several men in business suits stand up and grab their carry-ons from the overhead compartments. I grab my purse and follow their lead out the door. Lowering my baseball cap, I look down as I walk and try to be as unnoticeable as possible. Lord knows Robert will kill me once he finds out I flew alone.

  Making my way to baggage claim, I get my suitcase and wheel it outside. Looking around I notice a small man towards the back of the line holding up a sign.

  “Hello, ma’am. Where are you headed today?”

  Climbing into the back seat, I tell him my family’s address and lean my head against the headrest.

  A short trip later, the driver is nudging my arm. “Miss Bradley, we’re here. I think you must have fallen asleep. Please be careful when you get out; winter came a little bit early this year and the ground is icy.”

  “Oh, baby!” my mother’s voice calls out to me as she runs towards me in nothing but her flannel robe and house shoes.

  Wrapping her arms around me, she sobs into my neck. It’s so cold out. I didn’t really think about that when I was packing. In California, November feels like spring, so I know for certain I didn’t come prepared. That’s all right; at least I know I won’t be staying long, especially since I didn’t bring the right kind of attire.

  I pay the driver and send him on his way. “Thank you for helping me this morning, sir. Have a great holiday.”

  He nods as my mom picks up my suitcase and guides me inside. The house is warm and smells of apple pie when I walk in. If there is anything my mom loves more than my father, it’s baking. When they we’re going through their rough patch, she said she used to take baking classes. It was a way for her to focus her energy on something good instead of all the negative she was dealing with. Since then, whenever she bakes, I know something heavy is weighing on her mind. I had no doubt she would have the cabinet tops covered in fresh cakes, pastries, and pies by the time I got here today.

  “Go upstairs and get unpacked. There are some clean towels in your bathroom if you’d like to freshen up, and then come down and eat with me. We have about two hours before we have to be at the funeral home to pick out the coffin…” she inhales a deep breath, “And whatnot.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Walking into my room, I feel like I’ve been gone forever, but everything looks the same and there isn’t a speck of dust anywhere. My posters of cowboys still hang on the walls where I left them, and even my bottle of sugarplum lotion sits on my nightstand. I open the bottle and apply a small amount to my palm. The scent jars my senses and brings me back to a simpler time in my life. A time where I’m not rushing around, on TV, singing in front of millions of people. A time when things were easy and I was just Hensley Bradley the small town girl, not the Hensley Bradley the world knows. Lying back on my bed, I close my eyes and try to remember the old me – the girl who longed to escape from her mundane life, the girl who had the world in the palms of her hands, a best friend, and an amazing boyfriend. The girl I was once wanted more, and the woman I am now, would do anything to have less, to have some stability and normalcy in her everyd
ay life. Hell, who am I kidding? I don’t even know the definition of normal anymore.

  “Hensley Elaine, wake up! We’ve got to get going or we’re going to be late.”

  Opening my eyes, I see my mom hovering over me in bed. She’s wearing her winter jacket and is bundled up in gloves and a scarf.

  I must have fallen asleep.

  “I’m sorry.” I yawn again. “What time is it?”

  Huffing, she raises the sleeve of her coat up and looks at her watch. “It’s one fifty-two, and we’ve got to be in town at two to meet with Mr. York.”

  “I really need to shower. I woke up and jumped on the plane without even washing my face. If you don’t want to be late, go ahead, and go. I’ll shower really fast and then meet you in town.” Stretching in bed, I yawn again. Traveling is awful.

  After she leaves, I shower in my old bathroom. It’s fully stocked with shampoo and soap. The same kind I used to use when I was a kid.

  Getting dressed, I blow dry my hair and apply a small amount of make-up. It’s nothing compared to the dolled up state I’m in almost every day, and oddly it feels nice. I feel like myself, not the imitation of myself that Robert’s painted me up to be.

  Mom left a note on the table telling me to drive her car into town, since she took dad’s pick-up truck.

  We still haven’t had a chance to talk about what happened, but I know the cause of it without her telling me. He’s been fighting a losing battle for some time now; his body just wasn’t strong enough to fight death away this time.