Page 17 of We Redeemed the Rain

I covered my face with my free hand and spoke through my fingers. “Five hundred dollars for two hours.”

“Yikes.”

“I booked it months ago. I thought I’d be ready by now. And now that’s money down the drain if I don’t show up and record.”

I swiped beneath my eyes, not caring that my mascara was probably running. Honestly, once I washed the last round of tour make-up from my face, I was never wearing any ever again. Looking put together constantly was almost as exhausting as singing a concert every night. How I longed for a threadbare t-shirt, baggy sweats, and privacy.

I pleaded, “Tell me what to do.”

“You want my advice?”

“Desperately.”

“Take a break. A nice, long break.” He gave me a tender smile. “People can only run on empty for so long. It’s no wonder you’restarting to hate music and are thinking about quitting. You go nonstop.”

“Yougo nonstop, too.” I pointed out.

“That’s different, sweetheart. I have a family to care for.”

Cal Thompson was the hardest working, kindest man. I’d pay another five hundred dollars to sit on the porch with him while he enjoyed a cigar. We used to have the best conversations late at night. Ever since I moved into an apartment with my younger sister four years ago, I’d missed those quiet moments with him.

He continued, “And I work for someone else. You work for you. And that comes with a whole other set of pressures. All I got to do is get behind a steering wheel.”

His encouragement lifted my spirits a little. I asked, “Where are you?”

“Arkansas.”

I scrunched my nose. “What’s Arkansas like?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care. Only thing I focus on is staying between the lines.” He moved the camera around the living quarters of his semi. “This is about all I care to see in Arkansas. How’s Nashville?”

I smiled. “I don’t know, and I don’t care.”

He nodded in understanding. “The travel’s hard, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

The momentum of our conversation lagged. After a moment, Dad spoke again. “Think about the rest thing, Bea. I’m serious. Don’t make any decisions about your career immediately.” Using my words, he added, “Don’t berash. Making long term decisions when you’re worn out is a bad idea.”

“I hear you, but Jerry wants an answer within the week and Adrienne and I have a couple events, some signings, a brainstorm session, and a whole bunch of other stuff.”

“Cancel all of it. Tell Jerry he can wait.”

“But—”

“Jerry can’t make money without artists. That’s why they want to rush you. If you ask for time, they’ll give it to you. As for all the events,you need to ask what you’ll honestly lose if you prioritize yourself instead of the music this time.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I guess you have a point.”

“Think long game, Bee Gees. If you settle for the rat race and running yourself into the ground…that’s sprinting. This is a marathon. Take your time. Slow down.” I’d come to love his spiels, even if they were a kick in the butt. “I know you’re eager to come home, but there’s nothing wrong with staying away for a few extra days. You can sleep, eat take-out, play Glory if you want, watch TV, take some walks, clear your head.” He chuckled. “As excited as everyone is to see you, they’ll smother you as soon as your plane lands.”

“True.” Taking a few days to recoup wasn’t a bad idea, actually. “Maybe I could go up to the cabin?” Our Aunt Judith’s cabin in the Colorado mountains was so quiet and restful.

“That’s not a bad idea, but I just talked to Judith last week and her family is up there until school starts. So, the cabin might not be ideal if you want to be alone.”

“Oh, okay.”

Again, our conversation lagged. We were both tired. He said, “Keep your chin up. Good sleep will probably make things look a lot better.”

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