Page 22 of We Redeemed the Rain

If she doesn’t come to Mom’s, are we still having burgers?

The group chat went on and on like that. Ridiculous text conversations were simultaneously a perk and downfall of being the third child in a family with six kids. I acted annoyed at them and frequently wished (out loud) I was an only child, but it was all for show. The Thompson siblings were obsessed with each other.

The other person texting me was Adrienne Bell. We weren’t even two days post the final tour concert and she was already bombarding me with ideas for the next one and texting me her every blessed thought about upcoming things on the schedule. I politely responded until she sent a text that made me roll my eyes so hard I got a headache.

Adrienne

What are you wearing to the songwriter event next week?

Me

Pajamas

Adrienne

Haha. I’m serious. I’m trying to decide if I need to shop.

I didn’t text her back. I’d never disclosed my agent meeting with her. My signing with a label would rock her world. No use in telling her when I didn’t know what I wanted yet.

Besides the texts lighting up my screen, there were social medianotifications. Always freaking social media. I loved my peers and fans—the ones that remained anyway—but was space ever an option? When could I just tap out? I wasn’t ready to discuss the next thing with them. I didn’t even know what the next thingwas.

I chucked my phone into my purse and slipped off the barstool. Boarding started soon. And I needed to get there early to see if they’d let me carry on Glory. Some flights did, some flights didn’t.

Picking my way through the crowd, my nude heels clacked against the floor. Much to my annoyance, my brain mentally plucked chords toAmerican Pie.My strides were like a metronome. I shook my head, trying to dislodge the tune. Even stopped walking for a second to break the rhythm.

I remembered the words Scribbs wrote so long ago:The ranch feels like a separate dimension from the rest of the world.

Boy, didn’t that sound nice?

Rest. Inspiration. Those words had slowly embedded themselves into my heart and mind. Stealing away to a quiet place, maybe one with bad reception, sounded so nice. The softping-ping-bleepof my phone grated on my nerves.

Then my phone rang.

I glanced at the screen and growled in frustration. It was Jerry.

I picked up, slowly weaving my way toward the correct gate.

“Hello?”

“Bea, hey this is Jerry Trace. You got a minute?”

“Yes, well, I’m at the airport so it’s a little loud.”

“This will only take a minute. I know you said you needed to take some time to think through the contract, but I just talked to Brian last night and the label has pending artists right now—several very similar to you. He asked me to put a little healthy pressure on you. We can’t sign all of you on, and you’re our first choice. I’d love to put Brian at ease and tell him you’ve come to a decision.”

“Thanks for letting me know, but I—” My words abruptly stopped. I groped for my next sentence a little too long.

“Bea? Did I lose you?”

“No, no. I’m here.” Frustration tightened in my chest and a red flush trickled over my face. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but Iwon’t be signing anything until I sit down with my attorney and I can’t give my word right now…I really need time to…”

“Bea?”

I spoke quickly. “I need time to rest, Jerry. I just came off a tour. I’m exhausted. I can’t really?—”

A metallic, canned voice blared over the speaker:“San Antonio…delayed…A-12.”

For some reason, the announcement caused my moving body to lose momentum. I puttered to a stop in the middle of the terminal, a group of teens parting to flow around me. My brain jogged to catch up. I blinked as the words finally hit, full impact, on my heart. I let the phone fall away from my ear an inch or two and listened to the announcement as it repeated.

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