Page 3 of Trouble Walked In

“Della?” Lizzie called, then realized her sister couldn’t hear her through the still closed porch door. She pushed it open and tried again. “Della? What are you doing here?”

Della looked up. Her mascara was smudged, her lipstick was rubbed off, and her hair was tousled as if she’d just woken up. “Hey, Lizzie. Hang on a sec.”

Della reached back in the car and pulled out an oversized designer bag and a pair of silver stilettos. The driver hovered awkwardly while she gathered her things. He was probably in his thirties and looked both starstruck and bemused.

Lizzie was used to seeing that expression on people when they were in her superstar sister’s orbit. She wondered who the guy was, then noticed the Uber logo on the window of his car. From the circles under his eyes, he must have been driving for hours.

Della fished around in her bag and emerged with a handful of cash. “Thanks for everything. You’ve been a real sweetheart. I hope she says yes.” She pressed the cash into his hand and planted a kiss on his cheek.

The driver held the money out like it might bite him. “You already paid for the ride, and that wasn’t a small tip you added on. You don’t have to do this.”

“How many hours did it take to get here? You deserve a bonus. Besides,” she smiled, which almost lit up her face, “I want to. Go get that ring, okay?”

The guy looked down at the cash like Christmas had come early. “Thanks.”

She flashed him another grateful smile, then tiptoed carefully over the cobblestones toward Lizzie. She looked up at Lizzie with dull, tired eyes that begged for comfort and understanding. “I need a room.”

Lizzie stared at her. The last time she’d spoken with her little sister two weeks ago, Della had been as excited as a hyperactive puppy about winning the Teen Critics Choice award for Favorite Female Artist. “Aren’t you supposed to be going on tour?”

“Not anymore.” Della climbed the steps on delicate feet and leaned in for a hug.

Lizzie’s arms automatically went around her little sister and squeezed her tight. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Della squeezed her back and murmured. “Everything.”

The joyless tone in Della’s voice made Lizzie’s heart ache. She couldn’t imagine what had happened in the last two weeks to make her sister sound like this. “What happened, Dell Bell? Tell me.”

“I quit,” Della whispered.

Lizzie leaned away from the hug to get a closer look at Della’s face. “You what?”

Della wrinkled up her nose. “What’s that smell? Did you step in dog crap?”

They both looked down. Lizzie’s once white shoes were now a putrid shade of beige. “Dang it! I just bought these shoes.” Lizzie kicked them off behind a planter, then took Della by the arm to usher her inside. “Quit? What do you mean quit?”

"I’m done,” Della said. Her voice took on a defensive edge.

From the left, Carrie’s distinctly upstate-accented voice carried through the open kitchen door. “Lizzie? You call me?”

“This is perfect. It’s exactly what I need.” Della dropped her hold on Lizzie’s arm to spin slowly in place. “You know, the pictures on your website don’t do this place justice. You should get a photographer out here to do a set.”

Everything about her sister, from the mussed-up face to the bare feet and cocktail dress, was off. This wasn’t the girl who was always surrounded by dozens of friends and flitted from parties to concerts to award shows like a hummingbird on crack. This was a quieter, softer, sadder Della. It felt wrong.

“Never mind the pictures, Della. What do you mean you’re done?”

From somewhere up the stairs, Lizzie could hear Mark issuing instructions to “lift it higher” and “to the left—theleft!” He must be on the way down with furniture from the flooded room.

Della dropped her bag on the bench just inside the front door. “I’m here to stay. I’m not going back.”

Lizzie watched her, stunned. Della’s next tour was supposed to kick off in November, but there was a lot of prep work to do before then, including rounds of talk show interviews and radio shows, fan events, teasers and more all to build excitement and buzz for the big launch.

She thought about all the work that went into planning a tour. She remembered how many sleepless nights she had spent plotting out The Bellamy Sisters’ first year. The phone calls. The arguments with venues. The sheer number of people who had to be involved in setting up a big stage. Hundreds of people were probably waiting for Della to show up for rehearsals right now, and here she was in upstate New York.

“You can’t just quit.”

“I just did.” Della’s voice took on a hard edge.

“Do you have any idea how much work, how much money, has gone into setting up this tour? Why are you doing this?”

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