Page 99 of Under the Ink

Until she’d been on tour with the band, she’d never realized just how important mountains had been to her. After spending her entire life in the Rockies, being on the Great Plains or other areas like the coast of Florida where there were no breaks in the horizon felt a little disconcerting.

Like she was out in the open. Exposed.

The mountains nestled her, hugged her, kept her safe.

Of course, that was just her head talking. If she needed to, she could get used to something different. But why should she? There were plenty of places she could call home that had what she needed.

Her phone vibrated in her back pocket again. Maybe it was Ginny, but as the wedding got closer, Ginny’s texts came less frequently—and Naomi understood she had a lot on her plate.

But it was a reminder that she was losing her friend. The woman’s sporadic texting likely wouldn’t change later just because the wedding was over, because there would be someone else demanding her time.

Even though Naomi understood…it was hard not to take it personally.

When she pulled the phone out of her pocket, she hoped against hope…but she was disappointed to discover it was a message from her mother.

We haven’t heard from you in a while. Please give us a call to let us know you’re okay.

She considered ignoring it…but old habits were hard to break. The old command tohonorher father and mother was anchored deep in her heart. She’d been walking past an expanse that wasn’t quite a park but not exactly an open space. Still, if her mother became exhausting, she could sit there and soak in the sun’s rays.

Might as well get it over with…Before she’d fully thought it, her finger pressed the phone icon.

Her whole body was tense but, by the third ring, she thought maybe her mother was too busy right now. Leaving a voicemail would be preferable to having to put on a happy face—rather, voice—for her parents. Right now, she didn’t know that she could pull it off.

Unfortunately, her motherdidfinally answer. “Naomi, thank God.”

“Hi, mom. Is something going on?”

“No. I just wanted to hear your voice. I’ve been worried about you.”

“I’m fine.” Well…fine enough. No way was she going to tell her mother how her damn brain was spiraling out of control. It wasn’t like she could do anything about it anyway.

Orwoulddo anything.

“Good. That’s good to hear. By the way, before I forget, your father asked me to send his love.”

Naomi thought about it for a second, because being on the road had been disorienting to a degree. All the days melted into the next, just like the highways and cities. Saturdays felt just like Mondays and Wednesdays. The road had its own rhythm, to be sure—but it wasn’t like how she’d grown up with her family: school and work Monday through Friday, Saturday reserved for family or fun things, and Sunday a day of worship.

While she wasn’t sure if she preferred the pattern of touring, she knew she didn’t want to go back to the way it had been during her childhood.

But her mother and father still followed that pattern—for the most part. She knew her mom worked part-time nowadays because she did a lot of volunteer work for the church, but she was free now for some reason. “Please send my love back to dad.”

“I will. So tell me all about your job. I imagine you’ve gotten pretty good at it by now.”

“There’s not a whole lot to tell,” she said. And whatcouldshe say? Although her parents hadn’t been opposed to her learning to play the drums and joining the band in middle school—when she was finally allowed to attend school outside of home—they hadn’t embraced it, either. Naomi had always thought it was because it was noisy, so she’d practiced as quietly as she could, practicing moves by laying out paper plates on the floor, sitting cross-legged, and tapping the sticks on them. If she hadn’t loved it so much, she would have given it up.

And after the incident with Jacob, she’d thought banging the skins would help her let it out—but the opposite happened.

She hadn’t wanted to touch the drums after that.

So she didn’t expect her mother to understand any of what happened on tour. Still, she’d try to tell hersomething. “We travel from one place to another, set up the band’s equipment for the concert, and then break it down and load it up again before traveling to another place.”

“Who’s the band again?”

She’d been dreading that particular question. If her mother had heard of them—which was possible—she’d probably consider itdevil’s music. “Shock Treatment.” But Naomi had gotten good at deflecting her mother’s attention—which meant she should keep talking. “Most of the band members are actually from Winchester.”

“Really? Would I know any of them?”

It was doubtful, because Naomi had never seen any of them at church. “I don’t know. Johnny Church, Mickey Morton, Sage Jackson.” If Naomi recalled correctly, Kiefer was from somewhere in California—so no sense mentioning him.

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