Page 109 of Sunsets at the Beach House

She shifted position, stretching her legs out as best she could with Toby sprawled out on one side of the bed. For a small dog, he slept big.

The music she was listening to, new bands, new singers, and definitely new sounds, was filling her with even more electricity.

Her agent had been right. There was something interesting going on in country music. A new kind of sound that was bold, and in your face, and unapologetic about the kind of story it was telling.

Dixie was going to fit right in. Jules felt that now in a way she hadn’t before. She could see it and understand it, this movement that was happening.

Her only concern was her age. Most of these singers, many of them women, were young. Twenty- and thirty-somethings. The guys, too, but the women seemed to be breaking out in a way that the men weren’t. Not yet, anyway.

Would she be perceived as too old to do this kind of thing? Would anyone care? She really hoped not.

It was also giving her a few doubts about covering the Johnny Cash song. Maybe that was showing her age in a way she shouldn’t, but there was a good part of her—most of her, really—that didn’t care.

She loved Johnny Cash. Anyone who thought she was old-fashioned or out of touch for using his music, well, they could just move along. You had to know where you came from to understand where you were going.

Roots were roots for a reason. They kept you grounded. Gave you support. And provided a place for you to grow from. Folsom Prison Blues stayed.

She listened to a few more songs, nodding her head along with the beat, absorbing the rhythm and the energy and tucking it away to help inspire her for tomorrow. Recording day. Maybe it would even help inspire the last few songs she still needed.

As the next video played and a young woman started singing, the hair on Jules’s arms rose with the effect of the music. Wow. She wanted to be that good. Although that wasn’t really being fair to herself. She was that good. In a lot of ways, she was technically better, because she had years of experience under her belt.

But she wanted to be that fresh. That raw and honest. That was very different from being good. It meant letting her heart come out through the words and music.

Could she do that? She wasn’t sure. But she was going to try.

Just like she ought to try going to sleep. She was about to take her earbuds out and put her phone aside when a text message popped up.

From Lars, of all people. You up?

Yes.

Can I call?

Give me two minutes. She got out of bed and went out to the screened porch. Somehow, Toby stayed asleep, which was good, because she’d been a little worried he’d think this was an excuse to go out again.

Her screen lit up with an incoming call. She answered, still keeping her voice down, because Claire’s room adjoined the porch and she didn’t want to wake her sister up. “Hey.”

“Hey. Long time no talk.”

She nodded. “Very true. Everything all right?” She had a sinking feeling it wasn’t. She and Lars had been divorced for a while, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t recognize when he had something in his system. He sounded intoxicated. Or possibly stoned. Or maybe even both. She closed her eyes and prayed she was wrong.

“I don’t know, you tell me. I haven’t been able to get Cash on the phone lately.”

She opened her eyes, knowing she’d been on the money. “Everything is very good here. I don’t know why you haven’t been able to reach Cash.” Although Jules had an idea. If Cash knew his father was using again, that could be a big deterrent for wanting to talk to him.

“I know he’s there in Florida with you. I know he’s working on music with you.”

“So then you have spoken to him.”

“No, just a couple of texts. Don’t twist my words, Jules.”

She took a deep breath. She was done with this phone call. There was little point in speaking to Lars when he was like this. And she had a divorce decree that said she didn’t have to. “I really need to go to bed. Why don’t you get some sleep, too? You don’t sound sober, which is disappointing.”

“Don’t tell me what to do. And don’t get all holier than thou on me, either. We’re not married anymore, remember? You don’t get to preach to me anymore.”

She’d never preached to him. Begged him to get sober, yes, but never preached. Her hands were trembling, her body wired with tension as old, familiar trauma resurfaced. She didn’t need this. She’d divorced him to save herself and her children from this exact thing. “Good night, Lars.”

She hung up, then sat on the sofa. She needed to calm down and breathe fresh air before she could go back inside and actually try to sleep.

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