Page 6 of Sangria

“You shouldn’t, Zara. But, I have to ask, what about Reverend Sister?” He angles his body so he can see my face. I try to smile, but my lips barely move. “It’s your band, sis. I do whatever you say, but Van is a huge part of it, and he’d be hard to replace.”

“We could hold auditions. See who is available that isn’t touring right now and bring in a ringer.”

Darian nods. “We could.”

He doesn’t have to tell me what he’s thinking. Van is likely irreplaceable, not that it couldn’t happen, but it would take time, and that is something we don’t have right now.

“Once this tour is over, he’s gone,” I tell Darian. “We’ll put the next album on hold, or we can start putting feelers out now for a replacement. I can’t work with him, and I have a feeling the divorce is going to be messy.”

“Messy and headline-making,” he adds. I have no doubt that my lovely publicist will make sure this is front-page news. She’s all about anything that will drum up sales and make Reverend Sister a household name.

levi

Four

As soon asBarbara and I arrive in Los Angeles, everyone is just waking up to start the day. I tried to sleep on the plane, but each time I closed my eyes I imagined what Iris’s body looked like and my stomach dry heaved. There was nothing left after I expelled the drink I had the second I sat down. I couldn’t, for the life of me, wrap my head around the idea that my high school sweetheart was no longer in this realm. Even at our worst I never wished her any harm. For the longest time, she was my best friend until my life went in a direction that she felt was leaving her behind. Still, she was my wife and the mother of my children, and this is the last thing I ever wanted.

There’s an SUV waiting for us as soon as we step onto the tarmac. It’s one of those all black types that you see on television being driven by an FBI agent or someone equally badass. Barbara is on her phone and giving the driver directions while I follow behind in a daze. If it weren’t for her, I’d still be in my house trying to figure out what to do. Everything flies by in a blur as the driver speeds through traffic with his hazards on, hurryingly getting me to the morgue so I can identify the body.

As I look out the window at the concrete jungle, I try to find a little of what Iris loved so much about this place. The streets lack trees. There’s a haze hovering over the city. Everything is tar, concrete, and brick. Nothing has life. It’s nothing like Nashville where we grew up or the ranch that we bought together. Here, you can reach out and touch your neighbor, giving you little to no privacy.

The house Iris lives in. . . or I guess lived in, is one that I own. I bought it mostly for the girls, so they had a place to live knowing full well that Iris was living beyond her means when she first moved here and I didn’t know how much of her alimony she had left. She wanted the payout in one lump sum instead of having me make monthly payments. I balked but relented because I always gave her what she wanted. I always wondered what she would do if she ran out of money. Would she ask me for more or take from the girls’ child support? Both questions I’ll never have answers to. Not that I truly need to know. The girls never complained about their mother, and that was good enough for me.

There’s an officer waiting for me when I get out of the vehicle that is meant to hide my identity. He shakes my hand and introduces himself as Detective Pete O’Brien with the Los Angeles Police Department, the same man who called to tell me that my ex-wife was dead. I must not say anything because Barbara is instantly talking to him as we walk into the medical examiner’s office. The idea of being in a room with other bodies doesn’t sit well with me, and I have to find the nearest trash can to dry heave into.

“You have to be strong, Levi,” Barb is saying as she rubs my back.

I nod but don’t mean it. No one prepares you for this, but it has to be me. Stormy is far too young to have to do something like this. It’d scar her for life, and as her father, I will do whatever I can to protect her.

Barbara hands me a bottle of water from her bag. I take a swig and swish it around in my mouth before spitting into the garbage can. I wish the water was vodka, but I suppose showing up drunk or with booze on my breath probably wouldn’t sit right.

“Are there other bodies in the room?” I ask as we make our way down the hall.

“You won’t actually go into a room with her, but see from behind a window.”

“So I can’t touch her?”

Barbara looks shocked at my question. She should be because I am. I can’t for the life of me wonder why I asked that question. I don’t want to touch her dead body. Or do I? Do I need to hold her hand and ask her what she was doing when she got into the accident? And ask her who was taking care of our girls? Do I want to yell at her and ask what was so important about this city that she had to leave me for it?

The medical examiner must sense my need for closure because he motions for me to enter the room. Consciously I pull the brim of my hat down a bit farther even though I’m sure he knows who I am. It’s out of habit when I want privacy.

He joins me on the other side of the steel table. Under the white sheet is the body of the woman who was once the love of my life. Deep down, I had hoped she’d come back, that we’d be a family again, but also knew it would never happen. My life wasn’t one she wanted to live. Not that I could fault her. From the day we met, everything was about my music and me. She was there when I signed my first deal. Stayed up late nursing Stormy to help me write the words that I sing.

The examiner grips the end of the white sheet and looks at me as if I’m supposed to give him some sign that I’m ready. I can honestly say that I will never be ready to see Iris as anything other than being alive and a total pain in my ass.

The sheet is pulled back slowly as if this process needs to be a grand reveal when it should be like ripping off a Band-Aid. It should be in one swift motion, so the agony of knowing you’ve lost someone isn’t prolonged.

But once I can see her face, tears cloud my vision, and my hand is covering my mouth, not because I’m about to throw up again but because my heart is ripping in two.

“Can you positively identify this woman as Iris Austin?” the medical examiner asks.

I nod and turn out of the room, falling right into Barb’s arms as she meets me in the doorway. I cry into her shoulder, much like I did when Iris asked for a divorce, and she rubs my back, telling me that everything will be okay. I should believe her, but I don’t. Nothing will ever be okay since the mother of my children is gone from our lives forever.

The detective leads us into a room where he sits down with a folder in front of him. Barb and I sit across from him, and while I stare at the gray table, Barbara grips my hand.

“Mr. Austin, our preliminary report indicates that Ms. Austin was a passenger in the car. The driver died on impact, and Ms. Austin expired on her way to the hospital. The car was traveling at a high rate of speed with drugs and alcohol being involved with both occupants.”

“Whose car?” I ask.

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