Small Town Girl (39 page)

"Because we miss each other, that's why. And because maybe—just maybe we really are falling in love, so the question is, do we run away from it or face it?"

"Kenny, I called to RSVP an invitation to a graduation party. How did this conversation get so complicated?"

"What I'm trying to get you to understand is that it's complicated not only for you, but for me as well. And you know what? We
are
starting to argue, so what do you say we wish each other good night and I'll put Casey on? We can talk about this another time."

"Fine," Tess retorted with a note of stubbornness.

"Fine," he repeated. Then nothing happened.

"So put Casey on!" Tess ordered.

"Okay," he barked, equally frustrated. "But let's get one thing straight. It was more than a roll in the grass and we both know it!" The phone clunked and she heard him holler, "Hey, Casey, it's Tess!"

Casey came on quickly, exuberant, a big smile in her voice. "Hey, woman! Less than a week and I'll be there!"

"I know. Can't wait."

"I'll be there Sunday afternoon—no, wait! Monday. Memorial Day."

"Your room is waiting. I won't be able to get up there for your party on Saturday though. I'm sorry, hon."

"Aw, shoot, I knew that," Casey said cheerfully, "but I wanted to send you an invitation anyway."

"I should have called earlier, but I was trying to think of a way to work it out."

"It's okay."

"I thought of something I can send you for a graduation gift though, but you'll have to keep it to yourself."

"What's that?"

"How would you like to hear the songs from my new album before anybody else outside of Nashville gets to hear them?"

"Oh, my gosh, Mac, are you serious!! You're sending me
that
?"

"I can't wait to have you hear them, but you have to promise me you won't let anybody else hear the tape. Jack would have a shit fit if he found out I'm letting it go out. Promise?"

"Not even Dad?" Casey sounded disappointed.

"Well… maybe your dad, but nobody else. Not Faith, not Brenda or Amy, or anybody else. Just you and your dad, okay?"

"You got my promise, Mac."

"All right, then. I'll see you next Monday, and you and I will celebrate your graduation when you get down here."

"Darn right. When do we get to go into the studio?"

"On Tuesday. Jack's got it all scheduled."

"Jeez, I can't believe I'm even having this conversation! It's just too awesome to believe."

"Well, believe it. Now let me go. It's late and I'm still at the office and I want to go home."

"Okay… six days, woman!"

"Six days. See you then."

Those six days passed as swiftly as fallen leaves on a river. A blink of the eye and another day was gone. Another blink, another day. Tess Express Mailed a tape of her album-in-progress to Casey. She had Maria stock one of the guest suites with bathroom sundries, and the refrigerator with foods that a teenager would like. She tried not to think of Kenny, and for the most part, succeeded. There were major concerns that kept her mind occupied, the most important of which was the continuing throat problem of Carla Niles.

Nobody had thought much of it months ago when her voice began cracking and turning hoarse. A cold, they'd thought, or some upper-respiratory thing. But when it kept on, she'd begun voice lessons, hoping that proper technique might help. Several weeks into the lessons, when the problems continued, she'd consulted a doctor, who'd told her, "There's nothing wrong with your voice." So she'd gone on using it, which—in the end—turned out to be the worst thing she could have done.

Carla finally saw a throat specialist. His report came in on the Friday afternoon before Memorial Day. He told Carla she had a hypothyroid condition, that her body had quit producing thyroid hormones, affecting her vocal chords. The doctor ordered her to quit using her voice—not even to whisper!—for one month. After that, he said, even with medication it could take up to two years for Carla's voice to return to normal.

The news threw the McPhail camp into a tizzy. With rehearsals already begun for the concert tour, Jack Greaves, Dane Tully, Ross Hardenberg and Tess brainstormed about who they could get as a replacement. The town was full of girl singers playing the small clubs who aspired to get a record contract. A stint as backup singer for Tess McPhail could jump-start any one of their careers. Ross came up with a list, and at the top was a twenty-two-year-old named Liza Lyman whom Tess had heard and liked.

"But I'm not sure her range is right," Tess said.

"We can get her in and give her a try," Ross suggested. "Think about it over the weekend, and we'll talk about it again Tuesday at the session."

It was a hot, bright afternoon when Casey was expected. Maria had the holiday weekend off, so Tess had the house to herself. Given the size of the place, it seemed a shame it had held so few overnight guests, and none who had been as eagerly awaited. Tess found herself happy and anxious as she checked the house one last time. She had chosen the light blue suite for Casey. It had furniture of natural pine. On the bed a puffy coverlet of oversized blue-and-white checks brought the Tennessee sky into the room through lots of windows whose white shutters were folded aside. Tess gave the room a quick perusal: the flowers on the dresser, the blue towels in the bathroom, the shampoo and soap in the shower, the bubble bath on the tub. She turned on the sound system and two lights in the bedroom as well, just to give it that welcoming feel.

The guest wing held three suites, and maybe Tess had been foolish, but she'd also prepared one for Kenny.

He hadn't said a word about driving Casey down; neither had Tess asked. She regretted it now. Why hadn't she? Afraid he'd say no, maybe, and take away her anticipation.

She'd always referred to his suite as the dark blue one, though it was not dark at all. It was done with eggshell walls and shutters and navy blue paisley bedding, a more masculine room with mission-style furniture and terra-cotta accents. She had gone downtown Friday, to a little shop in the District, and bought talcum and soap wrapped in oatmeal brown paper that smelled woodsy—something a man would like. And she'd taken one yellow lily out of the bouquet in Casey's room and put it in a bud vase beside the navy blue hand towels in Kenny's bathroom.

She stood in his bedroom doorway with her hands knotted together, wondering what he would think if she invited him to stay overnight before heading back to Wintergreen.

She realized, with some surprise, that she wanted him to see her house, wanted him to observe firsthand what she'd achieved, what kind of lifestyle her success had afforded her—this cool, neutral place of spacious comfort that she'd never actually wanted much until now. Now she wanted it so that she could show him she was capable of choosing, staffing and decorating a place like this. A home.

She entered his room one last time and turned on the sound system beside the bed, leaving the volume low. At the west windows she adjusted the banks of shutters to let in the afternoon light but keep out the sun.

Bring her, Kenny
, she thought.
Please bring her yourself
.

But at two-thirty, when a red Ford Bronco pulled into her driveway, Tess saw only one person inside. She had been sitting at the piano, playing, where she could see out the front window, and when Casey alone got out of the Bronco, Tess's heart grew leaden. Her chest felt as if it were caving in upon itself.

He had not come. Only Casey, slamming the door and walking toward the house in sunglasses, shorts and a straw cowboy hat, smiling.

Ah, well, Tess was a performer, was she not? She could hide her disappointment for Casey's sake, and make her welcome as exuberant as the girl expected.

She threw open the front door before Casey could ring the bell.

"Hey, honey-child, you made it!"

Casey catapulted into her arms, and when they'd hugged and laughed with pleasure at seeing each other again, Tess asked, "Where'd you get the Bronco?"

"Dad surprised me and bought it for me for graduation! Can you believe it?"

"Very nice."

"He said my old pickup would never make it, and if I was going to be out on my own I needed reliable transportation. Pretty great dad, huh?"

"Yeah, pretty great. Well, come on in and I'll show you the place, then we'll get your stuff unloaded and stashed in your room."

At her first sight of the living room Casey stopped and crooned in an amazed Missouri drawl, "Oh, my Looord in heaven, I've never seen anything so beautiful in my entire life! Mercy, woman, this is where you live?"

"This is where I live."

"And that piano…" Casey moved toward it as if mesmerized, touching its shiny ivory surface as if to ascertain it was real. "And these windows." She looked up. "Would you look at 'em! Why, I betcha you can see into God's living room from the top of that."

She followed Tess between two neoclassical columns into the dining room, whose ceiling created the second-story balcony that overhung the living room, and into the rear kitchen, through the French doors onto the screen porch, from where they looked down at the pool area below. Next they checked out Tess's home office, tucked behind the triple garage, then retraced their steps to the front of the house and went up the curving stairway to the second level. All the while, Casey never stopped babbling, admiring the house, exclaiming over everything. Lordy, could that girl talk. Incessantly! But Tess enjoyed it, and the feeling she got from watching her experience true luxury for the first time in her life.

In the open doorway of her own bedroom suite Casey halted and said, "You mean I get to stay
here
?"

"This is your room. And that's your bath."

"My
own bathroom?"

"That's right… take a look."

Casey entered as if it were a sanctuary, halting in the bathroom doorway, peering around it at the glass-walled shower, the marble tub, the long vanity and giant mirror. "This is bigger than my bedroom back home. My gosh, Mac, you mean I could own a house like this someday if I make it big?"

"Someday, maybe. Why not? A major part of achieving success is believing you can."

Casey gazed around, and said, "I wish Dad could see this. He wouldn't believe it." She roamed back into the bedroom and investigated the panel on the wall beside the bed. "What's this?"

"A sound system."

WSM country radio was tuned in, and the voice of Wynonna came softly through the speaker. "You mean you've got it piped all through the house?"

"Well, I'm a musician." Tess flapped her hands. "Got to have music in the place. The components are in the living room, in the built-in cabinets beside the fireplace."

"What's playing now? Radio?"

"Yes."

"Can you play CDs or tapes or anything?"

"Anything."

"So, how come your new tape's not playing?"

"It can be, in a second."

"Well, put it on!" They clattered back downstairs, and as Casey hustled after Tess, she said, "Hey, I really love your new album. Thank you so much for sending it to me. It's going to be a great seller. Platinum! Double platinum! Dad says so, too, and I never played it for anybody else, just him, like you said." Tess started the tape running and Casey ordered, "Turn it up!" The volume got rowdy and Casey started singing along. Tess sang, too. They sang all the while they left the front door open and went outside to empty the Bronco; while they hauled Casey's stuff upstairs, and hung her clothes in the closet and stashed some cardboard boxes in a corner, and set her suitcases at the foot of the bed. The tape finished and Casey yelled through the house, "Hey, run it again! I love it!"