To Cherish and To Hold (Love of a Rockstar #1.5) (5 page)

T
he groupies glanced over with mild disdain as my car pulled into the driveway. They were wrapped in MY blankets sipping tea out of MY mugs. Irritation bubbled dangerously close to the surface but I quickly shoved it back down. To them, I was the reason their idol had committed career suicide. I would hate me too. Luke met me halfway up the front steps, looking devilishly handsome in a periwinkle blue sweater. Three-day-old stubble dotted his cheeks. His mouth brushed mine, my favorite kind of hello. Although we had an audience, a desire to deepen the embrace overcame politeness. Before I could, he broke away.

“What happened to you?” Luke asked, concern tingeing his tone. “You were gone for hours.”

“Hours? You must really love me. It’s been an hour, tops.”

The concern morphed into uneasiness. “It’s been two hours, Marlene and….” He looked toward the car. “There aren’t any groceries in your car.”

Five and half years ago, Luke had found out he would be a father with a pepperoni pizza. The pepperonis spelled “Congrats Papa” on top of the pie. I wanted to continue that tradition but with a fresh unique spin.

Patting his cheek affectionately, my lips split into a smile. “You’re hot when you play detective. Maybe we can bring that into the bedroom.”

“Marlene….”

“What?”

His eyebrows rose, waiting.

If you can’t distract them with the promise of sex, lie. “The grocery store didn’t sell the apples I wanted. They’re a special heirloom variety that doesn’t brown when exposed to air. So I went to five different places—nope, nobody sells them!” My arm hooked through his as we walked up the steps. “Isn’t that crazy?”

“Crazy,” he murmured.

“Right? I’ll have to do some research online.”

My bullshit rarely passed Luke’s notice but he also knew when to give it a free pass. Today was one of those times. I hung my jacket on the coat rack and went into the kitchen. Baking ingredients littered the counters. I ignored the mess and set my sights on Nil. She sat at the dining room table with a blue crayon clutched in her fist. Scribbles decorated a blank piece of paper.

I squatted next to her. “What are you drawing?”

“A horse.”

“A horse, huh? I thought you hated horses.”

“No. I hate ponies. You can’t trust anything that small.”

The phrases she caught from her father were proof at how open her ears and eyes were. Nil was like a sponge, absorbing the sights, sounds, and smells around her. I couldn’t wait to witness how she interacted with her baby brother or sister. Nil exchanged her blue crayon for a red one and her mouth scrunched to the side in concentration. I kissed the top of her head and began to work on the pies. Apple, pecan, buttermilk, and my grandmother’s famous double chocolate chiffon were on the agenda. First, the pie dough needed a few tweaks. Cutting butter into the all-purpose flour, Nil yanked a stepstool up to the counter and asked to help.

“Are you done coloring?” I asked.

“I got bored.” She peeked into the mixing bowl. “Are you making cookies?”

“Pie crust. Do you want to learn?”

A light clicked on in Nil’s eyes as she nodded her head. We’d baked together on occasion but her ADD tendencies usually meant she would wander off halfway through the recipe. Lately though, I noticed her focus stayed centered if she was given hands-on tasks.

I passed her the buttermilk then pointed to the measuring cups. “One cup, please.”

Nil gently poured the liquid into the glass container. “Like that?”

“Perfect.”

We added the liquid to the dry ingredients together. Since overworked dough was the serial killer of pies, I preferred to use my hands. Standing behind Nil, we plunged our arms into the mixture. The wet flour felt cool against our palms. I guided Nil as it shaped into a shaggy ball studded with butter. We plopped the dough onto a sheet of plastic wrap and stuck it in the refrigerator. Covered in sticky dough up to her elbows, I escorted Nil into the bathroom.

Once the water got to a decent temperature, she jumped into the bathtub. She sung in a voice as beautiful as her father’s while she played with her Barbie dolls. I subconsciously laid my hand on my lower stomach, my eyelids fluttered closed. Peacefulness washed over me. This was the life I’d dreamed about on those long winter nights, alone, heart aching. A beautiful vivacious daughter, another child on the way, a caring husband, and a house crammed to the gills with laughter and love. How did I get so lucky? My inner cynic was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe twenty-six was my golden year.

“Marlene?”

I titled my head to the right where Luke stood in the doorway. “Yes?”

“Can we talk for a second?”

At the age of five, Nil could handle herself alone in the bathtub. However, after reading a plethora of horrifying articles on the Internet, I would rather not. Luke had once accused me of helicopter parenting. There are worse things in the world to be accused of, though.

“Can we talk in here instead?”

“I guess.”

He reluctantly crammed himself into the tight space. His eyes were pinched, the blue dulled. Whatever, he needed to discuss wasn’t good. Nil, oblivious to the tension, bent her babies into comprising positions. Luke shifted from foot to foot.

“Rip the Band-Aid off, already,” I said.

“Fine, but promise you won’t freak out.”

Uneasiness settled into my bones. Whatever that phrase got mentioned, you knew you were in for a world of trouble. I beckoned him to spill the beans.

“Let me hear you say it first.” My fingers crossed behind my back as I promised to remain cool and collected, two attributes that rarely pertained to me.

Luke sighed heavily. “My manager called. He thinks I should do a farewell tour.”

“A farewell tour?”

“Yes.”

“And you said no, right?”

His gaze moved to the shelf above my head, a telltale sign that he did not, in fact, say no.

I bit the inside of my cheek to prevent an onslaught of curse words to spill forth. A farewell tour was the unwanted cherry on top of the sundae.

“When?” I asked with a steely tone. “And how long?”

“Two months from today. It would be a United States tour, so only six weeks.” Luke kneeled at my feet, his eyes pleading. “I owe everybody this, Marlene. My fans, my band mates. You can’t just walk out of a band—not when it’s as famous as Five Guys.”

“That’s what you said you wanted. I didn’t hold a gun to your head and make you leave.”

“I know that, but I also felt as if there wasn’t a choice. You would have run away to Paris if I hadn’t shown you how serious I was about becoming a family again. Between a choice of the band or you, you win, no argument. I love you.”

“If that was the case, you would have told your manager to bugger off.”

Luke gathered my hands in his as looked at me sadly. “I can’t do that. As much as I try to deny missing the rush of being on stage, it’s impossible. For half of my adult life, I was a musician. It would be like if somebody took away your stand mixer. It’s part of you, just like the bass is an extension of myself.”

I understood—I did. However, Luke would miss a month of my pregnancy, which in the grand scheme of things didn’t seem like a lot, but it was. Besides, this time around was supposed to be different. I selfishly wanted him at home, savoring the last moments of just the three of us.

“Can you please help Nil out of the bath?” I asked him.

“Yeah, sure.”

With that, I hoisted myself to my feet and walked around a defeated Luke. A pounding ache throbbed behind my eyes. Before crossing the threshold into the hallway, my mouth opened but stubbornness closed it shut. Guilt wouldn’t be used to keep Luke here in Seattle. If he wanted to go, he would. Baby or no baby, I’d learned that a long time ago.

A
bowl of melted ice cream sat in my lap while I mindlessly changed the channels on the television. Luke and Nil were at the park down the street. Blissful quietness enveloped the house. At noon on a Wednesday, you had a choice between soap operas and infomercials. Since neither appealed, my thumb pressed the off button.

My pregnancy’s symptoms were milder than they had been with Nil. So far, exhaustion and raging hunger were the only two battles I had to fight. Thank God, or else Luke would ask why my head was in the toilet, morning, noon, and night. Since our terse conversation a couple of days ago, I’d wanted to tell him about the pregnancy, but the words were stuck in a puddle of self-doubt. Luke had divulged he missed being a touring musician. Did that mean the domestic life had grown boring? What if he found a hot skinny groupie and didn’t return? The alternative though was making him stay home, quietly resenting me.

“Gah!” The spoon clattered into the porcelain bowl. “I’m insane.”

Flopping backwards on the couch, my body curled into a ball. Nil and Luke were due home soon. If I wanted to nap, now was the time. I pulled a white cashmere blanket to my chin as my eyes fluttered closed. After several painstaking minutes of tossing and turning, that notion crossed itself off the list. I had pies to bake, party favors to stuff and a restaurant without plumbing or heating.

Norma Jean’s opening date had to be pushed up because of our wedding. We’d wanted to celebrate our union and the launch on the same day. Kill two birds with one stone. When we’d broken the news to our contractor, Hendro, I’m quite sure he’d plotted our murders in his head. The stink eye he’d shot us was that bad. Luke often drove to Norma Jean’s in the morning, helping where he could until late evening. It would take an army to have the restaurant up and running by May sixth.

While I couldn’t wield a hammer or operate a saw, I had excellent painting skills. Restless, my fingers snatched the cars keys off the entryway table. There had to be a wall at Norma Jean’s that needed freshening up.

Hendro sipped from a thermos filled with fragrant black coffee. His dirty blonde hair was mussed into a rolled out of bed look and his mustache waxed into a handlebar. I smiled as his chocolate brown eyes swiveled toward me. To butter him up, a basket of snicker doodles cookies hung off my arm.

“Hi,” I chirped.

True to form, he grunted a response then moved off, barking orders at one of his workers. I would deal with him later. I set the basket on a reverently clean surface and positioned paper plates and napkins next to the cookies.

“Luke said you were a master baker.”