Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
“It depends.”
“On what?”
Again, I laughed. Eve was totally me.
“We have it a lot. Before we go to sleep, usually in the morning, too. Sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night and …” I blushed.
“And what?” Eve hung on my every word.
“And he puts his head …” I pointed between my legs.
Eve’s posture inflated along with her smile. “I’m so jealous. What about the shower? The truck. In public?”
“Stop!” I giggled.
“Just tell me.”
“Yes. In the shower, but it’s not easy. And yes, in the truck.”
“Have you given him a blowjob?”
“Shh!” I covered her mouth with my hand.
The tequila was making her get louder.
“I heard that,” Gabby said.
“We are done talking about me. How’s Erin? Did you get all your school supplies?”
“Yes. I have a hundred number two pencils and a Trapper Keeper. Do you swallow it?”
“You’re done.” I snagged the bottle and cap from her. “Gabby, let’s dip our toes in the water,” I said, returning the bottle to the box and kicking dirt and brush over it.
“I’ve heard it tastes salty,” Eve said with a giggle.
“Eve Marie Jacobson!” I pushed her off the tree trunk, and she rolled onto the ground laughing.
For the next hour, we splashed in the shallow water and giggled, and for the first time in months, the world felt a little right again.
Hand-in-hand, we headed back to the house in the dark, knowing Mom and Dad wouldn’t be happy with any of us, but we were in it together.
“We’re going to miss you,” Eve said, resting her head on my shoulder.
“So much,” Gabby said, squeezing my hand a little tighter.
“I’ll miss you too. But I’m not that far away. As long as Dad doesn’t ban me from the house, I’ll come back to visit.”
“Maybe I can talk them into going to Nashville to watch you sing,” Eve said.
I laughed. “Good luck with that. Can you see Dad listening to loud music that’s not a hymn?”
We laughed together.
“When are you leaving?” Gabby asked.
“I don’t know. I think as soon as we find a place to live.”
A deep ache gripped my heart, yet my tummy felt a flutter of excitement. It was the good kind of fear.
My sisters fought over who was going to use the shower first. Eve was desperate to go to bed before Mom or Dad noticed that she was tipsy.
“Sarah, can you come in here for a second?” Mom asked just as I started up the stairs.
I sighed. Nothing they had to say would change my mind, even if they said I was never welcome home again.
“Yeah?” I stepped into the living room, sitting on the arm of the sofa. My dad was sitting on the opposite end. He shoved notes into his Bible and closed it while my mom set her needlepoint aside and rocked in her chair.
“We don’t approve of how you’ve chosen to behave with a man six years older than you. And we don’t want you to move to Nashville with him,” she said.
I bowed my head and chewed on the inside of my cheek to hide my disappointment.
“But you’re our daughter, and we love you no matter what choices you make. So if you insist on moving away, we hope you’ll be smart about your choices. And we want you to know that you are always welcome here. If you ever need help, we are a call away. We hope Isaac will eventually do the right thing if you’re going to stay together.”
They hope he’ll marry me.
I thought about Isaac telling me not to rock the boat. So instead of lecturing them on my dreams that didn’t involve getting married right away and starting a family, I smiled and offered an easy nod. “Thank you.”
Sometimes being a people-pleaser wasn’t a bad thing. Perhaps a peaceful life existed somewhere in the middle.
I turned to head to my room but stopped after two steps. “I’m sorry,” I said. “When I was in Nashville, and you did not know where I was, or if I was alive and safe, that must have been terrifying. I’m just … really sorry.”
EPILOGUE
FLEETWOOD MAC, “LANDSLIDE”
Ten Years Later
Isaac
“Mommy!” Heather pointed her tiny finger toward the television as I played the video from Sarah’s first headlining concert in Kansas City.
We wouldn’t let our three-year-old risk her hearing at concerts, so we hired a part-time nanny. But Heather loved watching the videos.
The tour bus cruised down the interstate toward Tulsa as my wife pulled Subway sandwiches from bags and set them on the table.
“That is your mommy,” she said to Heather, grabbing her chubby hand and sucking her finger, which made Heather giggle.
“There’s DADDY!” she screamed, seeing me appear on stage.
Sarah rolled her eyes.
I sang two songs with her: one I wrote called “My Favorite Sunday Morning,” which she sang background, and one she wrote called “Into Sunflowers.”