My mother got a room with two beds, but they were right next to each other, so I chose the couch. And even though I was wiped out, I didn’t fall asleep until about five in the morning because I couldn’t stop thinking about Grams and wondering what in the world I was going to do.
I heard my mom rustling around in the morning, but I just rolled over and went back to sleep, and when I woke up again, it was noon and she was gone.
I needed a shower bad, so I dragged myself into the bathroom and took a long, hot, muscle-melting one. And since I hadn’t brought much in the way of extra clothes, I wound up raiding a pair of jeans and an amazingly soft hoodie from my mother’s suitcase.
A little big, but definitely comfy.
Next to the phone I found a blueberry muffin and a note from my mom telling me to call her cell. So I did, but there was really only one thing I wanted to know. “Have you talked to Grams?”
“Your dad and I did.”
Hearing her say it like that was too much, too early, but I just sort of shook it off and said, “And?”
“Darren offered to set her up in a house.”
“As in buy her a house?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In Santa Martina. But your grandmother said no.”
I took a deep breath and let it out. “Of course she said no. Grams isn’t the kind of person you can bribe.”
“It wasn’t a bribe. Darren knows you want to stay in Santa Martina, and getting her out of the Highrise was one solution.”
“It’s not a solution to her not wanting to take care of me anymore. And she already has a place to live.”
“Well, you told your dad you don’t want to move to Hollywood or Las Vegas, so what are we going to do?”
“Where is she?” I asked quietly. “I want to go talk to her.”
“She’s at the spa.”
“The spa? What’s she doing at the spa?”
“Recovering?”
Something about that made me feel worse than ever. I’d driven my poor grandmother, who never pampers herself, into the massaging arms of a spa? “How long’s that going to take?”
“An hour? Maybe two?”
“Well, what room is she staying in? And where’s Hudson?”
“She’s in seven twenty, and he’s in seven twenty-two.” Then she asks, “Are you all right on your own for a little while?”
I snort. “I’ve had lots of practice.”
“Well, come on, Mom!”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry about all of this. You think I’m not filled with regret? I’m just trying to figure out how we can move forward from here without more damage. The easy thing would be for you to come live with me, but—”
“You don’t even have a job!”
“That’s a separate issue. And I will get a job. The point is, I’m trying to figure out what’s best for you.” She takes a choppy breath and chokes out, “I love you, Samantha. Even if that’s hard for you to believe.”
And on that dramatic note, she hangs up.
I sit there a minute thinking, then dial Hudson’s room.
No answer.
So I call Grams’ room, even though I know she’s not there, and I leave a pathetic, stuttery message, begging her to forgive me and let me come talk to her. “We’re in room eleven-eleven, and I’m going to just wait here for you to call me.” Then I tell her I love her and go to hang up, but at the last minute I pull the phone back up and say, “Please call me.”
And then I hang up.
After sitting there for a few more minutes thinking, I call Casey and find out that he’s already on his way back to Santa Martina, crammed in the backseat of Candi’s sports car with Heather. “What’s going on with your parents?” I ask.
“Can’t really discuss that now.”
“Can you do yes and no questions? Are they getting back together?”
“Too early to say.” Then he drops his voice and says, “Everyone’s being weirdly nice. I don’t even know these people!”
Then I hear a female voice go, “Hi, Sammy!”
“Holy cow, was that Heather?”
“Yup. She’s still flying high about last night.”
“Are you guys anywhere near Vegas?”
“No. We’ve been on the road at least two hours.”
I laugh. “Well, I guess what happened is not staying in Vegas.”
He laughs, too. “Apparently not!”
“Okay. Well, I’ll let you get back to your family. Lucky dog.”
“Wait! What’s going on with yours?”
And because I don’t want him worrying about me when things are obviously going well for him, I laugh and say, “Oh, it’s a bigger mess than ever, but we’re working on figuring it out.” Then I tell him, “Hey, I need to call Marissa, okay? She’s clueless about any of this, and I want her to find out from me first.”
“Right. Okay! I’ll see you at home.”
“See you at home!”
So I hang up and call Marissa, but the minute I have her on the line, she attacks me with “Yes, I know you got to meet Darren Cole! Yes, I know you snuck into the House of Blues! Yes, I know you ditched security! Yes, I know you got to see the show from the front row! Heather keeps posting online about it, and she’s making it sound like you guys are best friends!”
I can feel myself getting hotter and hotter, but then it hits me that something’s missing from what Marissa “knows.”
“Did she post anything about Darren Cole being my dad?”
“Did she … what?”
“Well, sit down,” I tell her, “ ’cause he is.”
So I spend the next hour catching her up for real, and when we’re finally down to “What are you going to do?” and “I don’t know!” I switch over to her problems. “So what’s happening with your dad?”
“Ohhhh,” she moans, and then launches into how Hudson had taken Mikey over to her uncle Bruce’s because of the emergency trip to Las Vegas, and how Mikey had spilled the beans about the gambling, and how after a huge brothers’ blowout over that, her mom had caught her dad trying to gamble online. “It’s over, Sammy. They’re selling the house, and Mom says she wants a divorce.”
Now, normally when Marissa is in crisis mode, you can tell right away because her voice is frantic and up a notch and all twisted with stress. But now she sounds all matter-of-fact. Almost monotone. So I ask, “How can you be so calm?”
“I’m just wiped out, Sammy. I can’t stop my dad from gambling, and I can’t blame my mom for wanting to get divorced.”
I let that soak in. “So what’s going to happen with you and Mikey?”
“We’ll be with Mom, but I don’t know where. She’s talking about making a clean break and starting fresh somewhere new.”
“Like, away from Santa Martina?”
“Yup.”
“No! You’ve got to talk her out of that! What would I do without you? And think about Mikey! It would kill him to leave Hudson!”
She sighs. “I know.”
“So don’t let her move out of town!”
She hesitates, then asks, “You’re coming home with Hudson and your grandmother, right?”
“I hope so! I thought we’d be driving home today, but I think probably tomorrow.”
She sighs. “I really, really want to talk to Hudson.”
“I know, huh?” And then it hits me. “You thinking about seeing if you and Mikey can stay with him?”
“Maybe we could rent his place in back?”
“All of you?”
“Yeah.”
“Have you been inside it? It’s awfully small.” But I’m also thinking that I want it to be too small for them, ’cause it would actually be perfect for me.
We’re both quiet a minute, and then she says, “Isn’t it funny?”
“What?”
“I used to be rich and have the picture-book family, and now I’m broke and my family’s a disaster.”
“What’s so funny about that?”
“Because you used to be broke with no family, and now?”
“I still don’t have a family.”
“Sure you do. From what you said, I can tell—it’ll all come together.”
“But I don’t want to live with them! Not either of them! I want to live with Grams.”
“On a couch. In a run-down old folks’ home.”
“Yes!”
“You’ve outgrown that, Sammy. It’s time to move on.”
“You don’t move on from someone you love! I love Grams. She is the strongest, nicest, most caring person I’ve ever known!”
“Sammy, she’ll always love you, whether you live with her or not.”
“She’s furious with me!”
She laughs. “That’s temporary. Just keep trying. You’ll patch things up with her.” She sighs. “Tell Hudson we miss him big-time!”
So I get off the phone, and right away I dial Grams’ room and leave another pathetic message, then call Hudson’s room. And when he doesn’t answer, either, I’m forced to call my mother, but she informs me that Grams is now getting her nails done.
“She’s getting a manicure?”
“A mani-pedi. It’ll take a while.”
“But … Grams doesn’t get her nails done.”
“All I can tell you is what she told me. She’s still miffed at the way I handled things, so I’m just letting her cool off.”
“So we’re not going home today?”
“Definitely not going home today.” Then she asks, “Are you up for seeing your dad?”
“No! I’m up for taking a nap.”
“A nap? You’ve only been awake for a couple of hours!”
“Yeah, well, I had a really intense day yesterday, and I’m still wiped out.”
“You’re probably starving. Why don’t we take you out for lunch?”
“We? As in you and Darren?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll get my own food.”
“Samantha, no. I’ll bring you something. What do you like?”
A question she has to ask because of course she has no idea. So I tell her, “Mac ’n’ cheese and salsa. Or chicken salad with grapes. Or a tuna wrap with kalamata olives and cucumbers.” And before she can say anything about my food choices, I ask, “How come you can get in touch with Hudson and Grams and I can’t?”
“They call me. And where am I supposed to get a tuna wrap with kalamata olives and cucumbers?”
“Well, could you please tell them to call me next time they call you?”
“Sure. But what about the wrap?”
I sigh. “I don’t care about the wrap. I really just want a nap.”
So I get off the phone, try Hudson’s again, hang up, and since I really do feel totally wiped out, I actually do take a nap.
What wakes me up is not Grams calling.
What wakes me up is my mother coming through the door.
“Nooooo,” I moan, ’cause she’s got Darren with her. “I’m in a horrible mood,” I tell him. “You probably don’t want to be here.”
He gives me a hopeful look and hoists some plastic bags. “We brought lunch?”
And that’s when I realize I’m starving.
I sit up and rake back my hair. “What about Grams?”
My mom starts laying out the food on the coffee table. “She’s getting her hair done.”
“Getting her hair done? Doesn’t she know I’m dying to talk to her?”
“I told her, Samantha, but you know how she can be.”
“How she can be? She’s the way she is because you’re the way you are!”
“Hmm,” she says, like a fully coronated diva. “Have you ever thought that maybe I’m the way I am because she’s the way she is?”
“Grams is nothing like you!”
She raises one perfectly plucked eyebrow at me.
That’s all.
Just an eyebrow.
Then she says, “Let’s eat, shall we?” which is one of her ninety-six ways of changing the subject.
There’s nothing resembling mac ’n’ cheese and salsa. Or chicken salad with grapes. Or a tuna wrap with kalamata olives and cucumbers. Or even PB&J. But there is an egg salad sandwich, so I take that and an apple juice.
“Thanks,” I tell Darren in a very grumbly way.
My mother reaches into her vast catalog of disapproving looks and shoots one at me, but Darren doesn’t seem fazed. He just shoves a bag of salt and vinegar chips over and says, “Goes great with egg salad.”
Which for some reason takes the edge off the way I’m feeling.
Then he adds, “So does Frank’s, but we don’t have any, so …”
“Frank’s?”
“Hot sauce,” he says, and when he can tell I’ve never heard of it, he explains. “It’s like Tabasco but infinitely better.” He gives my mom a little grin. “Some of us can’t take the heat, but I slather. Great on carrots, too.”
“Hot sauce is?” I ask him.
“That’s right.” He takes a bite of some kind of cold-cut sandwich, and after a few chews he says, “We could definitely use some Frank’s here.”
So okay. Now I’m actually smiling ’cause this guy is … well, let’s just say he’s way easier to be around than my mother. So I dig into my sandwich, too, and the vinegar chips give it some kick. “That is good,” I tell him, then shake the chip bag at him.
“Thanks,” he says with a grin.
So Darren and I eat bad sandwiches with good chips while my mother takes dainty bites from some fruity-looking yogurt cup. And I’ve just polished off the first half of my sandwich when I notice that Darren’s trying to figure out how to say something.
“What?” I ask him.
He eyes my mom, then focuses on me. “Lana and I were bouncing around ideas about ways I could get to know you better.” His eyebrows twitch up and he gives me a little look. “Unless you’re not ready for that.”
Maybe it was the vinegar chips talking, but I said, “Sounds good.”
He and my mom exchange another look, and then he says, “Cool.” He takes a deep breath. “We have some options, but the one that sounds like it might be the most fun for you would be joining me on a cruise where the band’s been hired to play—”
“A cruise?” I look at him, horrified. “The guy who wrote ‘Waiting for Rain to Fall’ and ‘Dead Weather’ and ‘Heal This Heart’ is playing a cruise?”
“Wow,” he says, studying me. “As if that decision wasn’t hard enough.”
It takes me a second, but I finally look away. “Sorry.”
And we’re all quiet a minute, but then he turns it around. “So,” he says with half a grin, “you know my music?”
“You have no idea,” I mutter.
“And you like it?”
“My boyfriend introduced me to you.” I eye my mother, and she looks away quick. “So yeah,” I tell him. “I like your music.” I shake my head. “Which is totally awkward.”
He laughs. “Yeah, I can see that.”
And then my mother’s phone rings.
I jump and cry, “Grams!” Only it comes out more like “Mmoums!” because I’d just taken a bite of sandwich.
“Lana Keyes,” my mom answers, sounding stupidly official. And then she makes little noises for, like, two minutes while I sit there wiggling my hand for the phone. And finally, finally she says, “That’s all fine and understandable, and I support all of that, but Samantha is right here and desperate to talk to you.”
And then she’s quiet for another thirty seconds before she says, “Mother? Mother, please …” Then she sighs and clicks off.
“Seriously?” I gasp. “She wouldn’t talk to me?”
My mother looks away. “I’m sorry.”
“Where is she?” I ask, ’cause I’m ready to track her down and make her talk to me.
“Shopping.”
“Shopping? For what?”
My mother shrugs. “It’s Las Vegas. The possibilities are endless.”
“But Grams doesn’t shop! And how can she be shopping when she knows I’m miserable?”
My mother sighs again. “She needs a little her time.”
“Her time?” I throw my hands up in the air because for the first time ever Grams is acting like my mother. And let me tell you, this makes my head turn back into one weird, muddled mess. I mean, not being able to reach Grams is one thing. Having her shut me down cold when she knows I’m desperate to talk to her and am right there is something else. Because I don’t care what my mother says, Grams is not like her. She’s caring and supportive and giving and selfless.
But … how could she know I’m totally miserable and still go to the spa, get a mani-pedi, get her hair done, and go shopping?
How?
And that’s when something Pete had said goes jailhouse-rocking through my brain. “Ohmygod!” I cry, jumping up.
Lady Lana recoils like she’s just spotted blood. “What?”
“She’s getting married!”
“What?” she says again. “Who?”
“Grams!” I dash from here to there across the room, until I wind up back where I started. “Come on! We have to go!”
“Go where?”
“To the chapel!”
“What chapel? Samantha, calm down. Why do you think she’s getting married?”
“Come on.” I yank her out of her seat. “There’s no way I’m missing this wedding!”