52.
Jade
Celia dropped onto one of the fake antique dressing room chairs. “I’m getting too old for this,” she said, but she was grinning.
“Remember Bonnie Raitt,” Jade reminded her, as she did whenever they felt tired. Bonnie was one of their musical heroes and, at sixty-three, still touring. Jade and Celia were more than twenty years younger. It was true that they were wiped out after every performance, but they were also having the time of their lives. Jade had known from the age of five how it felt to perform in front of an appreciative audience. There was no drug in the world that could get her that high.
“I want to call the kids before we get something to eat.” Celia reached for her backpack. “The guys said they’d wait.”
“Good idea.” Jade snapped her fiddle case shut and set it on the floor next to her chair.
Celia was pulling her phone from her backpack when the woman with the purple hair—her name was Kat, Jade remembered—poked her head into the room.
“Jade?” she said. “There’s a girl out here who wants to talk to you.”
Jade fought a groan. There was nearly always some aspiring musician who wanted to talk to them after a show, maybe to tell them how much he or she loved their music or to get tips on making it to their level. It was both a rewarding and tiring part of touring. She glanced at Celia, who gave a nearly imperceptible shake of her head.
“Please tell her sorry,” Jade said. “She can e-mail me if she—”
“She says she’s your sister.”
A chill ran up her spine. Whether it was anticipation or stark terror, she couldn’t have said. She glanced at Celia, whose eyes were wide with fear.
“I don’t have a sister,” she said to Kat.
“I have Violet with me!” A voice came from somewhere outside the room.
Kat quickly stepped back into the hallway, pulling the dressing room door closed behind her. “You can’t go in there!” she shouted.
“Oh, my God!” Jade was on her feet, heading for the door.
Celia stood up to grab her arm. “No,” she said. “Don’t!”
She brushed Celia’s hand away and pulled the door open. “Let her in!” she shouted to Kat. She tried to see behind Kat to the girl in the hall.
Kat reluctantly stepped aside and a young woman walked toward her. She was only slightly familiar. Her wavy dark hair reached her shoulders. She wore no smile and her brown eyes were apprehensive.
Except for a brief glimpse from her mother’s bedroom seven years earlier, Jade hadn’t seen Riley since her eighth birthday in that Morehead City restaurant. The woman in front of her could be an imposter, although her gut told her differently. Those dark eyes, the long lashes, the shape of her mouth—yes, this was her daughter. She reached for her and saw the fear leave Riley’s eyes as she stepped into Jade’s arms. Riley’s body shook beneath her hands and Jade knew she was crying. She pressed her cheek against her daughter’s hair, only vaguely aware of Kat quietly retreating into the hallway, shutting the door behind her, and of Celia’s hand where it rested on her back. She knew Celia was afraid—and that she should be as well—but the only emotion she felt at that moment was the pure relief of once again holding her baby girl in her arms.
“It’s all right, it’s all right,” she whispered into Riley’s hair, the way she had when her daughter was tiny.
They stood that way for at least a full minute, though Jade knew it could never be long enough. The pure emotion would give way to conversation at some point, and conversation was bound to lead in a direction she couldn’t bear, so she held Riley as long as she could. Finally, Riley pulled away from her arms, wiping her eyes with her fingers. Jade felt Celia’s gaze on her, trying to read her face. She couldn’t find her voice. Her hand was still on Riley’s arm, her fingertips unable to completely let go.
“I brought you something I thought you might like to have,” Riley said.
She recognized the case the moment Riley held it out to her. The beautiful worn leather. The old tag with the colored-pencil drawing she’d made of a violet.
“Violet,” she whispered, reaching for the violin, but Celia abruptly stepped between her and Riley.
“This isn’t good, Jade.” Celia looked at her, her face contorted with worry. “You’re acting like this is no problem. What are you thinking?”
She knew it wasn’t good. She knew only terrible things could come from this meeting, but right then, she didn’t care. Let me have this moment, Celia, she thought. Still, Celia stood like a wall between Riley and herself.
“I know everything,” Riley said to her, as if Celia wasn’t there.
Celia spun around to face her. “You need to get out,” she said.
Jade put her hands on Celia’s shoulders. “Look, she’s here,” she said firmly. “We can’t change that. She’s here and I want to talk to her. Please.”
Tears welled up in Celia’s gray eyes. So rare, her tears. She wrapped her hands around Jade’s wrists where she gripped her shoulders.
“It’ll be okay,” Jade said in an empty promise. She let go of Celia and turned back to Riley. “Come here,” she said, guiding her to one of the chairs. “Sit down and tell me what you mean about knowing everything. How could you possibly…?” Her voice trailed off. She hoped Riley didn’t know everything. There were some things she never wanted her to know.
Riley glanced at Celia, and Jade realized she was afraid to speak in front of her.
“It’s all right.” She pulled a second chair close to Riley’s and sat down on it, their knees almost touching. “There are no secrets here.”
“Jeannie.” Riley clutched the violin on her lap. “She told me.”
Jeannie. Hearing her name alone was enough to make Jade miss the woman who had helped her through one of the toughest times of her life. “Oh, Riley,” she said. “I’m so sorry you—”
“Daddy died about a month ago,” she said. “I didn’t know if you knew.”
“I did,” she said. “I sent him a postcard about our tour and when I didn’t hear from him, I got worried. I found the obituary online.” She’d cried for days. She owed him so much. He’d taken enormous risks to give her a life of freedom, and although he resolutely never spoke to her about Riley, he’d been her only link to her daughter. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Were you really close to him? I know so little about you. He never let me know anything about—”
“What do you want?” Celia interrupted, her gaze riveted on Riley. She still stood near the door, and she sounded icy cold, the way she did when she was scared. “You two are chatting like you don’t have a care in the world.”
“Shh, it’s all right, Celia,” Jade said, then looked back at her daughter. “I’ve wanted to see you—to be with you—your whole life,” she said. “I hope you understand—”
“Celia’s right,” Riley interrupted her. “Everything’s not all right. I came here to warn you.” Her knuckles were white on the violin case. “Danny knows everything,” she said. “He blames you for so much. It’s irrational, but that doesn’t matter. He has a good friend who’s a cop, and he plans to tell him who you are. I think the police will be waiting for you at the concert in New Bern.”
There wasn’t a sound in the room. Jade’s blood turned to ice in her veins and her heart thumped hard in her ears. Standing out of her sight, Celia was so still Jade wouldn’t have known she was there.
“I feel like it’s my fault,” Riley said. “I told Danny I thought you might be alive before I realized … everything, and once I did, I tried to keep him from discovering what I’d found out, but—”
“You told him?” Celia accused. “What, exactly? What did you tell him?”
“Celia,” Jade chided, but her whole body trembled. “Please.”
The door suddenly opened and Shane stood in the hallway, Travis a step behind him.
“Did you talk to the kids yet?” Shane asked. “We’re starving.”
Jade looked at Celia. “You go. I need to talk to Riley.”
“I’m not leaving you here,” Celia said.
Travis looked from Riley to Jade and back again. He and Shane had to feel the tension in the air of the room. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“Who are you?” Shane asked Riley.
“She’s a friend.” Jade stood up, her hands trembling as she picked up Celia’s mandolin case and backpack and pressed them into her arms. “You all go eat. I’ll get a cab to the hotel later.”
“No.” Celia shook her head. “I’m staying.”
Jade gave her a pleading look. She knew Celia was as terrified as she was. She wanted to tell her she understood, but there was no time. She needed to talk to her daughter. Now. Alone.
“Please, Celia,” she said.
Celia took a step toward the door, but stopped to look back at Riley. “I don’t know what you’ve heard,” she said, “but Jade’s a good, good person.” Jade saw those rare tears in Celia’s eyes again as she left the dressing room. She probably felt as Jade did, that their whole life together had been heading toward this moment. Heading for an inevitable catastrophe.
She closed the door behind Celia and the men, then turned to face Riley. “Should we go someplace?” she asked. “I don’t know how long we’ll be allowed to stay here.”
Riley shook her head. “I don’t want to talk in public,” she said. “Let’s stay here until they throw us out.”