Honky Tonk Hellion by Z.A. Maxfield

Author:Z.A. Maxfield
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2018-02-20T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Andi

Laureen and I finish the song, and we’re both breathless. Everyone is buzzing with energy. I haven’t felt that “on” since the long hours of practice for choir competitions. I’m almost giddy.

The girls jump up and down on one of the couches, clapping their hands. Wes and Chance laugh and high-five each other.

Everyone there knows we made magic, even the cranky Kevin, who nods, shakes his head, and smiles like it’s hard for him to admit it.

Tru claps for a good while before using his fingers to whistle for our attention. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. Who here didn’t feel that?”

For the podcast, we all agree the moment was truly special. The only one who doesn’t seem thrilled is Laureen, whose eyes dart from me to her husband and back, as though she’s not certain who to look at.

The video is still rolling. I’m dizzy and warm, fanning myself with a piece of sheet music.

“Come on, honey,” Laureen motions to me and says. “Let’s get some iced tea. I’m thirsty. Girls?”

Quintana and Daisy run up the stairs ahead of us. I follow at a more sedate pace, hear Tru and Kevin exchange words, but their voices are low and I can’t make out what they’re saying.

When we get to the kitchen, Laureen surprises me by telling the girls to go color in the playroom so we can talk.

“I’ll bring your snacks in there, okay?” They shout that yes, they would like that, and even though they’re both running around in the kitchen and shouting at the same time, they still make less noise than Jonas.

She and I watch them leave. I’m anxious because she wants to talk, but when she turns back, she smiles the usual, pleasant smile.

“You ever think about having a second?” This comes out of the blue.

“Nope,” I say. One is enough. Besides, I never told her Jonas isn’t Ryder’s and I don’t want to go into it. “Not for a while, if ever.”

“It’s fun having more than one. And it’s not a ton more work.”

I wonder how Laureen defines work, because clearly, she puts tremendous effort into everything she does, all while making it appear easy. Me, I flail around throwing pancake after pancake into the trash, until the smoke alarm goes off and the firefighters show up.

Case in point: her “quick snack” for the girls turns out to be a muffin tin with small amounts of wholesome foods in each hole—trail mix and cheese cubes and yogurt dip and homemade snack bars and carrots and cut-up fruits and—I don’t even know what all. Just a baby-sized dab of each, but seriously.

She jabs the toothpick flag that reads Daisy into a cube of cheese and the one that reads Quintana into a wedge of orange.

“Back in a second.” She leaves to deliver it.

Feeling pretty useless, I glance around Laureen’s lemon kitchen.

Noticing she saves rubber bands on the knob of the basement door is such a relief. But just like that, I feel a smothering wave of homesickness come over me, not for Bitterroot, and Declan and Ryder, but for the Rocking C.

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