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Authors: Caitlyn Duffy
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guess."
He turned to leave, and then said, "Don't
worry. Chase is a cool guy."
I finished my breakfast in wonderment. How on
earth did this guy know my father better than I did? And what was
he implying that I had to worry about?
CHAPTER
5
On our first night in Jacksonville, Pound
performed a sold-out show. Of course, the opening band, Sigma, was
a little more my style, and I got butterflies in my stomach
thinking that there was a strong likelihood I would be exchanging
words with Brice Norris at some point that summer. Throughout the
show I was curious if I would get a chance to walk around by myself
and look for Jake, but the opportunity never presented itself.
My dad was really a marvel on stage.
Electrifying. For the first four songs I stood in the front row
with Jill and then she led me backstage. From there, looking out
across the dark crowd, I could see women tearing their shirts off
and screaming the lyrics to the songs until they were red in the
face.
When the band performed Lovergirl, one of
their famous love ballads, my dad invited one of the Pounders from
the first row on stage to slow dance with him. She was taller than
him by at least five inches in her high heels and was literally
crying with joy as they danced. I noticed that Jill was kind of
smiling during this song, but in a way that made it look like her
jaw was locked in position.
Later, when they played Always Yours, my dad
invited Jill out on stage and sang to her. She didn't necessarily
look any more comfortable during that. She was wearing a hot pink
terry cloth sundress and both she and my dad were so sweaty under
the hot stage lights in the humid Florida air that they
glistened.
When Jill stepped out on stage, Kelsey
immediately reached for my hand in her absence. It was sticky and
hot and I didn't really want to be holding it, but it would be kind
of cruel to drop a little kid's hand, so I held on.
After the show and back at the hotel, Jill
asked if I would mind watching Kelsey so that she and Dad could
have dinner alone.
"We haven't had much private time," she
claimed. "You don't have to get her ready for bed or anything, just
make sure she uses the potty an hour after she's done eating. We'll
be back in a few hours."
Sure, I agreed. How hard could it be,
watching a little kid? Well, for starters, she didn't want the soy
chicken fingers that Jill had sent up for her from room service.
She wanted to try my linguini alfredo, and I let her. Then she
liked it, so I gave her more. I left the room service trays in the
hallway for the hotel to clean, and set Kelsey down on the sofa in
front of the television.
"Ou est Maman? Ou est Papa?" she asked
repeatedly, practicing her toddler French lessons.
I did not dare reply with my inferior
two-years-of-private-school-French for fear of being upstaged by a
five-year-old. "They're having dinner at a fancy restaurant. Now
tire-toi."
I forgot Jill had told me to make Kelsey to
go to the bathroom, and I realized a few minutes too late that she
had simply wet herself on the leather couch. Kelsey learned a few
new English words as I cleaned up the puddle and changed her into
her pajamas. It had been nearly two hours since Dad and Jill had
left the hotel room but it was kind of nice having them gone.
"Who is your Dad?" Kelsey asked me after I
placed her in bed. We would be sharing the suite's second bedroom,
each having our own queen sized bed. This was a little annoying; my
dad had not mentioned that I'd be bunking with the little brat all
summer.
"My dad is your dad," I said, the words
sounding foreign to me. "We have the same dad."
"Then who is your mommy?" Kelsey asked after
a moment, trying to sort it all out in her head.
"My mom is in heaven," I told her.
Somehow the words got me choked up.
"What happened to her?" Kelsey asked.
"She had an accident and died," I told her,
not sure if it was really appropriate to be talking about death
with a five-year-old. "Remember? You came to the wake with
He turned to leave, and then said, "Don't
worry. Chase is a cool guy."
I finished my breakfast in wonderment. How on
earth did this guy know my father better than I did? And what was
he implying that I had to worry about?
CHAPTER
5
On our first night in Jacksonville, Pound
performed a sold-out show. Of course, the opening band, Sigma, was
a little more my style, and I got butterflies in my stomach
thinking that there was a strong likelihood I would be exchanging
words with Brice Norris at some point that summer. Throughout the
show I was curious if I would get a chance to walk around by myself
and look for Jake, but the opportunity never presented itself.
My dad was really a marvel on stage.
Electrifying. For the first four songs I stood in the front row
with Jill and then she led me backstage. From there, looking out
across the dark crowd, I could see women tearing their shirts off
and screaming the lyrics to the songs until they were red in the
face.
When the band performed Lovergirl, one of
their famous love ballads, my dad invited one of the Pounders from
the first row on stage to slow dance with him. She was taller than
him by at least five inches in her high heels and was literally
crying with joy as they danced. I noticed that Jill was kind of
smiling during this song, but in a way that made it look like her
jaw was locked in position.
Later, when they played Always Yours, my dad
invited Jill out on stage and sang to her. She didn't necessarily
look any more comfortable during that. She was wearing a hot pink
terry cloth sundress and both she and my dad were so sweaty under
the hot stage lights in the humid Florida air that they
glistened.
When Jill stepped out on stage, Kelsey
immediately reached for my hand in her absence. It was sticky and
hot and I didn't really want to be holding it, but it would be kind
of cruel to drop a little kid's hand, so I held on.
After the show and back at the hotel, Jill
asked if I would mind watching Kelsey so that she and Dad could
have dinner alone.
"We haven't had much private time," she
claimed. "You don't have to get her ready for bed or anything, just
make sure she uses the potty an hour after she's done eating. We'll
be back in a few hours."
Sure, I agreed. How hard could it be,
watching a little kid? Well, for starters, she didn't want the soy
chicken fingers that Jill had sent up for her from room service.
She wanted to try my linguini alfredo, and I let her. Then she
liked it, so I gave her more. I left the room service trays in the
hallway for the hotel to clean, and set Kelsey down on the sofa in
front of the television.
"Ou est Maman? Ou est Papa?" she asked
repeatedly, practicing her toddler French lessons.
I did not dare reply with my inferior
two-years-of-private-school-French for fear of being upstaged by a
five-year-old. "They're having dinner at a fancy restaurant. Now
tire-toi."
I forgot Jill had told me to make Kelsey to
go to the bathroom, and I realized a few minutes too late that she
had simply wet herself on the leather couch. Kelsey learned a few
new English words as I cleaned up the puddle and changed her into
her pajamas. It had been nearly two hours since Dad and Jill had
left the hotel room but it was kind of nice having them gone.
"Who is your Dad?" Kelsey asked me after I
placed her in bed. We would be sharing the suite's second bedroom,
each having our own queen sized bed. This was a little annoying; my
dad had not mentioned that I'd be bunking with the little brat all
summer.
"My dad is your dad," I said, the words
sounding foreign to me. "We have the same dad."
"Then who is your mommy?" Kelsey asked after
a moment, trying to sort it all out in her head.
"My mom is in heaven," I told her.
Somehow the words got me choked up.
"What happened to her?" Kelsey asked.
"She had an accident and died," I told her,
not sure if it was really appropriate to be talking about death
with a five-year-old. "Remember? You came to the wake with
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