Country Heaven (37 page)

Now it was time to open this home he’d created to his family. And do everything he could not to let them down like he had Tory.

His exhale was deep as his sisters’ BMWs pulled to a stop in his circular driveway. Amelia Ann raced out, her face beaming, and pulled him in for a hug.

“We’re here, we’re here, we’re here,” she chanted. “I can’t believe it.”

Neither could he. He watched as a pale Tammy approached with the kids, who were already being greeted by his golden retrievers, Bullet and Banjo.

“Sit,” he commanded, and they immediately did.

Annabelle hugged one dog, and then crooked her finger at Rye. He crouched down and she wrapped her little arms wrapped around his neck. God, she was so little. Was she really going to be living in his house?

“Hi, Uncle Rye.” She patted his face and smiled. “You’ve got a real big house. That’s good ‘cause we brought
everything
in our old house now that Mama and Daddy are getting a divorce. It’s going to be fun, staying with you. Like a vacation.”

So, she didn’t understand the permanence of the situation yet. Well, that would come with time.

Rory stalked forward next, his hands in fists at his side. Clearly the boy knew what was going on. He put his hand on the kid’s shoulder, since Rory wasn’t the hugging type—well, except with Tory and his mother. The thought sent a streak of pain through him. He grew even more alarmed when Rory shrugged free of his hand.

Rising, he approached Tammy and cautiously kissed her cheek.

“Hi, Rye.” She wrung her hands, drawing his attention to her empty wedding ring finger.

What the hell was he supposed to say to her? “The drive go well?”

Tammy ran her hands down her front, smoothing away the travel wrinkles. “Yes, it was fine.” She let her gaze roam. “I like the house.”

Her ghost of a smile made him realize the irony of him choosing something antebellum.

Amelia Ann linked her arm through his. “Oh, I do, too. I’ve always wondered what it would look like.” Right, she hadn’t seen it either. It was hard to believe he’d been so distant from his family, and now this…

“And you have my favorite tree,” Amelia Ann continued. “Magnolias,” she clarified, pointing to the cluster of them to the right of the house. “Oh, I can’t believe it. We’re here, and I’m going to Vanderbilt.”

Since everyone else had shared their thoughts, he turned to Rory. “Well, son, what do you think?”

Rory glared at him and kicked a pebble in the drive. “I’m not talking to you.” His tone was angry.

“Son, you’ve just gotten here, so I can’t have made you angry already.”

Tammy crouched down in front of the boy. “Rory, we talked about this.”

He mulishly shook his head. “Mama, I’m just telling him how it is.” And he looked at Rye with a pinched face before racing off to the car. “Come on, Annabelle, let’s help unpack.”

As his niece ran off to join her brother, Rye nodded toward Rory. “What’s that about?”

Tammy averted her gaze. “He’s just upset right now. He’ll get over it.”

“He’s going to be living here, Tammy. I can’t fix it if I don’t know what’s broken.”

“He’s decided he won’t talk to you,” she said, lowering her voice. “He’s a little boy, so it won’t last long.”

Suddenly it was like all of the air had been sucked out of him, and he knew why. Tory. Still he asked. “Tell me why.”

His sisters exchanged a glance, and then they both looked down at their feet. “Well, Tory called this week to talk to him. Rory made her promise to stay in touch, and it meant so much to him that I couldn’t tell him no. He’s been through so much, and she’s the only one he…reaches out to.”

His head started buzzing. When Amelia Ann put a hand on his arm, he knew there was more, and he wasn’t going to like it. “When Tory told him she was leaving for a while to do some research, he got angry and blamed you.”

His heart pumped viciously. “What do you mean, she’s leaving?”

“Well, she got some grant she’s been waiting for,” Tammy said, shifting on her feet. “She’s gone to somewhere in Africa for a few months.”

Oh Jesus, it hurt to think of her being thousands of miles away from him. It made things seem more final somehow—like their worlds were further apart than ever.

“Why does Rory blame me?” he said.

“He’s got this idea that you made her leave,” she said softy. “It all makes sense to him after seeing you…angry with her. I couldn’t convince him otherwise.”

Rye rubbed his goatee, his mind spinning. He had to know more. “Rory,” he barked.

Tammy put a hand out. “Rye, please. He’s just a little boy.”

The plea in her voice made him feel sick. “I would never hurt him.”

Rory came forward, his chin stuck out. “I said I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Fine,” Rye said, crouching down beside him. “You can stop talking to me after you answer some questions.” He put a hand on his shoulder. “You talked to Tory.” He wanted to ask how she was, but he didn’t. “Did she tell you why she was leaving?”

Rory kicked at a pebble. “She said she got her money to study things…in Africa. But I know it’s your fault.”

“What makes you think that, son?”

He pushed at Rye suddenly, making him fall on his backside. “You made her cry. I heard her the night she stayed with us on your birthday.”

“Rory, you shouldn’t talk to your Uncle Rye that way,” Tammy said. Amelia Ann headed off Annabelle as the little girl ran back toward them, the retrievers following her worshipfully.

“It wasn’t his fault she left,” Tammy continued. “I’ve told you that. She had to finish her schooling. She has her own life, baby.”

His nephew punched his little fists against his sides. “But now I won’t be able to talk to her for a long time. She said so. Everybody leaves,” the little boy cried. “Nothing’s the same anymore.”

Rye grabbed Bullet’s collar when the dog butted his arm. He stroked his fur as the pain radiated through his body. No, nothing was the same.

Tammy pulled Rory to her. “She’s coming back, sweetie. She’ll be home around Christmas, remember? She’ll talk to you then.”

“How do you know? It’s just like Daddy. He said he’d call, but I know he didn’t mean it. And I don’t care. I hate him.” He turned to Rye. “And I hate you!”

“Rory—” Tammy whispered, her face stricken.

He ran back to the car and climbed in, slamming the door behind him.

“Jesus, Tammy,” Rye said, rubbing his throat. How was he supposed to recover from what had happened with Tory when his nephew was leveling charges like that at him?

“Rye, I’m so sorry.”

He pulled her into a hug. “It’s all right,” he said, trying to convince them both.

What did they say about kids? Out of the mouths of babes? Well, shit. He’d just been taken to the woodshed by a sprout.

As he looked over Tammy’s shoulder, he could practically see his house morphing into a glass house with cracks starting to shiver up the side, like in the art for his latest album. He planted his feet and made a silent vow.

He’d move heaven and earth if he had to, but the glass was not going to crack again.

***

They settled in over the following weeks. Rory and Amelia Ann started school, and his little sister called him every day to tell him how grateful she was for his help in bringing her dreams to life. But Rory and Tammy were less enthusiastic, and Annabelle’s infectious laughter was a much–needed bright spot in their somber family dinners. It didn’t help that Rye seemed to be allergic to food—his taste buds acted like they’d been seared to nothingness, and even the most succulent dinners made him ill.

But he dreamed about maple cornbread and pancakes dotted with chocolate chips. And the woman who’d bantered with him as she cooked, green eyes sparkling.

Sleeping had never been so difficult for him, and he couldn’t believe he’d ever taken it for granted. He’d taken to sitting on the back porch late at night strumming on Old Faithful. The first time Annabelle snuck out of bed and climbed onto his lap, he didn’t know what to do. When he tried to take her back to her room, she started crying and locked her arms around his neck. So he stopped fighting her, terrified by her tears, and let her stay with him until she fell asleep. She came the next night, and they repeated the pattern until he finally stopped trying to make her go. Sometimes they listened to evening sounds, and sometimes she asked him to sing to her. When she fell asleep, he tucked her into bed before heading into his own room.

If Tammy knew, she didn’t say anything, so he didn’t say anything, either. It was like egg shells covered his floor instead of hardwood.

Rory still wasn’t talking to him directly. The boy’s accusatory eyes became a form of punishment for all Rye’s misdeeds, reminding him to be careful with other people’s feelings.

Tammy spent time decorating their bedrooms and the playroom, trying to make it into a real home for her and the kids. Still, Rye would sometimes find a random doll or dump truck lying around in other parts of the house. She’d apologize for the mess before making things immaculate again. When he finally told her he didn’t mind a little clutter, she looked so fragile—like he’d shaken her brittle world with those few words—that he didn’t know what to say.

He went out less. Found the old easy distractions like women and liquor less easy. His friends talked about his mood, and Clayton claimed he was depressed. Depressed? Rye Crenshaw? He was just adjusting to having his family around, that’s all.

But deep down, he knew better. He lost weight. His face grew haggard from too little sleep. Amelia Ann even tried cooking for him when she came home for a Sunday dinner, which was a total disaster not to be repeated.

He sought peace in the one thing that had always made him happy, throwing himself into the songs for the new album. But when he tried to write his catchy trademark lyrics, they felt fake—like when a word that’s been read too many times doesn’t look right on the page anymore. The trash can in his studio looked like a legal notepad had ended it kamikaze style, and broken pencils lay scattered everywhere. Clayton and Georgia suggested hiring a songwriter. He refused. He told them the problem was temporary, but he worried it wasn’t.

The mood in the house remained tense, and when he was on an errand to purchase dog food on a cool October day, he decided to change that. The kids loved his dogs, but Bullet and Banjo were pretty big for them. Standing in the pet aisle, he picked two animals that seemed the perfect size for the kids. He’d always wanted a dog of his own growing up, but Mama had put the kibosh on that idea.

When he returned to the house, his spirits were better for the first time in months. He bundled his purchases under his arms and walked to the front. Bullet and Banjo raced off when he pointed to the back of the house.

When he opened the door, he was smiling. “Annabelle. Rory. Come out here.”

He couldn’t wait to see their faces. Maybe he’d found a way to help the little ones adjust to their new lives, perhaps even enjoy them.

***

Tammy heard his shout and set aside the magazine she’d been thumbing through for an hour. Why did Saturdays seem to drag on? The kids were reading quietly too, but they scampered off when Rye called for them. Tammy trailed behind, the only thing she knew how to do right now. In this new world, she didn’t know who she was other than a mama, and wasn’t sure when she’d venture out of this nest to try and find out. She couldn’t stay dependent on Rye forever.

Rye stood in the entryway with his fingers tucked in his belt loops, shifting on his feet. “I have something for you kids.” He eased open the front door. “Follow me.”

Annabelle ran forward in delight, squealing. “Oh my, it’s a puppy. Look, Mama, it’s a puppy!”

Rye gave Annabelle’s head an absentminded caress and leaned down to nudge the miniature Shih Tzu forward. Annabelle picked up the pink leash and pulled the puppy into her arms, giggling when it licked her.

“I thought it might be nice for each of you to have a new friend here in Nashville,” Rye said.

He’d bought them puppies? Her eyes burned. Did he have any idea how precious this was? Sterling hated animals and thought they were filthy creatures, so she’d never been able to grant the kids’ wish for a pet.

“I’ll show the kids how to take care of them, Tammy. You won’t have to do a thing, I promise.”

She only nodded. Her voice had dried up like an old well.

Annabelle launched herself at Rye. “Oh, Uncle Rye, this is the bestest present ever. Right, Mama? I can’t wait to show Aunt Amelia. I’m going to name my dog Barbie.”

Rye winced and scratched his chin. “Ah, don’t you think you might want to choose something else?” he asked, glancing sideways at Rory, who stood by the front door, his little brow furrowed.

“No, it’s a Barbie dog, so its name is Barbie. What do you think, Mama? Isn’t she pretty?”

Tammy cleared her throat. “She sure is, precious,” she said, leaning down and giving the puppy a hesitant rub. He—she?—curled into her hand.

“Please tell me it’s a girl dog,” she whispered to Rye.

“Nope,” he said with the sputter of a laugh. “Poor Barbie is a boy. Leave it be. She’s happy.”

Rory still hadn’t moved away from the front door.

“Rory, come on over here,” Rye called.

Her son took his time, making her nervous. Surely, he wouldn’t refuse this gift. He and Rye were still at odds over Tory, but perhaps this could be the first step toward making it right.

“I thought you might like a labradoodle,” Rye said, handing him the other puppy’s leash. “They’re fun and friendly and good companions for boys your age. He’s your dog, son. You can name him and everything.”

Please take it, Rory,
she prayed.
Don’t hurt Rye or yourself anymore than you already have.

“Rory, have you got any names for your dog?” she asked, hoping to soothe the tension between them.

Her boy lifted his chin. “It doesn’t change what you did.”

“No, it doesn’t, son.” Rye heaved a sigh. “I didn’t buy him thinking it would. I bought him because I thought he’d be a good friend to you.” And with that he handed Rory the leash and headed inside.