Diva NashVegas (32 page)

Last night, Scott asked us to consider sitting for an interview—a
short
interview—but Peter passed. Just didn't seem like the right time to do a Donny and Marie. I agreed.

“Will you come for Christmas?” I ask.

He shrugs. “The holidays are a busy time for me.”

“I could visit you,” I venture, “in Florida. Great place to visit in winter, right?”

“Right.” He doesn't look at me much. Mostly around me. “Might be a fun thing.”

The temperature continues to plummet and when the rain starts, we move inside. Without asking, Peter lights the fireplace as if he'd visited a hundred times.

“AJ, if you don't mind, I think I'll visit some of the old haunts.”

“Have fun.” Home less than a day and my brother seems changed already. Like he faced it, survived, and is finding peace in a place he thought reminded him of terror.

On his way out, he asks if Mike Loudermilk still lives in town. “Last I heard. His parents are in the same place.”

He hums and jiggles his keys. “See you later.”

“Want to order pizza for dinner?”

His smile is warm. “Sounds good.”

While he reconstructs the links to his past, I spend the afternoon at Piper's desk, getting caught up on e-mail and AubJay business.

Zach e-mailed to confirm our business meeting with Eli on Monday about starting my own label. An idea I'm really starting to hate.

Several e-mail discussions have flown back and forth about the new Aubrey handbag design. I filter through those, make my decision, send an e-mail, and end the cyber argument.

Last but not least, I find an e-mail from Jen.

Aubrey,

School is fantastic. I am having a blast. My engineering classes are hard, but I
love the challenge, and I'm getting A's in calc and physics.

Football Saturdays are a blast. A couple of us are road tripping it up to Kansas
for the next away game.

Mom and I decided living in an apartment would be better than the dorms. Great
decision now that I've visited the dorms. A girl I knew from community college moved to
OU the same time as me and needed a roommate, so we decided to get a place together.

She's really fun, sweet, clean. And guess what, a huge Aubrey James fan. I had
to tell her. Please forgive me. I had to. And a few of my best friends at home. I mean,
they are my best friends.

But my roommate wants to meet you. Now look, no pressure, but maybe we could
road trip to Nashville on a long break. Up to you. Whatever. I'm just saying. She's
really cool. I promise she won't be a stalker.

Down to business. I found a church near campus I like a lot. I had no intentions
of meeting anyone other than God there, and wham, the cutest youth pastor this side
of heaven walks up to me. Did I mention he's single?

What do you think? Do I grab him by the ears and kiss him or what? Bad
idea? Yeah, bad idea. I mean, why start something I can't finish. But every time I
see him, my knees go weak. I can tell he's interested, but sorta standing back and
watching. I changed clothes three times before church last week. I'm being ridiculous,
right?

I do miss my friends from home, but get to see them over Thanksgiving. Oh,
remember Buck? Never called me . . . until the night before I was leaving. Goofball. But
we have a date the Saturday after Thanksgiving. (Snicker)

Hope you are doing well. Miss you. Write!

Love lots, Jen

I hit Reply and pour out my heart, telling her about the night at the Ryman, the growing emotion between Scott and me, Peter coming home, and my plans to paint the house. Well, the half I can reach, anyway.

. . . I'd love for you to road trip to Nashville. And we can talk about bringing your
friend. I want to trust you, but I've been burned before. Had a stalker for a couple of
years when a friend brought a friend over. Give me her name and I'll have Jeff check
her out. Oooh, does that sound cynical? Know what? I'll leave it up to you, Jen. If
you say she's good people, then she is. As for the cute youth pastor . . . just be wise.
But don't be afraid.

I'm attaching a gift certificate to the AubJay store. You and your roommate can
shop there for whatever you want. Oh, and I'm forwarding you a gift certificate to
Target. All college kids need stuff from Target, right?

Love you,
Aubrey

She returns my e-mail right away. Must be hanging out online today. Smiling, I read.

Aubrey,

OMG, a thousand dollars to Target!!!!!! Are you crazy? No, I guess not. Thank
you, thank you, thank you. Seriously, it's too much. You shouldn't have. Thank you,
thank you, thank you. My roommate is really impressed now. She sends her thanks
for the AubJay shopping spree. She's going to look like a walking billboard for you.
Actually, we're having fun not telling people, but flashing around your name and
stuff. Ha!

Better go. I'm in the library with my study group. On a Saturday, no less. Did I
mention there are some things about college I don't like?

Love, and thanks again,
Jen

Shutting down the computer, stretching and collapsing against the back of the chair, I peer out the window at the maple's red and gold leaves clapping in the wind. Juan is steering a wheelbarrow across the lawn toward the gazebo. He stops and lifts out flower boxes of marigolds. How beautiful. Juan. He never leaves my garden unattended.

The phone's ring snaps me out of my mindless stare.

“Want to catch dinner with Ami and me?” Zach asks.

“Um, sure. Hey, Peter showed up last night.”

“Your brother Peter?”

“One and the same. Can you believe it?”

“No . . . How are you?”

I smile. “Actually, wonderful.”

“Well, then, do you
and
Peter want to join us for dinner?”

“He's out right now. Let me call you when—” I hear the chime of the front door opening and closing. I hear footsteps echoing in the foyer and down the hall. “Pete just came home. What time do you want to meet?”

“Seven thirty at LongHorn.”

“See you then.” I go find Peter. He chose to sleep in the barren but rather large downstairs master bedroom.

“Peter?” I knock lightly and wait for an answer. I call again, but when he doesn't answer, I inch the door open. “Pete?” No answer.

I know I heard him come in. I check Car's old office to see if he decided to use my old laptop.

“Peter?” I jog upstairs to check the library and the rec room. He's not in either place, or in any of the bedrooms. All right, I'm not crazy; I did hear him come in. Puzzled, I stand at the top of the stairs.

Then I hear music. I cock my ear toward the sound. Peter is singing and playing one of Momma's songs. His voice is still strong, and wrapped with emotion. Leaning my arms on the railing, I close my eyes and sing harmony.

Peter's bag is in the foyer Sunday afternoon when Connie and I arrive
home from church. Connie wipes her eyes when he wraps his arm around her shoulders. “You're a sight I've been praying to see for a long time.”

I set my bag and Bible on the end table. “Do you want some lunch?”

“Naw,” he waves me off. “I'll grab something on the road.”

The idea of him leaving sends a pang of loneliness through me. “You'll come back, won't you?”

“Probably.” He clears his throat. “I'm proud of you. Momma and Daddy would be proud of you.”

My eyes water. “They'd be proud of you too.”

“That's debatable.” He puts his arm around me as we walk to the foyer. “See you.”

“Christmastime?”

He pauses at the door. “Maybe. You could drive down, and I'll string the boat with a few lights and—”

“I still don't drive,” I confess with a wince.

At first, he's stunned. Then his rolling laugh bounces off the high ceiling and rains over me. “Holy cow, AJ, learn to freaking drive.”

“Spoken like a true brother,” Connie says.

He opens the front door. “I'll see you.”

“There's money,” I blurt.

“I don't want your money.”

“Not my money, yours. Around a half a million.”

He cocks his head sideways as if I'm speaking a foreign language and steps back inside. “Come again?”

“Half a million. Connie and I finally organized Daddy and Momma's affairs. We've been putting your half of the mechanicals and royalties from their songs into an account. Remember the little publishing company Daddy started the year before he died? Connie keeps it going. ‘The Man' was covered again and became a gospel hit.”

He circles the room, his hand on his head. “Half million?”

“With your name on it.” I run to Piper's desk and find his bank information. “The account is in your name—Peter James's name.”

He reviews the bank's info, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Can I access this from Florida?”

“Yes,” Connie says, tapping the handwritten pin number and Web site. He beams, scratching his head. “What a beautiful thing.”

35

“Aubrey James is the Susan Lucci of the CMA Awards.
Always nominated, never a winner.”

—Country Weekly

Scott

Oktoberfest. Or, as some in our family call it, Vaughn Fest. The big
annual family get-together. All the aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews, friends, and friends of friends gather at Dad and Mom's the first weekend in October.

Friday afternoon, as I get ready to drive down to Murfreesboro, Mom calls for the fourth time.

“Just had a wild thought. Why don't you bring Aubrey down?”

“Aubrey who?”

She sighs as if the burden of her son's welfare rests on her feeble mom shoulders. “You know Aubrey who.”

“Now why would I bring Aubrey?”

“I've been watching the show and . . . well . . . you two have a vibe.”

My mother is noticing my vibe? I'm embarrassed. “I see Dad forgot to give you your medication.” I pull my duffel bag from the closet floor. “What medi—Oh, stop. Son, I can tell. Aubrey
is
sweet on you. She's got that look in her eye.”

“Mom, that look is for the
NashVegas
audience, her fans.”

“Are you saying if you invited her she wouldn't come?”

Tossing the duffel to my bed, I think it over.
Would
she come? “I'm sure she has weekend plans. Aubrey James is a very busy woman.”

“Call her. Humor me.”

“Can't I just tell you a couple of jokes?” Picking a couple of pairs of socks from the top dresser drawer, I lob them over to my bag.
Vaughn
scores a double basket. The crowd goes wild.

“No. Call her.”
Click.

I jerk the phone away from my ear with a laugh. My mom just hung up on me.
See if I call Aubrey for you now.
I toss the phone onto the bed and finish packing.

But the idea of calling Aubrey nags at me. By the time I zip my bag shut, I'm really annoyed.
Nice going, Mom.

My logical, thinking, rational side says forget it. She's not going to pack up last minute and go to Murfreesboro for the weekend. What's she going to do with my family all weekend? Listen to stories? Help in the kitchen?

I laugh at the image of Mom watching her kitchen burn down while Aubrey wrings a dish towel in her hands, wailing, “I'll build you a new one.”

What if we don't get along and I have to endure rock-hard silence the entire way home? Not to mention she just broke off with Car. She can't be interested in meeting another guy's family.

Last but not least, what if she discovers I'm completely, hopelessly, madly in love with her?

Snatching up the phone before I change my mind, I dial Aubrey's place. Piper answers on the third ring.

“Piper, this is Scott Vaughn—”

“What can I do for you, sir?”

“Is Aubrey around?”

“Yeah, just got back from a meeting with her business manager. Hold on.”

This is nuts. She's not going to drop everything and run down to Murfreesboro with me.
Hang up. No, Piper will tell her I called.

Make up an excuse.
What d'you know? I found the information I needed while
waiting for you to come to the phone.

Nope. She won't buy it. Think of something else.

“Scott, hello.”

“Aubrey, how are you?”

“Wonderful. And you?”

“Doing good.”

Silence.

“So, is that why you called?” Her laugh is airy and sweet.

“No.”

Silence.

“Scott, are you okay?” The airiness is replaced with concern.

“WouldyouliketogotoMurfreesboroformyfamilyOktoberfest?”

“When?”

“Today. In an hour.” Here comes the big fat
noooo
.

Silence.

“Fancy or casual?”

Breathe
. “Very casual.” My heart stops beating so I thump it with my fist. “Should I bring down some giveaways? Yes, yes I should. The Aubrey Bags are so fabulous. I'll have Piper run down to the warehouse; it's not far. How many people?”

“Hundreds.”

“Hundreds? Really?”

I laugh. “Oktoberfest—or, as my sisters and I call it, Vaughn Fest— is a big family-and-friends gathering.”

“Okay, then, hundreds. I'll have Piper get some of the AubJay staff to make up kits. Is it okay if they're delivered tomorrow?”

“Aubrey, you don't have to do this.” I glance at my reflection in the dresser mirror. Yes, it's true. I'm madly in love with this woman.