Grace Unplugged: A Novel (26 page)

W
hen it was finally time to call it a night and go home, Grace was almost reluctant to leave. After she’d gotten over her fears and anxiety, Quentin and his family had started to feel like a warm, safe haven in the midst of a crazy storm. Not so different from her own family way back when. Back before Grace had gotten serious about her own music, back before she’d run away and torn them apart.

Trying to block out the darker thoughts, Grace thanked Quentin’s parents for a lovely evening and, at Donna’s urging, even promised to come back again someday. Although she wasn’t sure that was ever going to happen. Especially if they learned more about her . . . if they ever found out what she’d done to her parents. As she got her purse, Quentin insisted on walking her to her car. And once they were outside, she knew there was something she wanted to ask him. She just wasn’t quite sure how.

“I’ve been thinking about something,” she said as they stood by her car.

“Yeah?” He leaned toward her with genuine interest.

She blinked. Did he think she was about to declare her love for him? “It has to do with something your dad said.”

“Oh?” Now he leaned back a little, but he still looked interested. “What’s that?”

“He was talking about when you guys went to see my dad and how that was a big night for you . . . back in Florida. I was just curious.”

“Oh, yeah, my big night.” He nodded with a faraway look, as if remembering.

“How old were you then?” she asked as she leaned against the hood of the car.

“Eighteen.” Standing next to her, he leaned against the hood too. “To be honest, I can’t even remember why I went. My parents didn’t try to make me. Probably good since I wouldn’t have listened if they had. I was a punk.”

“That’s hard to imagine.”

“It’s true. And I don’t even remember exactly what your dad said that night. Except that it shook me. Made me rethink my whole life.” He exhaled and looked up at the sky, which was surprisingly clear tonight. Grace could actually see some stars. “Anyway, when we got home, I told my parents I wasn’t a Christian. I knew the facts and everything, but it wasn’t real for me. You know?”

She wasn’t sure that she did know—did she really know anything?

“Guess your dad’s words got me.” Quentin shoved his hands in his pockets. “To be more honest,
God
got to me. But he did use your dad to get my attention. That’s one reason I feel grateful for your dad.”

She shrugged, trying to act nonchalant but at the same time wondering why it always came back to this—why couldn’t she just leave her dad and her past behind? Why did it feel like he was trailing her, shadowing her every step?

“Grace, I got to ask you,” he began in a gentle but probing tone. “And you totally don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. But what happened between you and your dad?”

She sighed and looked away.

“Why are you really out here?” he continued. “Are you running to something, or are you simply running away?”

She looked back at him now, evenly taking in the handsome features of his face. He really was a nice guy, just a bit too inquisitive. “Tell your parents thanks again,” she stiffly told him. “I had a nice time.” Then she got into her car and drove away. Keeping her full attention on the road, she tried to push the last part of their conversation into some dark corner of her mind.

But even after she got home, safely tucked into her recently cleaned apartment, Quentin’s words continued to haunt her. At first she was mad at him, wanting to demand what right he had to question her like that. But then she felt somewhat relieved that he could actually see through her, almost as if he was trying to understand her in order to help. But then she felt angry all over again. Why did Quentin insist on prying into her world, rocking her boat? Didn’t he get what kind of pressure she was under? Didn’t he understand that she took her music seriously? That she had sacrificed nearly everything to reach this place? Running from something?
Really?

Then she thought about the kind words Quentin and his parents had for her dad. And she knew her dad wasn’t a monster. He didn’t deserve to be completely written out of her life. And yet, wasn’t that what he wanted? Wasn’t that the message he had sent her: “My way or the highway.” Still, she knew she owed so much to him. And she knew that—despite everything, despite their differences, despite their fights—her father loved her. She knew it.

She picked up her phone and pushed what used to be one of her most commonly used speed dial numbers, right below Rachel’s. The word
Home
appeared on the screen. She stared at the familiar letters and considered pushing
Send
, but something inside of her would not let her do it. She tossed the phone aside and went to bed.

Grace frowned up at the tour bus, watching as the guys loaded the holds with instrument cases and luggage and crates. She knew she should be excited—over the moon—to know that her tour was about to begin. But all she felt was numb . . . and slightly lost. She wasn’t even sure why.

“What is it?” Mossy asked her for the second time. “What’s wrong now?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head.

“Then why are you acting like this?” he demanded.

“It’s nothing,” she insisted. “Just . . . well, I have a lot on my mind. No big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” he told her. “This tour’s a big deal, Gracie. A lot’s riding on this. You
need
to stay sharp.”

“I will!” she snapped at him.

“Look, Gracie,” he softened his tone, “I’d go with you, but—”

“Mossy, I’m fine! Really.”

“All right.” He tipped his head toward the bus. “They should have your itinerary and—”

“I got it,” she waved the papers in his face. “I’m on it, Mossy. You can trust me, okay?”

“Okay.” He gave her an uncertain look. “Well, just don’t forget to learn your new song. We’ll schedule for—”

“I know, I know,” she told him. “You’ve told me like a hundred times.” She almost added, “just like my dad used to do,” but stopped herself. That was just way too close to home.

He held up his hands in a helpless gesture. “Okay. You’re on it. I get it.”

She forced a smile. “Thanks, Moss. See ya.”

“Rock on,” he called out as she got onto the bus.

She just nodded and waved. Sometimes Mossy was an awful lot like her dad. And then at other times they were as different as night and day. Gracie made her way past the driver’s area to where Kendra was sitting on the couch across from the kitchen area. She looked uneasy, as if this was about to get awkward. Grace pressed her lips together as she studied her, unsure of what to say.

“Gracie,” Kendra began, “I just want to—”

“It’s okay,” Grace acted nonchalant. “We’re cool.” She pointed to the chair across from Kendra. “Anyone sitting there?”

“Just you.” Kendra looked relieved.

Grace forced yet another smile and sat. “So when do we leave?” she asked.

“Who knows?” Kendra sighed. “Just when you think we’re ready to roll, someone remembers something. It could take five minutes or thirty.”

Grace heard a tapping sound behind her and turned to see Quentin outside, tapping on her window with an urgent expression.

Grace just shook her head as she stood. “Don’t let ’em leave without me,” she told Kendra as she made her way back outside. Thankfully Mossy was gone now.

“Quentin,” she said casually as she went over to him. “What’s up?”

“I was hoping you hadn’t left yet,” he told her.

“I think we’re about to.” She studied his eyes. They always had such a genuinely sincere look about them, as if she could truly trust him. And yet she didn’t want to. More and more Quentin reminded her of everything she’d left behind . . . and of everything she wasn’t.

“I brought you something.” He held a paper bag out to her.

She peeked inside. “Your mom’s cookies!”

“And a few other goodies too. I know how you forget to eat sometimes.”

Now she pulled out a paperback book and stared at it.

“Remember we thought you’d have time to read on the tour?” he said.

She held up the book, pointing at the author’s name on the front cover and laughed. “
That’s
my pastor.”

“What?”

“Well, my parents’ pastor anyway.” She frowned down at the familiar words on the cover—
Own It! Is it Really Your Faith?
by Tim Bryant.

“Are you serious?” Quentin flipped the book over to where Pastor Tim’s pleasant face smiled from the back cover.

“I am.” She folded her arms across her front, glancing over at the bus, which still didn’t look close to leaving.

“Tim Bryant is your pastor?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

Quentin slapped the book onto his forehead. “Oh, yeah. Of course. My parents got this book when you guys came to our church. I thought I was being so clever, but instead I’m such a moron.”

“No,” she shook her head. “It’s . . . well, thank you.”

“Have you already read it?”

She sheepishly shook her head. “No, not yet.”

“It’s really good,” he said gently. “Okay, it changed my life. Anyway, hope you like it.” He pressed the book into her hands. “Maybe we can talk about it, you know, when you get back.”

She sighed. “Yeah, maybe. But I better go now.” She nodded over to where the guys were starting to close the holds beneath the bus, loudly slamming them shut. “Looks like we’re almost ready to roll.”

“I’ll be praying you have a good trip,” he told her, his eyes locked on hers.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, turning away. Why did it always feel like he was looking right through her? Like he could strip all her phoniness away and see her for who she was, and yet it didn’t seem to be driving him away. “See ya,” she called as she boarded the bus again.

Making her way back to her seat, Grace slipped the book into her bag, but she could feel Kendra’s eyes on her.

“What was that all about?” Kendra asked in a slightly teasing tone.

“Nothing.” Grace crossed one leg over the other and returned Kendra’s gaze.

“Looked like something to me.”

Grace looked away as the bus began to move, pretending to be focused on the Sapphire building as they slowly moved through the back parking lot. She wasn’t angry at Kendra anymore, but she was going to be more careful with their friendship from now on. Kendra might be a good stylist, but Grace knew her well enough to know that she might not always have Grace’s best interests at heart. If Grace was going to survive and succeed in this business, she needed to get smarter. A lot smarter.

Grace enjoyed looking out the window as they drove through the dessert. It was so different from the landscape she’d grown up with in the south—vast and barren, it almost seemed endless. She felt small and slightly lost in the midst of it. However, she suspected it wasn’t just the landscape that was making her feel like this.

To distract herself, she studied the itinerary. It looked like they had a lot of ground to cover in just a couple of weeks. Heading east, they had dozens of stops in dozens of cities. Mossy was right, she would need to stay focused. She flipped to the last page of the itinerary and was surprised to see they would even tour the South. Her eyes continued down the list: Springfield and Saint Louis, Missouri; Louisville, Kentucky—she stopped and stared in disbelief—they were even stopping in Birmingham, Alabama, just thirty minutes from her parents’ home. She closed the itinerary, shoving it into her bag. Well, in all likelihood, her parents wouldn’t hear about her tour. And even if they did, she felt certain they would not come.

Their first stop was Flagstaff, Arizona. A college town with Old West charm, Grace happily trekked into the radio station with some of the musicians. While they set up, Grace was interviewed by the DJ.

“So there you have it,” he said as they were finishing up. “Gracie Trey is a name you’re going to be hearing a lot about in the future. And now she and her band are going to play her new hit—well, I guess it’s kind of an old hit done in a fresh, new way. Don’t go away, listeners, you’re in for a real treat.”

They played “Misunderstood” with enthusiasm. Then, as the guys packed it up, she autographed some photos for a few fans who had stopped by the station. Then she and her crew toured the town a bit and got some lunch, and then they were back on the road again.

So it went for the next couple of days. Driving, stopping, talking, playing, autographing—and then back on the road again. During her interview in Salt Lake City, the DJ made an exciting announcement: “I was just online,” he told Grace, “and it looks like ‘Misunderstood’ just hit number fourteen on the Top Forty Chart.”

“Seriously?” Her eyes grew big.

“According to
Billboard
,” he told her. “And they should know.”

“That’s awesome!” She exchanged a high five with him.

“Congratulations,” he told her.

After the interview she and the band performed, and when they finished and excited the station, they were greeted by dozens of fans. Kendra handed Grace photos to sign; and, even though she was tired, Grace tried to say at least a few personal words to each one. However, one girl caught Grace’s eye. She appeared to be about ten, standing in line with her father, anxiously waiting for her turn. Finally the pair stepped up. “What’s your name?” Grace asked the girl.