The label has been incredibly supportive, delaying the tour a week and rescheduling four shows. Now that the cat’s out of the bag that Richie Sands’ long-lost daughter is none other than up and coming rock sensation Lexi Marx, they’re getting a pretty good deal. Within hours, the final shows of the tour sold out and now they’re looking at extending it internationally. I should be ecstatic. It’s what every artist hopes for. Sold out shows and the promise of recognition, but I’m not. I wanted to do this on my own, and somehow this feels as if I’m cheating. As though I didn’t earn it. Everything from here on out will be tainted by my association to my father.
We reach our rental car and Trent reaches out to open my door but pauses, his gaze trained behind us where we lowered my father into his grave. “Do you know her?” He tilts his chin in the same direction and I follow his gaze.
The woman standing near the edge of the gravesite wears a simple fifties style knee-length dress with flat sandals. She wouldn’t stand out as much if it weren’t for the long, loose auburn curls flowing down her back as she holds perfectly still. I wonder who she is, how she knew my dad, and why she’s showing up a good hour after the service.
“I don’t.” I should probably leave. Get in the car with Trent and enjoy a leisurely meal before we catch our flight to meet up with the band in Florida. But something pulls me toward the woman. My feet tread through the rows of headstones and then I recognize her as the woman I spoke to after my show, weeks ago. “Opal?”
She jumps at my voice and her hand goes to her throat with a gasp.
“Opal,” I say again, my smile pulling wide at her familiar brown eyes, and I shake my head. “What are you doing here?”
“I ... Um ... I ... Well, I just—” Her chest heaves with each word, and if possible, her eyes grow wider by the second.
“Breathe.” I reach out, and my hand steadies her arm in an attempt to ease her nerves. “Are you okay?”
Her gaze darts over my shoulder and she takes a step back as Trent’s arms snake around my waist. She holds her arms across her stomach, and her lips rub together before she takes a shaky breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here.” She turns to leave, but curiosity nags at my brain.
“Opal, wait!” I shout and she stops to turn, her face so full of worry, it appears she might break. “Are you okay?”
At my question she bursts into tears. Her hands cover her face as sobs escape and her shoulders shake with each suck of oxygen.
Trent looks between the two of us. A puzzled frown knits his brow, and I’m sure he’s wondering who she is. I’m thinking those exact thoughts. Even though she’s not my problem, my concern grows with each sob. I step closer until I can wrap an arm around her shoulder. She’s younger than me, I’d guess, but taller by a few inches. As soon as she feels my touch, her hands leave her face to wrap around my waist, her head resting on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she croaks between sobs. I pat her back to console this near stranger the best I can. She’s apologizing for something, though to whom or for what I have no idea.
Trent meets my gaze and mouths, “Who is she?”
I just shake my head because I still don’t know. “Opal. Opal, calm down. Tell me what’s going on and I’ll help you figure it out.” I rub her arms until she steps back and wipes the tears from her face.
She meets my gaze even though her chin trembles when she speaks. “I don’t think you can.”
“Try me. I’m tougher than I look.” I smile, hoping to earn a smile or laugh from her, but my words seem to upset her even more as her eyes fill with tears.
“I’m sorry.” She clears her throat. “I didn’t mean for you to see me. I didn’t mean for anyone to. I waited, but I should have stayed back longer. I was so stupid.”
“Opal, just tell me.” I interrupt because she’s not making any sense.
“I ... I’m your sister,” she stutters and my whole world tilts.
“Pardon?” I heard the words; I just don’t understand.
“We’re half-sisters. Richie Sands is—or no, was—my father.” She meets my gaze, her eyes wide and so damn innocent. But still ...
“How can that be? My dad never had any other children. I was his only. He told me so, over and over when I was a kid. And you’re what, eighteen, nineteen?”
“Seventeen.”
“Jesus.” I shake my head and pin her with a glare. “I don’t understand.”
“Richie never knew about me. My mother died after I was born and my granddaddy and grandma raised me. I only learned the truth a few years ago.” She tries to explain but it just doesn’t fit. Or rather, it seems a really convenient time to come forth.
“Is this about money?” I grit through my clenched jaw and her eyes go wide, as if my words actually hurt. She’s a damn good actress. I almost believe her.
“Gosh, no. I’d never. I only came to pay my respects. I didn’t even mean to ever see you again after Oklahoma. I just wanted to meet you that one time. I’m sorry, Lexi. You have your life and I don’t fit it in. I don’t expect anything.”
“Maybe you should leave now,” Trent interrupts and her face falls at his words.
She nods. “You’re right. I should go. I’m sorry, Lexi. I’m glad I met you, though.” She turns and walks away, stepping carefully around the headstones until she reaches the gravel path. We watch her until she’s out of sight.
