Sheri chews her cheek again, a telltale sign that she’s mulling over whether or not to spill information to me. “Everett – your dad. . .”
“. . . does not like LeAnne Avery,” Popeye finishes.
“Why? Because of her policies or something?” I say, confused. “Why would he care about the mayor when we don’t even live here?”
“Oh Mila,” Popeye murmurs, his real eye now twinkling at me. “So blissfully unaware.”
“What?” I push.
Sheri walks to the kitchen and pulls out a chair at the dining table. I hadn’t noticed the scent of food lingering in the air until now, but a fresh pang of guilt hits me when I spot some foil-covered dishes over on the counter – presumably leftovers that would have been my share of the meal.
There’s thetaptap tapof Sheri’s fingertips against the oak table, a hum of contemplation in the air. “It really isn’t my place to bring it up,” she says after a moment. “You should talk to your parents.”
“I should talk to my parents about Mayor Avery?” I say, nonplussed. I mean, why would my parents even know who the Mayor of Nashville is?
“Yes, because your grandpa is right. Everett and Marnie would not be thrilled to discover that you’ve been visiting LeAnne’s home,” Sheri says, her mouth twitchy. Then, as an afterthought, she adds in a low voice, “Or that you seem to be getting cozy with her son.”
“Blake? No – no, there is definitely no coziness between us.”
Sheri shoots me a knowing smile. With her foot, she kicks out the chair next to her and gestures for me to join. “Dad, do you mind giving us a minute? Mila and I need to finish our conversation.”
Popeye grunts. “I may as well just be a piece of furniture these days,” he grumbles. He spins around and advances across the living room, but before he heads out onto the porch, he says, “Y’all be nice to one another.”
Sheri waits until the creaking in the floorboards fades away, then fixes me with a penetrating stare. “I’m sorry if I raised my voice at you before. I was just. . . I thought – well, if you didn’t show up, I thought Ruben would personally hop on a jet over here to throttle me with his bare hands.”
Still nervy, I snicker at the image. I don’t think Sheri and Ruben have ever met, but it says a lot about Ruben’s intense management regime that people are terrified of him just from the way he treats them over a phone line.
“It’s not funny, Mila,” Sheri says sternly, looking down her nose at me. For a second, I fear she may get cross again. “They don’t want you out of my sight.”
“They?” I repeat, holding my breath.
Sympathy flits across Sheri’s gaze. “These go-nowhere, see-no-one orders of Ruben’s? They were your father’s idea,” she says.
I exhale sharply. It feels like a punch to the gut. It’sDadwho wants me to remain locked in this ranch for the summer, with no freedom and no life of my own?
All – for – a – fucking –movie?
I know to expect these things from Ruben; it’s his job to manage Dad’s career and that means Ruben ultimately has the final say if he truly believes his decisions are for the best. It made sense until now that this was all Ruben’s idea. I could survive knowing this was just Ruben being Ruben, with his bizarre stunts and overreactive measures, but to hear that Ruben, for once, is following Dad’s orders. . . Wow, that hurts.
Dad wanted this. He wanted me here, thousands of miles away from Mom and him, locked up and silenced in the old family ranch. Hechosethis as a summer for me.
The feeling of being second best to Dad’s work is one I’ve always told myself I’ve imagined. I have shaken off the endless, rolling tides of resentment and jealousy and convinced myself that sometimes, like when Dad’s latest project is due for release, it’s normal for his career to be at the forefront of his mind. It’s okay that he doesn’t have time to have breakfast together in the mornings before school, it’s okay that there’s a conflict in his schedule that prevents him going out for dinner with Mom and me, because he’sbusy. Once the initial rush of excitement from the movie’s release is over, he’ll turn his focus to me again. . . Except, he never quite does.
And now. . . Now I know, as clear as the blue skies outside, that it’s true.
Dad’s careerdoescome first. Otherwise, he would never have removed me from his picture-perfect life simply because I dared to smudge the frame without even meaning to. If I were of the utmost importance to him, he would have told the production executives to shove it. He would have told Ruben to lay off me. He would have kept me at home where I belong, no matter how many more times I messed up. But now there is no denying that I’m not his priority.
Tears scorch my eyes and I blink fast to keep them at bay.
But then a kind hand squeezes my thigh.
“I didn’t want to let you know that,” Sheri says regretfully, scooting her chair in closer. “But I need you to know how serious this arrangement is. Your dad will not be happy if he finds out I’m giving you freedom, and you’re old enough to notice that we don’t have the best relationship as it is.”
I fasten my damp eyes on her. “I’m sorry,” I apologize once more. “I really do appreciate what you’re doing for me, and the last thing I want is to make life difficult for you. I promise this won’t happen again.”
“Thank you, Mila,” she says with genuine relief, and then her eyes crinkle at the corners with a knowing warmth. “Next time you’re out with a certainboynamed Blake Avery, you make sure you give me the heads-up. Promise?”
15
