“Of course,” Saul said, standing. “I’ll see you in a few hours for the vigil.”
I nodded mutely as he left the room. Stumbling out of the bed, I gazed at myself in the mirror. No wonder my bandmates were so worried about me; I could hardly recognize my own reflection. I’d lost weight—how much, I couldn’t say—and my cheekbones stood out in my face with skeletal prominence. Dark shadows circled my eyes. I looked like a dead man walking. I closed my eyes and pressed my forehead against the mirror, allowing the cool glass to soothe my feverish skin.
The guys had talked me into tonight’s vigil, talking vaguely of closure and saying goodbye, but I knew there would be no closure for me. Still, I owed it to them to put in a little effort, so I set about rooting through piles of clothes for anything clean enough to wear again, mentally bracing myself for the night to come.
1
Ella
Now’s your chance, Ella. Tell him now, the voice in my head prompted me, and I cleared my throat, eyes fixed on the pair of blue jeans–clad legs that extended out from under the blue Dodge Durango.
I had often joked that I was more familiar with my father’s legs than his face, since I’d grown up helping him around the auto shop, handing him tools and assisting with some of the more routine services.
Since my mom died when I was little, it had always been just the two of us: Don Pierce and his little daughter, Ella, who sang in the church choir. But I was twenty now, a grown woman, and it was time for things to start changing. Even if my dad didn’t like it.
And he wouldn’t like it, I knew that instinctually. That was why it was so hard to get the words out. I cleared my throat again.
“Something on your mind, Eleanor?” Dad asked, his voice slightly muffled from under the SUV. My dad was the only person in the world who called me by my full name, the only person I’d allow. The rest of the world knew me as Ella. Sweet, dependable Ella, who could be found at church every Sunday, singing her heart out in the choir, and helping her daddy out in his garage every other day of the week. It was a good life, I knew that, but still—I needed more. It was time for me to grow up for real.
“Daddy . . .” I began, and something in my voice must have caught his attention, because he emerged from under the car, his face smeared with oil. Standing, he wiped his greasy hands across his potbelly, oblivious to the dark stains he streaked across the straining fabric.
“What is it?” he asked.
It’s now or never, Ella, the voice in my head said. Do it. “I’m going on a mini tour,” I blurted out. “With the band.”
Predictably, Dad’s face clouded over. “Are you now?” he said, his attention suddenly razor-focused on me.
“Just a small one,” I rushed to assure him. “East coast only: DC, Philadelphia, and New York. It’s only for a month, Daddy.”
“I don’t know, Eleanor . . .” Dad began, but I cut him off.
“It’ll be perfectly safe,” I said. “The girls will be with me the whole time, and Martine too. It’s not like I’ll be alone. And the shows we did last fall were so successful, Martine says we need to keep our momentum up.”
Dad’s nose wrinkled in distaste at the mention of our band manager, Martine. “I don’t trust that woman,” he said, for the millionth time. “That name she picked out for you . . .”
I winced. Our band name, the Sinful Sisters, had been the subject of many arguments between my dad and me since the band had formed. I quickly changed the subject, because I knew that was a losing argument. “Daddy, I’m twenty years old and I’ve hardly ever been outside of West Virginia. Don’t you think it’s time for me to travel a little? Have some new experiences?”
“That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” Dad said wryly. “I know exactly what kind of ‘experiences’ are waiting for you out there.”
I rolled my eyes. “Daddy,” I said, unable to control the childish wheedling tone in my voice. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
“I’m your father, Eleanor,” he said. “It’s my job to worry about you. You’re such a good girl, you don’t know what kind of bad influences are out there.”
“I’m not a little girl anymore, Daddy,” I reminded him. “You’re going to have to start trusting me sooner or later.”
My dad’s eyes softened. “Of course I trust you, Eleanor,” he said. “It’s everyone else I don’t trust. I just don’t want anything happening to you.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” I insisted. “I’ll be with Susanna and Liz the whole time.”