Dreamland, p.10
Dreamland, page 10
It was late by the time she finished. Really late. For some people, it might even be considered morning, and because Beverly wanted to make sure she heard Tommie when he woke up, she lay down on the couch in the living room. Somehow she dozed off, like her brain simply decided to shut down, but she was awake even before she heard Tommie coming down the steps.
Gone was the relief from the night before. She didn’t feel like she had after waking from the dream about the pirate or even when her mind had begun tumbling after Peg mentioned that she looked familiar. Rather, there was a low-level sense of dread, like an unpleasant hum, one that hinted she’d missed something important in her escape.
Gary would have found her identification and phone in the house, signaling her intent to stay off the grid. Without ID, she wouldn’t be able to fly anywhere, so Gary’s first stops would be the train and bus stations. She’d already known that, though, which were the reasons for her precautions. She’d also known there were a dozen buses headed in different directions that morning, and Gary would learn that, too, but since he had no idea when she’d left, she would be more difficult to trace. What would Gary do next?
He’d speak with the ticket sellers, but what would he learn? No one would remember a mother and son. No one would remember a long-haired blonde. After that, he’d probably start interviewing the bus drivers, but with so many possibilities that weekend, it would take time. He might, however, eventually stumble across her driver, but what would he learn? Again, no mother and son traveling together. He would also learn that the driver had been replaced with another and that no mother and son had either arrived at a destination or departed together. Even if either driver had seen her and Tommie sitting together by glancing in the rearview mirror—doubtful, since Tommie was so small—would the second driver remember exactly where and when they’d gotten off? Who could possibly remember such a thing, especially after the passage of time, with so many stops, with so many people getting on and off every step of the way? It would be akin to remembering a random face in a passing crowd.
She was safe, she decided, because she’d been careful. She was safe because she’d thought of everything, because she’d known exactly how Gary would conduct his search. And yet she could still feel the anxiety, inching upward inside her like bubbles rising through water, and when the realization suddenly came to her, it felt as though Gary himself had punched her in the stomach.
Cameras, she thought.
Oh God.
What if the bus stations had cameras?
In the morning, I went for a run beneath a cloudless Florida sky. The air was thick with humidity, and by the time I hit the beach, I had to strip off my shirt and use it as a makeshift bandanna to keep the sweat from pouring into my eyes.
I ran in the hard-packed sand near the water’s edge, passing by Bobby T’s and a string of motels and hotels, including the Don, before turning around and making my way back to my place. I wrung out my shirt, shorts, and socks before hopping in the shower to cool off. Afterward, all clothes went into the washer, and only after two cups of coffee did I feel ready to start the day.
Picking up my guitar, I spent the next couple of hours tweaking the song I’d sung for Morgan, thinking again that it was close but not exactly right and feeling that there was something special there, if only I could find it. As I continued to tinker, however, my thoughts kept returning to the question of whether I would ever see Morgan again.
I had lunch, went for a walk on the beach, then continued trying different variations on the song until it was time for me to leave for Bobby T’s. Because it was Sunday, I didn’t expect much of a crowd, but when I got there, every table was already filled. Scanning the audience, I noted that Morgan and her friends weren’t there, and I did my best to ignore a pang of disappointment.
I played the first set—a mix of crowd favorites and my own songs—then rolled into the next set, and then the third, before I started taking requests. By the halfway point in the show, the crowd had grown. It wasn’t quite the size of the Friday-night crowd, but there were a number of people standing, and more people continued to wander in from the beach.
With fifteen minutes to go, Morgan and her friends showed up. Somehow, despite the size of the crowd, they were able to find seats. I caught Morgan’s eye, and she gave a little wave. When I had a single song left to play, I cleared my throat.
“This one’s going out to those here to have a great time at the beach or pool,” I called out with a special smile for Morgan, before launching into “Margaritaville.” The crowd whooped and began to sing along. Before long I saw Morgan and her friends join in, which ended the show on a high note for me.
By the time I finally set my guitar aside, the sun had gone down, leaving only a sliver of yellow at the horizon. While I began packing up, a few people from the crowd approached the stage, offering the usual compliments and questions, but I kept the conversation brief and made a beeline for Morgan and her friends.
As soon as I was close, I could see the delight in Morgan’s expression. She was wearing white shorts and a yellow blouse with a wide scoop neck that showed off her sun-kissed skin.
“Cute,” she said. “I assume you were directing that song at me and my friends? Because of what I mentioned they were drinking at the pool?”
“It seemed fitting,” I agreed. The dim lighting at the bar cast her fine-boned face in moody shadow. “How was your day? What did you end up doing?”
“Not much. We slept in late, rehearsed for an hour and a half, and hung out by the pool. I think I got too much sun, though. My skin feels hot.”
“What did you rehearse?”
“Our new dance routines. There are three songs, which is long for us. We’re at the point where we know all our moves, but it takes a lot of repetition to make sure we’re perfectly in sync.”
“When will you film it?”
“This Saturday at the beach. Right behind the Don.”
“You’ll have to let me know what time so I can be there.”
“We’ll see,” she chirped. “What are you doing now? Do you have plans?”
“I was thinking of getting something to eat.”
“Would you like to come with us? We’re going to Shrimpys Blues.”
“Would your friends care?”
“It was their idea,” she said with a grin. “Why do you think we were waiting for you?”
I loaded my truck while they called for an Uber in the parking lot. I figured I’d just follow their car, but Morgan jogged toward me while calling to her friends over her shoulder, “We’ll meet you there!
“Assuming you don’t mind, of course,” she said as she reached me.
“Not at all.”
I helped her into the truck, then got in on the other side. The Uber had already arrived, and her friends were squeezing into the back seat of the generic silver midsize sedan. As soon as it edged into traffic, I pulled out behind it.
“I have another question about your farm,” she said.
“Seriously?”
“I find it interesting.”
“What’s your question?”
“If your chickens aren’t in cages, why don’t they run away? And how do you even find the eggs? Wouldn’t they be all over the pasture? Like an Easter egg hunt?”
“We have fencing around the pastures, but chickens are social creatures, so they like staying near one another. Plus, they like the shade, which is also where their food and water is. As for the eggs, they’re trained to use nesting boxes, which deposit the eggs in a drawer so we can collect them.”
“You train your chickens?”
“You have to. When a new batch of chickens comes in, I stay with them, and whenever a chicken squats to lay an egg, I scoop it up and put it into the nesting box. Chickens generally prefer to lay their eggs in dark and quiet places, so once they’re in the box, they think, Oh, this is nice, and they begin using it regularly after that.”
“That is so cool.”
“I guess. It’s just part of the job.”
“Do you do other farming things? Like…do you drive a tractor, too?”
“Of course. And I have to know how to repair them, too. I also have to do a lot of carpentry, plumbing, and even electrical work.”
Her expression brightened. “Look at you. You’re like a man’s man. It must be nice to know that if there’s ever a zombie apocalypse, you’ll be one of the survivors.”
I laughed. “I can’t say that I’ve ever thought about it that way.”
“It makes my life seem boring by comparison.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“What’s your sister like? I mean, I know she’s an artist and you live together, but how would you describe her? In three words?”
I leaned back against the headrest, not sure how much I wanted to tell her, so I went with the basics. “Smart,” I began. “Talented. Generous.” Though I could have added that she was also a survivor, I didn’t. Instead, I went on, explaining how Paige had mostly raised me, which was a big part of the reason we were so close.
“And your aunt?” she pressed.
“Tough. Hardworking. Honest. It wasn’t easy for her after my uncle died, but once we started making changes at the farm, she became her old self again. The farm is pretty much her whole life now, but she loves it. Lately she’s been trying to talk me into expanding into grass-fed organic beef, even though we’ve never raised cattle and I don’t know a thing about it.”
“That might be a good idea. People love having healthy options when they shop.”
“Yeah, but there’s a lot more to it. Having enough pastureland, for instance, or finding a good processor and arranging transportation, or choosing the right breeding lines, and finding customers, along with a zillion other things. It might be more hassle than it’s worth.”
Ahead of me, the silver midsize began to slow before pulling into the parking lot of the restaurant. When it came to a stop, I veered around it and found a spot.
Inside, the hostess led us to a booth in the back corner of the restaurant. As soon as we took our seats and after a few gushy compliments on my show, the interrogation began. Like Morgan, her friends couldn’t believe I was a farmer, and they expressed the same curiosity that Morgan had about my daily activities. They also grilled me about my childhood, my family, and my years in the band. Between drinks and our meals, I managed to glean a few details about them, as well. Stacy had been raised in Indianapolis, had a boyfriend named Steve, and wanted to be a pediatrician; Holly was from a small town in Kentucky and had grown up playing practically every sport available. Maria hailed from Pittsburgh, had a boyfriend, as well, and nurtured a dream of working on Dancing with the Stars. “Realistically, though, I’ll probably end up working at a dance studio and maybe open my own one day. Unless my mom lets me choreograph with her.”
“Will she?”
“She says I still have a lot to learn.” She rolled her eyes. “She’s kind of a hard-ass that way.”
Unlike Morgan, Maria had no compunction about showing me their TikTok page. She queued up a video of the four of them dancing and handed me her phone. When it concluded, she pulled up a second video, and then another.
“I think he gets it,” Morgan interrupted, trying to reach for the phone.
“Just a few more,” Maria protested, waving her off. I could see why they were popular; their performances featured K-pop–level choreography and were sexy in a fun but not over-the-top way. I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting, but I was definitely impressed.
The interrogation turned my way again after that; like Morgan, they were mainly interested in the chickens and tomatoes but frowned at the fact that the farm grew tobacco. And, as I’d done for Morgan, I told them about my rebellion and the band years and how I’d actually become a farmer in the first place. Morgan was clearly resigned to her friends’ scrutiny of me; from time to time our eyes met and she seemed to be silently apologizing.
They refused to let me pay; instead, we all added money to the center of the table, enough to allow for a generous tip. I found myself thinking that each was as impressive, in her own way, as Morgan. Without exception, they were confident, ambitious, and self-possessed.
When we left the restaurant, Morgan and I trailed behind the others. Studying her in the doorway’s muted pools of light, I had the feeling that if I ended up ever seeing her again, I was going to be in trouble.
“I like your friends,” I remarked. “Thanks for letting me tag along.”
“Thanks for being such a good sport,” she said, giving my arm a quick squeeze.
“What’s on your agenda tomorrow?”
“Nothing definite. I’m sure we’ll rehearse in the morning, and we’ll probably spend part of the day at the pool, but Holly also mentioned that she might want to go shopping or visit the Dalí.” Then, as if suddenly realizing who she was talking to, she went on. “It’s a museum in St. Petersburg devoted to the works of Salvador Dalí. He’s a surrealist painter.”
“My sister mentioned something about it,” I said.
She must have heard something in my tone. “You’re not interested?”
“I don’t know enough about art to be either interested or uninterested.”
She laughed that rumbling, deep laugh again. “At least you cop to it. How about you?”
“I haven’t decided. I’ll probably go for a run, but after that, who knows?”
“Will you write another song?”
“If something comes to me.”
“I wish that happened to me. That songs just came to me. I have to struggle with it.”
“I’d love to hear anything you’ve written. Especially now that I’ve seen you dance.”
“Yeah,” she said, “about that. Maria’s really proud of our routines.”
“She should be. You’re all great. Had I known about you, I would have followed you like the other gazillion people.”
Just then, a flash of headlights appeared, signaling the arrival of the girls’ Uber. I saw Holly glancing at her phone and the car’s license plate, confirming the match as they headed toward the car even before it came to a stop.
“If you’d like, I can give you a ride back to the hotel.”
“I’m going to ride with my friends, but thanks.” Then, after a beat, “I’m glad you had a chance to get to know them.”
“For sure.”
She stood there for a second more, apparently reluctant to leave. “I should probably go.”
“Probably.”
“We might come to your next show.”
“I’d like that.”
“And if you write another song, I want to be the first to hear it.”
“I can do that.” I had the sense we were both stalling. The next words came almost automatically. “Have you ever been kayaking?”
“Excuse me?”
“My friend Ray told me about this place where you can rent kayaks and paddle through the mangroves. He said it was a pretty cool thing to do.”
“And why are you telling me this?”
“I was wondering if you’d like to go with me. Tomorrow, since you don’t have anything officially planned, I mean.”
It wasn’t the smoothest way to ask a girl out, but in that moment it was all I could muster.
She put her hands on her hips. “What time are you thinking?”
“Nine or so? That way you can be back in time for the Dalí or the pool or whatever.”
“Can you make it ten? Because of rehearsal?”
“Sure. How about we meet in the lobby?”
She touched my arm again, her gaze meeting mine. “I can’t wait.”
If anyone had told me before I came here that I’d go on a date when I was in St. Pete Beach, I would have laughed. But as I watched Morgan leave, I couldn’t help feeling pleased, even as I wondered what I was getting myself into.
There was something…charismatic about her. The word popped into my head as they drove away, and the more I thought about it, the more apt the description became. While much of what I’d learned about her amplified the differences between us, it struck me that I was the only one who seemed concerned about it. Somehow the fact that we both loved music was common ground enough for her. For now, anyway. Or at least enough for a first date.
But where was it leading? That was the part I couldn’t figure out. Was it a serious first step, or were we moving toward a simple fling? I’m sure a lot of guys would have been happy with the latter, and with anyone else, I might have been. But I was drawn to Morgan in ways that felt deeper than that.
I liked her, I thought, then suddenly shook my head, knowing that wasn’t quite right.
I liked her a lot.
I don’t think it was nerves, but whatever the reason, I woke at dawn and couldn’t go back to sleep. Instead, I went for an early-morning run, then tidied up the condo. After my shower, I swung by the grocery store to replenish the snacks and drinks in my cooler.
Assuming I’d get wet, I threw shorts on over a bathing suit, grabbed a spare T-shirt, and wiggled into my flip-flops. By then it was half past nine and I started for the hotel.
The lobby of the hotel was as grand as the rest of the pink palace, bustling in the morning sunlight. Checking my phone, I noted a text from Ray informing me that I’d be starting at four tomorrow instead of five, which meant I’d be playing an extra hour—no big deal; I responded that I’d be there on time. When Morgan finally appeared, she was dressed casually, a turquoise bikini peeking out beneath a white halter and faded denim shorts. She had a Gucci beach tote slung over her shoulder and a pair of expensive sunglasses perched in her hair.
