The Song in My Heart (21 page)

“Come on. We need to get back to Maggie anyway. We’ll see Dess first thing in the morning, okay?”

Erika glanced back one last time toward the hallway. Somewhere in that maze, her lover, her
love
, lay seriously injured and alone. It tore Erika’s heart to leave her.

“Seriously,” Sloane urged, tugging her along. “They’ll take good care of her, and besides, she would want us to look after Maggie for her.”

Outside, as they waited for a taxi, a couple of reporters, a photographer and a television cameraman rushed up to them.

“Hey,” a reporter said, pushing his way to the front of the pack. “You two are in the band, right? The one that was on the stage tonight when the storm hit?”

Erika and Sloane traded a glance, one that implied Sloane would take the lead on this.
Thank God for Sloane
. “Yes, we were onstage, and we’re fine, thanks for asking.”

Undeterred, the reporter pressed on. “What about the third member of your group? The guitar player named Dora Hessler? Is she okay? We heard she was hurt.”

“Yes. She’s going to be fine.”

A young woman stepped forward, the magazine reporter who had interviewed Erika and Sloane in Des Moines a couple of weeks ago. She shoved a tape recorder into Sloane’s face. “How badly was she hurt?”

“Look,” Sloane said tonelessly. “You’re going to have to direct any other questions to the event organizers or to hospital officials. We have nothing else to say about it.”

A cab driver with impeccable timing pulled up, and Sloane pushed Erika toward the car.
Great
, Erika thought.
My first brush with the paparazzi.
It wasn’t nearly as fun as she’d imagined it would be.

Chapter Nineteen

The pain in Dess’s arm was numb rather than acute. The drugs were doing their thing, letting her tread water, making her feel slightly apart from herself. The light from her hospital room window told her it was late afternoon. Her mother and her sister Carol were in the room, sitting quietly in chairs they’d pulled up to her bedside.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I must have fallen asleep again.”

“Don’t you worry about it, sweetie,” her mother said, patting her hand—the one without the IV in it. “We just want you to get better.”

“Dess, I’m so sorry this happened,” Carol said in a defeated voice. “I’d never have urged you to do this if I thought—”

“No one could have known,” Dess said. “Besides, I’m going to be just fine. Right? Or is there something you two aren’t telling me?” The thought made her stomach bottom out, sending her back to that awful moment when she was told she had throat cancer and that surgery and radiation were no guarantees. Nothing could be that bad again, she decided, and she commanded herself to calm down. It was only a broken arm, and her mother and sister had always been honest with her.

“Of course not, dear,” her mother replied evenly. “And yes, you’re going to be fine. The surgeon said your arm will be as good as new in a few months. It was a clean break.”

“No nerve damage?” Dess asked, somewhat disbelieving of her mother’s simple prognosis. Victoria (never Vicki) Hampton had somehow maintained her eternal optimism and youthful looks, in spite of outliving three husbands and seeing a daughter through cancer.

“No,” Carol interjected. “No complications are expected. You’ll be able to play the guitar again. Just not for the rest of this tour with Sloane and Erika.”

Oh shit
, Dess thought.
Erika
. She’d been hazily aware of Erika’s presence earlier today, of Erika kissing her forehead, touching her cheek. What would happen to their relationship if Dess had to leave the tour? Or should she tag along like a groupie? The thought both appalled and tantalized her. Groupie sex with Erika created a whole new collection of titillating fantasies, and she chuckled out loud before she could catch herself.

“Boy, those drugs must be good,” Carol said. “I hope they’re manufactured by my company.”

Her mother squeezed her hand while shooting Carol an admonishing look. “Come and stay on the island with me for the summer while you recover. Maggie and I will take good care of you.”

“Sloane and Erika are looking after her, right?”

“Yes,” Carol said. “They’re taking good care of her. In fact, you might never get her back. I hear she’s become quite the dependable little roadie.”

Dess was so used to having Maggie by her side that the dog’s absence felt like a limb had been amputated. Maggie had been a gift to her from her family after the cancer had struck. And to combat her loneliness after Dayna’s departure. Maggie had been more loyal and much more of a comfort than Dayna had ever been, no question.

“I hear Sloane and Erika are going to try to sneak Maggie in tonight to see you,” Carol said with a conspiratorial smile. “They said they’d do it even if they had to pretend one of them was blind and Maggie was their guide dog.”

Dess laughed as much as her bruised ribs would allow.

“Well?” her mother asked impatiently. “Are you going to accompany me back to the island after they let you out of this place in a few days?”

Carol rolled her eyes. “Oh Mother, don’t pressure her. You know she and Erika are a couple now, and besides, being around music is good for Dess. Right, Dess?”

“Whoa,” Dess said, her face burning. “How do you know I’m involved with Erika?” Had Erika or Sloane told them this morning while she was sleeping?

“Duh,” Carol said, her eyes bright. “I can tell from the tone of your emails to me the last few weeks. And I can tell she makes you happy. Even now, while you’re lying here all banged up, you’re happy.”

Dess thought of protesting or at least explaining that things weren’t necessarily serious with Erika. But the drug-induced fog was rolling in and dulling her thoughts once more.
I’ll just close my eyes for a minute
.

* * *

Erika kissed Dess on the forehead and waited for her eyelids to flutter open. When they did, Maggie squirmed at her side and Erika reached down with a soft pat to quiet her.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Dess smiled lazily. “Hi. I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me too. And someone else is really glad to be here too.”

Maggie lifted her head high enough for Dess to reach her.

“Oh, my little angel.” Dess’s smile swallowed her face. “I missed you, Maggie Waggie. Are you okay, honey?” She stroked Maggie’s brown head and snout, and Maggie nuzzled her back. It was clear that being separated had made them both terribly unhappy.

“She missed you,” Erika said around the lump in her throat. “And she’s not the only one.”

“Oh, darling, I’m so sorry.” Tears sprang to Dess’s eyes, and Erika quickly kissed her to snuff out her sadness.

“We’ve been so worried about you,” Erika said softly. “I’m sure Sloane will only be too happy to tell you what a miserable bundle of nerves I’ve been since last night.”

“Speaking of the devil, where is she?”

“Making some calls. She’ll be here in a minute.”

“No doubt she’s calling in every favor she can think of to find you a replacement for me. God, Erika, I’m so sorry.” Dess’s eyes were swimming again, and it was almost enough to make Erika want to cry. That and the fact that the Chicago Blues Festival next week would be her biggest and most prestigious festival yet. If Sloane failed to find a guitarist, their performance was in serious jeopardy.

“Honey, it’s not your fault,” Erika soothed. “All that matters is that you’re going to be okay. Anything else is just a bonus.”

“If I have to play one-handed, I—”

“You’re not playing one-handed. But I can think of some other things you can do one-handed that would give me great pleasure.”

Dess smiled, her eyes smoky, and Erika shuddered pleasurably. “Come here and give me another kiss.”

Their kiss was more tenderness than flirtation, more relief and gratefulness than mischief and desire. For Erika, kissing Dess gave her an immediate sense of coming home, no matter their surroundings. If she could kiss Dess for hours, she would gladly do so.

“Where’s Carol and my mom?” Dess asked, breaking their kiss.

“Having dinner. They’ll be back later, though Carol told me they’ll probably head back to Chicago tomorrow morning, now that they know you’re on the road to recovery.”

“Ah, so you’ve met Carol and know that she believes in telling it like it is.”

“Yes, and she’s great. So is your mom.”

“You might not think so when I tell you she’s pressuring me to join her on Mackinac Island for the rest of the summer.”

Erika reeled for a moment. She couldn’t imagine being separated from Dess for the rest of the summer. She battled against the urge to selfishly beg her to stay. “Probably a wise suggestion,” she lied.

“Maybe, but I don’t want to leave the tour, unless you’re kicking me off the bus.”

Erika’s heart lifted like a jet plane soaring above the clouds. “Are you kidding me?” She lowered her voice. “But there is one thing concerning me about you staying on the tour.”

“You mean besides the fact that I’m of no use to you onstage anymore?”

“Well, there is that, but no. If you’re going to stay on the tour, I can’t have us sleeping separately again. You’re going to need close medical supervision, after all, and I’m the only woman for the job.”

Dess laughed, then winced sharply. “Ow, jeez, don’t make me laugh. And you’re right. Separate beds is out of the question. As soon as they spring me from this joint, we’re all staying at my condo for this blues festival.”

“I was hoping you’d give us a reprieve from being trailer trash.”

“Hear that, Maggie old girl? We get to go home for a while.”

Maggie bounced lightly on her front paws, and Dess scratched her under her chin until the dog’s lips curled back in a smile.

“Your mom will be disappointed about your decision.”

“She’s had me with her on that island for the last six summers. She’ll get over it.”

Sloane pushed through the door, her mouth twisting into a scowl.

“And a fine how-do-you-do to you too,” Dess said.

“Sorry,” she said with a smile that didn’t come close to reaching her eyes. “I’m very happy to see you’ve rejoined the land of the living.”

“Yes, well, looks like I’m still burning through my nine lives. But if you’re so happy about it, why do you look so miserable?”

Sloane exchanged a glance with Erika that said something was terribly wrong.

“Oh, no,” Erika said. “Tell me you were able to find a guitar player for at least the blues festival next week.” Panic throbbed in her gut like a second heartbeat. Pulling out of this festival would represent a catastrophic setback to her career—and just when she was starting to get noticed. Record label reps would be in the audience, other concert promoters, journalists, songwriters, you name it. She didn’t want to sound like she cared more about the concert than Dess’s well-being, but dammit, this one was the pinnacle of the entire summer!

“I got you a guitarist. Greg Reddicker. Red. He’s great, one of the best in the business, right, Dess?”

“Without question. Erika, he’s a real master. Much better than me.”

Erika began to protest that there was no one better than Dess, but Dess waved a hand at her. “That’s great news, Sloane, but why do you still look so upset?”

Sloane bit her bottom lip, paced a few steps, before turning to face them both. “Dess, I’m sorry to have to tell you this. Really sorry, and you’re going to hate me.”

“If I was going to hate you, it would have happened a long time ago. Tell me what’s going on.”

“The press has found out your real identity.”

Dess’s face immediately colored, but she managed to keep her voice schooled. “How?”

“I don’t know, but I think someone who works here at the hospital probably leaked it. Some radio station reported it about an hour ago, and now the phone lines are lighting up. A whole pile of reporters are camped out in front of the hospital now. I’ve told Carol and your mom to hightail it back to Chicago immediately.”

Tears trickled down Dess’s cheek.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Dess,” Sloane said, slumping down on the side of the bed. “I got you into this thing and now—”

“I don’t understand,” Erika interjected. “I mean, there was a chance your identify would be found out eventually anyway. This doesn’t change anything, right? You weren’t going back on the stage for the rest of the summer anyway.”

“No,” Dess said in a quavering voice. “This changes everything.
Everything
.”

Chapter Twenty

Even with the numbing benefits of the pain pills and Sloane’s obsessive efforts to drive carefully, the six-hour drive to Chicago was unpleasant for Dess. The slightest bump triggered a flash of pain along her arm and through her bruised chest. She closed her eyes for most of the drive, pretending to sleep while thinking about how she was going to break the news to Erika that she could no longer tour with them. Now that her identify had been so crudely revealed, she, Sloane and Erika would be hounded for weeks and possibly months by reporters, bloodsuckers from the music business and other curiosity seekers. The unwanted attention would take the focus squarely off Erika and her music and place it onto Dess, and that was not something Dess would allow to happen.

She’d stayed away from the Internet in the days since the accident had happened. In the back of her mind, she’d known there was a good chance that eventually she’d be found out on the tour. It was a risk the three of them had been well aware of, and Dess had willingly accepted it. Maybe, she thought now, she’d simply wanted to do the tour badly enough that she didn’t give enough consideration to having her identity blown. Or maybe, she thought with fresh horror, just maybe she’d wanted to be found out. Maybe, subconsciously, being forced out of her self-imposed exile from the music business, from the whole world in some ways, was something she had secretly desired.

She hadn’t wanted it like this, though, dammit. She’d gotten enough snatches of information from Erika, Sloane, Carol and her mom about the news reports. It was gotcha journalism—the kind that took sick pleasure in gossip and scandal and in revealing secrets. Like forcing a celebrity out of the closet or revealing someone’s long-lost love child. The coverage of her accident made it sound like she had been intentionally trying to dupe people. There were fuzzy pictures of her onstage in her Dora disguise, headlines that read: “Reclusive Ex-Singer Turns Up on Backwater Tour”; “Dess Hampton Crawls Back to Music Business as Nobody Guitarist”; “Afraid of the Spotlight, Hampton Slums It at Summer Music Fests.” Journalists and bloggers were making her sound pathetic and frightened, which, she supposed, wasn’t entirely wrong.