Chapter 1
Darla
The call was coming from my stepdaddy, Calvin.
I screwed up my face and squinted at my own screen.
No. Way.
Heart pounding, I just stared at the numbers on the screen, the words Mama Made Me Do It glaring right back. I named his number that in my Contacts because, well – she made me do it.
Made me have Calvin in my contacts “just in case.”
I didn’t want to think about what “in case” might mean, so I did it, but I didn't like doing it.
See, my stepdaddy and me, we never texted. Never called. Never communicated at all except for the rare times we saw each other in person. It's not that Calvin wasn't a fine guy. He just didn't talk. Wasn't the kind to chat, you know?
So I only had his contact information for emergencies. And vice versa.
If he was calling me – calling! On my phone! Using his voice! – then that meant only one thing.
My mama was having an emergency.
Or worse. She was –
“Dead shocked!” Calvin said into the phone just after I pressed the green button.
“WHAT?” I screamed back, his words making no sense. My phone felt like a portal into the twilight zone.
“Darla? Is that you?” An image of his long, thin face flashed through my mind. He sounded tired.
Too tired.
“Who the heck else you think it is, Calvin? You called me!” Anger is a useful emotion when you need to cover for stone-cold terror. If I had to be pissed or afraid, I'd take pissed any day.
“Yes, yes, of course I did. Oh, Darla. I'm so sorry!”
I gasped.
No.
NO.
“I – Cathy wanted me to let you know – ”
“KNOW WHAT?”
“I just – hang on. The doctor has a question.”
“Don't mute me, Calvin! Don't you – ”
He muted me.
I heard nothing.
Wild fear began a meltdown inside me, a feral, freaked-out entity that tipped tables, ripped screens out of windows, tore out fur and drew blood. As seconds ticked by, my heart tried to climb out of my throat and run from Massachusetts to Ohio using a split aorta.
I was nothing but writhing nerves until he came back.
He cleared his throat. “Sorry 'bout that. The doctor needed to know – ”
“IS SHE ALIVE?” I screamed.
Just then, Trevor came rushing into the kitchen, his eyes full of questions that were unbearable to even note. Calvin's silence made the world cave in.
“What? The doctor? Of course she's alive, Darla,” he said as if I were a bit touched in the head.
“CALVIN! DID MY MAMA DIE?”
“No! Lordy, no.” He sucked in air, then came back, speed talking like he was on double-time. “Oh, my goodness, Darla, I didn't mean to make you worry! No, no – Cathy's just fine. Alive and kicking, and – ”
He kept talking. I didn't hear him. All I heard was the sound of my heart collapsing in on itself, and oddly enough, I tasted Frosted Flakes. I was four again, wearing a nightshirt, Mrs. Humboldt at the door, Josie's rail-thin body answering, head peering through the crack, the light shining in.
The day we learned our daddies died and our mamas were in the hospital after the car crash.
Time folded, twenty-five years compressing like origami.
My fingers released the phone as Trevor gently took it from me, put it to his ear, and kept one hand on my shoulder, ocean eyes boring into mine, pinning me in the present.
“Breathe,” he said.
“Oh, believe you me, Trevor,” Calvin said through the phone, a long, loud exhale making the phone sound like a wind tunnel. “I just had a crash course in how to breathe right. Hee hee hee. Hoo hoo hoo.” Rasping noises filtered out through the phone.
“I'm talking to Darla.”
“Oh.”
Trevor’s irises were so perfect, a kaleidoscope of wonder that made it easy to hold my breath, my diaphragm begging for relief but my body too shocked to let go. For a few seconds, there was a reality in which Calvin was calling for all the wrong reasons.
For Mama's “just in case.”
And while my mind knew that reality hadn't happened, my body – and some deep, primal memory – needed a little more time to catch up.
I plunged both of my hands into my thick hair, curls all Helter-Skelter, fingers digging in as if the pain of nails on scalp would make some of the pressure stop.
“Calvin, what's wrong with Cathy?” Trevor asked firmly, taking over, taking control, the way you hope your love will do when the worst crisis hits and shatters your world.
“They're fine!” Calvin shouted through the phone. “Just fine, which is a surprise and all, because no one ever expected that when I took Cathy to the emergency room, she'd – ”
“THEY?” I screeched. “Who else got hurt? Was it Marlene? Uncle Mike?”
“Hurt? Oh, no, Darla, no one got – oh!” His gasp made me feel a little bad for him, for some reason. “Oh, my word, Darla, no one got hurt. I shouldn't be so insensitive, what with the way your daddy died and all.”
“YA THINK CALVIN?” I screamed. “What was Mama's diagnosis? Did her diabetes run crazy again? Her body can't handle much.”
“It can handle more than you think,” he said with a chuckle.
That damn chuckle did me in.
“You're LAUGHING about my mama being hospitalized, Calvin? You? Her man? Her husband who promised to love, honor, and cherish her in sickness and in health? You're laughing when she's sick? What the hell is wrong with you? How dare you!”
Stunned silence greeted me as I sucked in enough air to single-handedly power a blast horn on a cruise ship.
And then.
And then my stepdaddy said:
“She's not sick, Darla. Your mama just gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. Six pounds, 15 ounces, and healthy as can be. Congratulations. Your mama and I have a son together. Jenna and you share a half-sibling. You're a big sister now. You have a baby brother.”
And those were the last words I heard before I fainted dead away in Trevor's arms.
Chapter 2
Trevor
Road trips that don't involve a gig are rare.
So rare I don't remember the last one.
“I can't believe I fainted dead away like that.” Two hours ago, Darla got the call from her stepfather, and we packed in a mad frenzy, the car already gassed up and Joe unable to join us. We were on hour ten out of ten on the road, driving straight through from Massachusetts to her hometown in Ohio, the wee bit of the night fading as midnight winked at us and handed time over to the sunrise.
“I can't believe I have a brother,” Darla said for the umpteenth time as she ate her umpteenth Reese's cup and chugged it down with what was not her umpteenth Red Bull.
Thank God.
“I have a brother,” I reminded her.
“Rick don't count.”
“Why? Because he's autistic?”
“No. Of course not. Because you've had him your whole life, Trevor. Mine is brand new! I've spent nearly thirty years with an identity carved out of being an only child. I assumed I'd always be an only child. Then Mama and Calvin go and get horny and have themselves some unwrapped fun and bam! Instant brother.”