Page 92 of Only One Tour Bus

We follow the men into bar after bar after club, the dads having refused to call the police. We have no luck. At two a.m, my phone lights up again and I look at it, expecting to be told that Bath & Body Works is having a sale on three-wick candles.

But it’s a text from a number I’ve called and texted numerous times tonight, saying, So. Hey.

The relief that floods through me is bigger than when Callum came into my room after our first night together. Sorry, Callum, but this is work.

I pull back from the group and call her, not wanting to get the dads’ hopes up until I know what’s happening. “Virginia, is it you? Are you safe? What do you need? Where are you?”

“God, I’m so sorry. I went out with Jack, and they didn’t ID us, and then time sort of got away from us. And then I looked my phone which was on silent and saw all the missed calls.” The poor girl sounds like she’s about to cry. “How mad is everyone?”

“Hey, no. Your parents are more worried than mad. They just want to know you’re safe. Do you want us to come get you? Do you need help? Where are you?”

I know I’m inundating her with questions, but I need to know all the answers at once.

“No. We’re on our way back. We’ll be at the hotel in fifteen minutes.”

“Great. Can you talk to your dad really quick? We’re out looking for you and he’s really worried.”

“Is Mom there, too?”

“No. She’s back at the hotel. But can you talk to your dad, please? I’m going to hand the phone over now.”

I put the phone down before she can answer, hoping for the best. “Peter. I’ve got Virginia on the phone. She’s fine. Jack’s fine, too. They’re going to the hotel.” I shove the phone at Peter before he can process, so relieved that this night is going to be over. It’s one thing staying up late having fun with a happy or even an obnoxiously drunk group of people. Less exciting when a child might be in danger and everyone is angry and scared.

“We did it!” I whisper to Callum.

“We did nothing. She’s fine, although probably a wee bit drunk, and getting herself to the hotel,” Callum says, and turns us all around toward said hotel.

“Hey, if we get blamed for the negative stuff we can’t control, I think we should get credit for the good things that also happen completely out of our control.”

“It doesn’t work that way at all.”

“I know, but a girl can dream.”

I try to keep talking to Callum to give the families some privacy on my phone, but I can still hear their conversation. If I thought the chewing out we got for sitting down was intense, it’s nothing compared to what the kids are getting now. At least everyone is safe to be yelled at and not in any sort of hospital situation. Or a police situation. Or an embassy situation.

Back at the hotel, Jennifer and Louis are hugging their children in the lobby. Children who might be turning the slightest bit blue. I don’t know when the kids got back, but they look like they’ve been in these hugs for a while.

“I’m glad everyone is home safe and sound,” I say as the other parents get their hug.

“No thanks to you,” Peter mumbles.

Great. “I’ll have some chamomile tea sent up to your rooms, on the tour.” They could all use the calming properties. “Does anyone need anything else?”

After I get nos, Callum and I leave the family reunion and walk up the stairs to his room, stopping to order the tea from the front desk.

“I’m so glad that’s over.” The stress of the night and the more recent worry (now that the kids are safe) over how mad the parents are going to be at our lack of urgency over the situation (and what they’ll tell Rob) makes me collapse into bed right when we get inside.

“I want to sleep for a week.”

“We still have a city and a half to get through, Wee Sunshine. Pace yourself.”

“It’s too late. Go on without me, Rain Cloud. Tell tales of my bravery to those you encounter,” I mumble into the pillow.

“I don’t think it’s escalated to that just yet. But your preference is noted.” Callum tugs my dress off with embarrassingly little help from me as I’m exploring life as a pillow. He unclips my bra and then pulls a big T-shirt back over my head. His, I assume. But I’m not lifting my head to confirm. He could have found it at the hotel lost and found for all I know, or care.

He disappears to the bathroom, and then reappears, turning lights off. I do rouse myself to use the bathroom, because with my tiny bladder and my contacts, falling asleep without planning is not in the cards for me. Even if I am miserable.

I shuffle back into the room and cuddle up against Callum’s back, liking being the big spoon for once. So much that when he tries to roll over, I straighten my arm to stop him. I am jet-packing him and saving his arm’s blood flow whether he likes it or not. I slip a leg through his and get comfortable on his back. Or try to.