Page 64 of Rising Star

“How?” Justine asked.

“Let’s get his phone like we did last time. We call her. Tell her Daddy is sick. Or dead. She’ll freak out and run back here. I miss her too. Do you miss her?”

“Yes. She always plays with us. And bakes the most better bunny pancakes.” Justine paused. “Do you think she’ll come back?”

“Yes. She loves us too much.”

“I want a hug.”

“Me too,” Mikaella agreed.

“And a dance partly.”

“We’re calling her,” Mikaella concluded.

I could picture my baby girl bobbing her head.

Listening to their thinking process and their plotting fascinated me.

“Do you know where his phone is?” Justine whisper-shout.

“Let’s check his pant pockets.”

Perhaps I should let my daughters call Madison. And use their charm to persuade her to let us come to see her.

Before they could empty my pockets, I wrapped my arms around their bodies and unleashed the tickle monster. The happy melodies of their laughter eased all my worries. No matter what, we’d be okay because we had each other.

“Daddddyyy, stop,” Mikaella giggled.

Justine hiccupped, unable to get a word out.

“Grinchy bear is up now, little creatures. I wonder what he’ll have for breakfast. Little girls sound like a fancy meal I could indulge in.” I rested my upper body against the headboard and released them. “Run before I catch you. Run.”

Once they gave Riley, who was deep asleep in Madison’s bunk room, the same treatment, the five of us had breakfast, the girls talking the entire time. As if they could feel I enjoyed their conversation filling the silence and preventing my brain from going rogue.

One of my conditions to go on this tour was to take days off from driving around and just be with my children.

The food and the painkillers I swallowed after I woke up helped to dissolve the rest of my hangover. Letting the hot stream of water from the shower loosen the tension in my back, I prayed it would chase my leftover grogginess away.

With red-rimmed eyes and dark circles around them, I grimaced when I saw my reflection in the mirror.

My last memory of the previous night was of Riley falling face first on the couch, snoring like an old pickup truck in desperate need of a new muffler. But between the moment we started drinking and then, I couldn’t remember much. After I convinced him to use the bunk bed nobody used anymore, I sauntered to my bedroom, my brain turned off, swimming in gallons of amber liquor.

“Ready?” I asked, my voice still croaky as I joined the girls and my friends in the small living room section of our bus after I dropped a kiss on my daughters’ foreheads. “What are you guys doing?”

“Arts. We’re making a trapbook,” Justine said. “For Maddie. Because she misses all the cities we visit. And we did the numbers caterpillar with Devon after we woke up. It’s Maddie who made them.”

“You mean a scrapbook,” I corrected my daughter. “It’s a wonderful idea. Are you gonna put pictures of me in there?”

“Only if you’re not grinchily anymore,” Justine exclaimed.

“Grinch-y,” Mikaella replied. “Yeah, only if you smile.”

“I’ll think about it then,” I said with a wink that made both of them laugh.

My daughters, as usual, pushed my gloomy thoughts away.

Devon and Riley left to enjoy their day off, and I lifted Justine in my arms when she raised her arms. Today, it’d be just the three of us.