Chapter Three

Van

When my bandmates and I voted to stand down for a year, we didn’t take into account the waterfall of effects that would lead to, although we should have. Technically, we weren’t making any changes because we weren’t canceling a thing, just saying no more for now. And those who supported us on the road, musicians, techs—everyone—were in high demand. We had the best, and of course we did not expect them to sit around and wait for when and if we needed them again. The second word got out that we were off the road, job offers rolled in for all of them. The fact that they were shifters was not broadcast, but the advantages that their unique anatomy provided made the stronger, faster, less in need of sleep and, in our humble opinions, smarter and more skilled.

They might not be available when we needed them in the future, but it was a chance we had to take. We paid well, so those who chose could take at least some time off, but others jumped at the opportunity to work with other artists they also liked. Win-win.

Hopefully.

Wolf was headed for Alaska to work on a friend’s gold mine for a while, Andres had an omega he visited whenever we had downtime, and Boss…well, we had no idea, but he would spend the next year doing his own thing and spare us the details for which we were endlessly grateful.

And as for me?

You know the song where the singer says he has a house he’s never seen? Well, I’d seen pictures of the cabin I bought online, but I’d never been there. Late one night after three shows in a row, too tired to sleep and too wired to even try, I was web surfing and spotted this log beauty for sale.

It wasn’t big like some of the “executive” versions I’d seen in Colorado near the ski resorts or Lake Tahoe. I don’t think one of those would have attracted my interest at all. No, my cabin in the picture I printed out and folded up in my wallet was rustic to say the least. It needed work, a lot of it, but in my fevered tour-addled brain, that only made it better.

Riding in planes, automobiles, busses, and even the occasional train, I had a lot of downtime to dream about a future where I could fix that place up and make it my retreat from the world. Wolf, catching me looking at the picture with all its creases, asked why I didn’t just get a contractor or even an architect on the job. That way, he pointed out with great practicality, I could enjoy it sooner, when I had a day or two free between shows.

I didn’t tell him that it was so far off the beaten path, there would be no way I could go and get back without spending the whole time traveling. No, it would be my project someday.

Someday was my favorite day. Not that I didn’t love recording and doing shows, but I wasn’t twenty anymore, and I just didn’t have the energy to travel all day, play music all night, and repeat without something giving in and still have any kind of a personal life.

Groupies were everywhere, and some of the backup performers were more than happy to spend an hour or a night with them, but I had stopped that a long time ago. Once I realized that they really weren’t happy with a quickie never to see or hear from me again, the immorality of the whole thing sank in.

Rabid fans held strong feelings for me, and for my bandmates. They thought any attention we paid them meant we returned their affection. Oh, not everyone, but many, and after finding myself staring into tear-filled eyes a few times, I decided not to do that anymore. It wasn’t that great for me, and it held a real risk of hurting someone else.

Somehow I’d pictured myself flying off from the last concert into the sunset but, of course, we were a business, and I was the representative for most things…meaning, it was a solid month after the final show of the tour before I was driving up the mountainside to the cabin. And then back down into the nearest town because my little dream shack was a bug and rodent and wildlife-inhabited nightmare.

The front steps splintered under my feet, nearly sending me to the ground beneath as I clung to a wobbly railing and cursed the day I found the place online. A leap took me to the porch, which didn’t look much better, and when the screen door fell off its hinges, things were not looking good.

Inside, signs of the current inhabitants were everywhere, and it didn’t take more to show me that I could not fix all of this by myself.

I did not tell Wolf when I signed the contract with the general contractor.

Six months in, I was settled comfortably in my refurbished cabin, having rented a small house down the road for a while. It was everything I dreamed of in my touring-addled brain and more. Wildlife were outside instead of in the kitchen, broken windows replaced, the floor patched and refinished a cozy golden color. Small but lovely as I wished for. But the problem with all of this being completed was, I had nothing to do.

I’d demanded that this time be entirely free of obligations, but apparently I had no other hobbies or interests than those related to work. I took long walks around the lake, tried bird-watching, even planted a garden, but after so many years of constant motion, slowing down was not easy. So, I did start to answer emails regarding business matters, just to keep from going crazy and in the realization that I did want a job to go back to eventually.

How did other people do it?

Relaxation…was highly overrated.