Chapter 9

Raegan

Our stroll isn't much longer than the length of a block, but the sticky heat outside is an indication of just how efficient the AC is inside our home on wheels. I really wish I was still in it. Even after Hattie's odd defense of me in the bus, it's hard not to feel irritated at her as she prances ahead of me on the sidewalk without a care in the world, wearing a sheer swimsuit cover-up over a bikini that offers little to the imagination. Adele's modest one-piece, on the other hand, might as well be a winter turtleneck. If there are two more opposite personalities in all the world, I don't know them.

I check the knot of my sarong at my waist, wishing for the hundredth time that I'd taken the extra ten minutes to shave my legs prior to leaving home two days ago. I can't say for sure when the last time I shaved was, but I'm positive these legs are not swimsuit ready.

When we approach the front of the street and face the elaborate bathhouses, Mama points to the one with the dome on top—the Quapaw. "This is the one!"

"Oh goodie," I hear Adele mutter under her breath as Hattie cheers. "I can't wait."

Micah reaches out to hold the door for our family parade as we file in by birth order, leaving me to enter in front of him.

"What's wrong?" His voice rumbles low against my ear.

I do my best not to react to the scattering of goosebumps along my neck. "Nothing's wrong."

"Then why did you suggest staying back on the bus?"

"Because I like to read in peace." I glance over my shoulder at him.

If there's a universal face that says liar-liar-pants-on-fire, then he's wearing it proudly. "Or perhaps you were hoping to make a phone call in peace?" Micah's pace slows down, separating us a bit from Mama and my sisters.

"What phone call?" I ask, confused.

But instead of offering clarification, he answers with a question of his own. "How long were you and Tav together?"

Now this warrants my full and complete attention. "What?" I spin around to face him, misjudging our proximity by nearly six inches when the door closes at his back and bumps him closer.

His voice comes out nearly as serene as whatever wind-chime melody is playing in this foyer. "I'm assuming he's the one you're trying to spare by finding the right time and place to communicate your potentially critical information to?"

His word choice is a defibrillator to my memory, zapping me back to our conversation earlier on the drive. Wait—Micah thinks my question was related to Tav? He thinks the reason I wanted to stay on the bus was to call my ex-boyfriend? It takes me a second to digest this new line of thought, but given my actual reason for wanting to stay behind, this one has to be an easier out ... right?

"How long were we together?" I repeat his original question in hopes of skipping over his most recent one. I don't want to flat out lie to him. "Um, I guess that depends. Tav and I were close friends before we dated. The timeline kind of runs together."

The slow bob of his chin causes me to zero in on his throat and the pronounced slide of his Adam's apple. And then my gaze slips a notch lower to the raw edge of his T-shirt resting against his collar bone.

"So your breakup was recent?"

"Last fall," I answer before I can stop myself. How does he keep doing that to me?

"Only, my guess is Tav doesn't want it to be over, and you're still debating on what it is you want." The conclusion he draws feels too easy. Yet, he's not entirely wrong.

"How did you ... I mean ... that's really not any of your ... " I blow out a hard breath that ripples the fabric of his shirt. "It's more complicated than that."

Needing a reprieve, I twist away from him to catch up with my family. Three attendants dressed in white are already going over the policies and procedures when we step up to the desk.

"Welcome." A smiling woman with gorgeous dark eyes dips her head in greeting when we approach. She hands us each a key for our lockers in the changing room. "We hope you enjoy your soak and your time in the steam cave. Each of you has a slotted massage time, as well."

"Thank you, Shirley," Mama says, shaking her hand. "We appreciate you accommodating us today. Jana said your staff has gone above and beyond."

Shirley dips her head. "It's truly our pleasure, ma'am. The girls and I, well, we're really big fans of your music." The two young ladies at Shirley's side nod vigorously—Katlyn and Carrie. "There were several rounds of rock, paper, scissors to see who would be assisting you and your family today."

Adele steps forward. "Before we partake in any services today, I'd like to verify that Jana sent our standard confidentiality agreement when she rented this..." Adele cranes her neck in an arch as if trying to decide what she thinks of today's unconventional destination. "...unique establishment."

"Yes, ma'am, she certainly did. All waivers have been signed by our staff. We're ready to accommodate you as discreetly as possible. We're thrilled the Quapaw is a stop on your special trip."

"Well, I, for one, am ready," Hattie says. "I haven't had a spa day since my kids were in diapers and Peter whisked me away to..." She stops herself, and suddenly none of us knows where to look.

Thankfully, Shirley knows how to take a cue. She opens her arms, showmanship-style, and addresses our group of five. "Before I have Katlyn and Carrie escort you to the locker rooms for towels and robes and your pre-showers, please allow me to give you a brief overview. The Quapaw is unique because it's the only public bathhouse on Bath Row. Our thermal pool room offers four mineral pools at varying temperatures for optimal benefits in circulation and overall wellness. While you relax, our staff will be standing by to assist you. Please let us know if you require any refreshments. We are also here to escort you to our steam cave built over a natural hot spring at your convenience."

"Lovely. I'm certainly ready for a soak." Mama tugs off her sun hat, lets her thick blond curls cascade down her back, and lifts her sunglasses to her head to reveal her perfectly smooth skin and moderately made-up face. All three attendants gawk at her. She starts to follow Carrie, our attendant, when she spins back and says, "At the risk of sounding presumptuous, if there's any staff interested in taking a few selfies while I'm still dry, this would be the time. I promise my drowned-rat look is not nearly as appealing."

"Oh yes, ma'am."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Thank you, Ms. Farrow!"

Adele stays as attendants from around the bathhouse gather around Mama while Hattie and I follow the pre-shower procedures before entering the thermal pools. My hair looks like a piece of abstract art after walking outside—like tangled arid noodles, hanging every which way. I'm desperate for a deep conditioning treatment.

Hattie and I leave the locker room wrapped in our fluffy white spa robes, and I plead with God to let us be the first inside the pool. The gorgeous solarium boasts several arched, stained-glass skylights and four serene thermal pools. All are close in proximity but not connected to one another. And yet I'm struggling to tear my eyes away from the toned muscular back of the man standing across the room.

Hattie sheds her robe and pageant walks to each pool for a quick toe-dip.

"Oooh, this temperature is fabulous," she calls out, wading in at a pace I wouldn't be caught dead matching while wearing a swimsuit. The quicker I'm in, the less time there is to build an unwanted audience.

When Micah rotates toward us, I have to remind myself that I'm not watching one of those ridiculous pop-up ads where a shirtless guy rakes a hand through his hair and tells the viewer how great his new deodorant is while his abs glisten in the sunlight. Because unlike a commercial, where I can stare unabashedly at the toned torso of a man who can't see me, Micah most certainly can.

Perhaps I'll just take a swim with my robe on.

"...hook over there."

"What?" I blink. He's talking to me. By the looks of it, he's been talking to me.

He ticks his head to the side. "There's a hook for your robe over there."

"Oh, right. Thanks. I'm just"—waiting for you to walk away first—"a bit chilled."

"You're kidding, right? It feels like an African rainforest in here. I'm wishing I could take one of those ice baths."

"If you're looking for the coolest temp, it's that one over there, closest to the door," Hattie points to the pool furthest away as she sinks into the water and closes her eyes.

"That's where I'm headed, if you care to join me?" Micah tips his head in invitation, and for a second, I'm tempted to throw my dignity to the wind and be the type of girl I write about in my fiction. The one who sashays without a care in the world at the side of Hot Deodorant Dude.

But I'm not that girl.

"Nah, you go on ahead. I'm gonna take my time."

He studies me. "You have really cool hair."

My cheeks flame at his joke, and I pat my insufferable mane. "Not all hair types play nice with humidity." Despite the way he seems to scrunch his brows in confusion, I go on. "If left to its own devices, it could easily become a landmark on Mama's road-trip map."

"Every way I've seen you wear it has been beautiful. Including now," he says in a matter-of-fact tone that causes the bottom floor of my stomach to fall out. "It looks like a cute, curly pom-pom."

When he finally turns and strides for the furthest pool, I can't help but stare after him dumbly. Was that a compliment? Did he just call my pom-pom cute? Only, before I can overthink it for another second, I realize I'm about to miss my opportunity to disrobe without his notice. It's now or never. With one quick tug at the knot of my belt, I shuck off my robe and toss it onto a chair too far away to be considered "poolside." Then, with the grace of a marble statue, I slip into the middle pool without bothering to test the temperature first. The shock of the boiling lava water engulfing my skin causes me to yelp and splash as soon as I break the surface.

Despite every Do Not Run warning sign posted on the walls, Micah does just that until he's crouching at the edge of my pool. "Raegan—what happened? Are you hurt? Did you slip?" He searches my face, but I'm in too much discomfort to form a coherent reply.

Unfortunately, Hattie does it for me.

"I'm pretty sure she jumped in all on her own," Hattie replies unhelpfully. "Not sure why you'd jump into a hot tub that has stairs, Sunny Bear."

With my arms hovering above the water, I propel myself toward said stairs. "I ... I must have missed those at first glance."

"My pool is the perfect temp, in my opinion, if you want to join me." Hattie slips back down into the water and returns to her Zen-like state.

Micah reaches out to capture my forearm and guide me up the stairs. For multiple reasons, my skin is now liquid fire.

"Watch your step," he instructs as I pray for a tornado to rip through Bathhouse Row before I reach the top.

"Thanks," I mutter. "I think I'll just sit here on the ledge for a while."

Without invitation, he settles beside me, plunging his legs into the lava pool beside mine.

"Yikes," he howls before jerking them right back out. "This is hot!"

"What about my flailing squeal caused you to believe otherwise?"

"You should have come with me to the cooler pool."

I don't tell him he's right.

I feel his attention on my profile, but unlike the hours we've spent riding side-by-side together in the cockpit of the tour bus, this feels much, much more intimate. There's no center console separating us here, no coffee travel mugs to distract or window ledges to lean against for added protection. I'm acutely aware that there's nothing but an inch of wet concrete between our two bodies clad in swimwear.

"I'm sorry the weather didn't cooperate for your hiking plans today," I extend as some kind of strange diversion tactic.

"Wish I could say I was sorry you didn't get to stay back and make your call to Tav." He quirks a smile at me. "But I'm really not."

My mouth gapes at his forwardness, and he laughs.

"You're oddly open, you know that?"

"If that's supposed to be an insult, you could use some pointers in that area."

"It's not, I just don't know many people who say exactly what they mean as much as you do."

"It's hard to teach healthy communication skills if I'm not willing to live by them."

"Teach?" I scrunch my face. "Are you a teacher?"

"No." Micah plants his hands on the slick pebbled concrete behind him and leans back, saying nothing for a second. This up close and personal, I can see the pulse beat in his neck and the bolt of gold that streaks through the chocolate-brown iris of his right eye. Hattie's wrong. Ryan Reynolds has nothing on Micah Davenport. "I was a licensed specialist in psychology at a school district where I live."

I blink. "What does that mean?"

"I ran emotional disturbance testing, behavioral testing, cognitive testing, and scheduled in-office therapy for students and their families in need of extra assistance."

My mouth gapes slightly as I rehearse his words in my head several times over. "So then, you're not actually a bus driver."

"Not exclusively. I've driven rigs this size a few times with my father and held a class C license since I was twenty-one. School districts always need extra drivers on hand during sports seasons, as does my local church in the summers. It's come in handy more than once."

"A therapist," I muse again. Suddenly so much about him makes sense. His thorough advice and commentary, his listening ear, his astute questions, his willingness to engage in meaningful conversation. Micah is a therapist.

"I'm actually taking some extra time this summer to—"

"Hello, darlings," Mama says as she bursts into the pool room with Adele on her heels. They both have bright pink cheeks and skin. "That steam cave is an absolute must. Micah, your mother and I missed that blessed experience when we road-tripped here. We were much too concerned about getting our hair washed with actual shampoo in a stand-up shower and not in a gas station sink. The soak time in the pools was a bonus."

Micah stands to assist my mother in hanging up her robe on one of the hooks and then does the same for Adele. His act of chivalry causes me to speculate what Tav would have done if he were the one present. Would he have hoisted himself out of the warm water to walk across the wet concrete and help a woman he's known since birth? The answer that surfaces is not a becoming one. While Tav has an arsenal of Southern manners at his disposal, he's rarely without the paid staff who've attended his every need for decades—at home and on tour. Charm is far more fleeting than chivalry.

"You never did say what the bath attendant asked my mother to sketch for you both to get in without paying, Luella."

Micah follows a step behind Mama, ready to reach out for her at any moment if she loses her footing on the slick floor. The base of my throat burns as I picture him doing that for his own mother not so long ago. Lynn has only been gone a few months, hardly enough time for Micah to break a lifetime habit.

"The attendant couldn't decide, so she asked Lynn to draw what she drew best." Mama smiles. "So she drew Chickee's house."

"She drew my great-grandmother's house?"

Mama nodded. "She used to draw it often on the road, always made it look like a fairy tale. That house was her favorite place on earth. No matter where we traveled or what landmarks we visited, Chickee's house was what she sketched the most. That's the house you grew up in, correct?"

"Yes, ma'am, it is." The atmosphere changes almost instantaneously as Micah's expression sobers. And I don't even have to wonder about the grief that's captured his thoughts. I know it well. All of us in this room have known it.

While physically he's in the same thermal pool as Mama, his mind appears to be elsewhere. The pool they're in is narrow and long, stretching the length of the other three combined. It's also elevated several feet above the rest.

It's a stage if ever I saw one.

With shaky confidence, I stand and cross the damp floor to the empty pool closest to the door, the one with the coolest temperature. I take the steps into the water and watch as Adele glides into the pool I just vacated. She appears to relax into its heat with ease.

Strangely, my muscles can't seem to find the same reprieve, not when Micah has become so disquieted.

A moment later, the low hum of an old spiritual, the one about praying down at the river that's been sung since the 1800s, warms my ear. It's Mama. On the second time around, she does what she does best and adds lyrics to a melody that never fails to squeeze my heart until it feels like I've been hugged straight from heaven.

Maybe it will do the same for Micah. Three months is both so little and so very long to miss someone who now resides in heaven.

Sure enough, Mama's voice croons the simple words in a solo, and one by one we join her until the four of us Farrow women are singing from four different quadrants inside a room that might as well be a cathedral. When it's my turn, I close my eyes as my heart thunders against my rib cage. Our harmonies anchor to one another the way they have since I was in grade school, each of us building in dynamic as the chorus swells into a blend so achingly right. I wish we could secure this same sense of unity outside of song. Because it's here, with my heart open and my voice lifted, that I feel the most connected to the family God gave me. No matter the differences between us, our frustrations, tensions, offenses, or grief, when the four of us sing together, all the chaos in our world is forced to yield as we merge into one with the music.

I've never desired to charm an audience the way my mother's done for decades, perhaps because the voice I've dreamed of sharing with the world is penned from my imagination. But when the four of us become a single instrument, I can't help but picture the pride I once saw in our daddy's eyes when he used to watch us from his favorite recliner. It's the closest I'll ever come to understanding what God must feel when He looks at His beloved children.

As our volume decreases on the last chorus, and as our final few notes linger into a stillness that feels as reverent as a church meeting on Sunday morning, the whole room suddenly erupts in applause. My eyes open to scan the spa staff lining the walls and clapping with a passion that makes my insides melty, as does the way both my sisters are smiling.

And then my gaze lands on Micah. He's smiling, too, only he's not looking at the staff or at my sisters or even at my Mama.

He's looking right at me.