I Can Love You Page 3

  Peering inside La Familia, the restaurant Mia and Jordan continued to maintain, and Tara remembered seeing her mother, Elisabeth, smiling a smile only a mother offered. That memory affected Tara the most. Her father loved pointing out everything Tara inherited from her late mother. From her chin to the impressive vocal range, she was like Elisabeth Russell in many ways—except her mother had found a way through Timothy to love again when she lost her first true love.

  A jubilant young girl ran past Tara across the bridge and leaped into the arms of a proud man. The child’s joyful laughter pulled at Tara’s heart, and she took it as a cue to move into life. With that thought, she took her first steps, walking past the outdoor tables and inside La Familia.

  * * *

  The sound of a ceramic bowl crashing onto the terracotta tiled floor welcomed Tara. Ignoring the scattered shards, Mia screeched with disbelief. “Tara, is that really you?”

  “Who else would it be?” Tara asked timidly, fidgeting with the pair of designer sunglasses and nervously looking at the floor.

  Mia wiped her hands on a towel hanging from her waist and took her sister into her arms. Tara couldn’t help returning the hearty embrace. “Welcome home, sis.”

  “Thanks, Mia. Where’s—”

  “Well, look what the cat dragged in.”

  Tara flinched when she heard the voice and saw Jordan peeking out the kitchen entrance. It hadn’t surprised her that the oldest Russell girl had departed the room as soon as she entered.

  Mia rubbed Tara’s shoulders and looked down into her eyes. “Don’t mind her. She’s always a grouch.”

  Tara, standing at five feet, three inches, looked up five inches at her sister. “Honestly, I expected worse.”

  Mia led Tara into an empty private dining room, which also handled overflow on busy nights. The two sisters sat at a table, and Tara stared into the mirror image of their mother’s youth, admiring how much Mia resembled pictures they had grown up seeing on the walls of Tara’s childhood home. Both her sisters had long, thick black hair, doe-shaped dark brown eyes, and skin the color of warm caramel. That was where their DNA drew the line. As the girls grew older, they discovered Mia and Jordan’s biological father deceived Elisabeth, hiding the truth about his other family while stationed at Fort Sam Houston when they met.

  “Well?”

  “Yes?”

  “What brings you back?”

  Tara took a deep breath and leaned back in her seat. “I just needed to take a break. Am I allowed to come home?”

  “Sure. It’s just unexpected. Is everything all right?”

  “Everything is fine,” Tara answered, feeling Mia’s intense stare, one she reserved for when she knew someone was less than truthful. Tara still blamed her sister’s ability to sift through deception for the emptiness she had inside. “Fine. I’m not okay. I came back for answers.”

  “Answers to what?”

  Tara looked skeptical. Surely her sisters should expect her to have questions still. They had previously discouraged her from asking anything before the words even formed on her lips. “Answers Daddy should’ve given me before he died.”

  Mia groaned and slumped back in her chair. “Geez, Tara. Dad is dead. Let the man rest in peace without your mess haunting the deceased.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “Neither is dedicating your life to building a dream that, as it turns out, is not one’s own. But I survived.”

  “When are we going to get past what happened forever ago? That wasn’t my fault.”

  “It never is.”

  Tara’s face set, and with a hard, determined expression, she squared her shoulders to look Mia in the face. “Why didn’t you stand up for yourself instead of walking away? You both should have.”

  Mia took the time to straighten the table setting before her, moving the napkin-wrapped utensils, so it lined up with the small plate beside it. “Please don’t start anything right now. We have enough problems here already.”

  “Problems? Like what?”

  Mia leaned forward. “We might have to close this place.”

  “Why?”

  “Not all of us can afford whatever we want, Tara. The restaurant hasn’t had a profit for quite some time.”

  The family agreed that La Familia would be the one business venture that would remain in total control of the sisters.

  “What? You’re working with a clean slate. Every dime that comes into La Familia should be a profit. Maybe if you update the place and bring it into the new millennium to take advantage of the tourists visiting the Riverwalk, the restaurant would make some money.”

  “Well, it isn’t now. Perhaps if you’d let us make your relation to the restaurant known, your fans can help keep us afloat. What’s the big deal, anyway?”

  Tara watched her sister through narrowed eyes, and Mia looked away.

  “If the loan Jordan applied doesn’t get approved, La Familia will be history in two months. We’re better off selling now than taking the L later.”

  “I can’t believe this. I’ll make a few calls. How did this happen? How did you two run through all your money? What about the royalty checks? How can you even consider selling Mama’s pride and joy?”

  “No, Tara! You were their pride and joy. Why should we sink our money into a restaurant we didn’t ask for? This restaurant was just something to keep Mama from hassling Daddy as he guided your career!”

  Tara sprang up, outraged at her sister. “Excuse me? I recall he did what was best for all of us, including the both of you. It’s not my fault that you two dropped out of the business!”

  “Drop out?” Mia stood and paced the floor. Then she stopped and pointed her finger at Tara. “That’s the second time you brought up that bullshit narrative. We didn’t drop out; they forced us out. If you weren’t so busy feeding off all the crap they were giving you, then you would have seen it with your own eyes!”

  “Forced out by whom?”

  “You want answers?” Mia returned to her seat and said, “Sit down, baby sis. I got a whole crock of answers for you. It all boils down to you being Timothy’s daughter. Jordan and I were just part of the package when your father married our mother. Spin wanted you as a solo artist by any means necessary. Jordan and I became casualties during deal renegotiations, and Mama was no longer alive to remind him of the promise he took to raise us as his own. In exchange for your solo deal, Daddy received his little production deal. Yeah, they kept the contract going with Pure long enough to release the Christmas CD, but that was all about timing, so no one would look bad for suddenly making you a breakout artist. You were so busy moping around in your own world that you just signed anything your father put in front of you.”

  “Well, I trusted him, Mia.” Tara’s voice carried into the kitchen, but surprisingly no one appeared out of curiosity or to calm them.

  “Trust left you childless, or did you forget?” Mia retorted equally loud.

  Mia took some of the pounce out of her stance, giving Tara time to digest what she was hearing. When she felt it was safe to proceed without prompting another shouting match between them, she filled Tara in on the fate of Pure, the R&B trio Timothy Russell created specifically for his daughters. Or, according to Mia, created purposely to launch Tara.

  An hour later, Mia’s “crock of answers,” worse than the rumors she vowed to ignore over the years, had Tara reeling in disbelief. She knew Mia would never lie to her; still, she found it hard to process all she’d heard. Had Tara known, she would not have been party to the dismantling of Pure. Tara loved performing with her sisters. She preferred being with her sisters over the solo career she had now and it disturbed her that Pure’s success ended just as it was starting for the girls. After a nearly double-platinum debut release and a Christmas bonus fans still treasured every holiday season, Pure’s fate was decided the moment record company executives persuaded Timothy Russell to allow his baby girl to go solo. Tara was simply led to believe her sisters had had enough
of the business and wanted out, craving a normal life. But Tara wanted out of music, too.

  According to Mia, this started to divide their blended family. Timothy got Spin to offer a nice parting gift to Jordan and Mia, but in exchange, they had to go peacefully. While Tara was busy in the studio, Jordan and Mia both went their separate ways to allow enough time to get over being released from their contract.

  Tara wanted permission to leave before it all began. However, she wasn’t able to go so smoothly. Timothy played the guilt card, showing her contracts that, if broken, ruined all their lives. She thus felt obligated and continued to stay in the business for the sake of her family. She persuaded herself that the compromise wasn’t too bad; with her writing some of her own songs and heal after losing it all. Understanding her needs, Spin, a young up-and-coming label that relied on Tara’s success to thrive against the industry heavyweights, extended that freedom to her.

  “Mia, I am so sorry,” Tara whispered, feeling a sense of betrayal. “I know it sounds naïve, but I had no idea. I really didn’t. I mean, later, I heard rumors about it, but I trusted Daddy enough not to listen to them. Please believe me, Mia; I would never hurt you or Jordan. You’re all I have.”

  “I better get in there and help Jordan before she has a conniption.”

  “I understand. Do you two mind if I stay at the ranch for a few days?”

  “Of course not, silly. That house is as much yours as it is ours. You are family, Tara. Never forget that.”

  “Tell that to Jordan,” Tara said, although she questioned Mia’s acceptance of her as well.

  “She knows. I think she acts the way she does because she loves you so much,” Mia said, sounding exasperated. Mia walked Tara to the door and gave her keys to the house that once belonged to their parents. She called Sydney at her hotel to inform her of her plans and headed home.

  Chapter 2

  The door to the control room opened, and two women walked in. Without looking up, Quinton had the girls pegged—clout chasing model types. That was all well and good for some, but not for Q.

  Music was his mistress.

  The two femme fatales didn’t go long without conversation. Immersed in a beat and oblivious to their presence, their primary target, Q, paid them little attention. In the back of the groupies’ minds, they would allow the minor detour, since mingling with the entourage was part of the process to get in with their leader, but ideas on how to devour the scrumptious brother kept their spirits high. Two hangers-on, residents of the control-room sofa, immediately pounced on the prey or at least the one they thought they had. His cousin Jamal whispered something into the ear of one, and soon the ladies treated him like a rock star.

  “I missed you last night.” The tallest of the women called out across the room. Q knew who she was talking to and ignored the noise.

  Soon a hand snaked around his shoulders and lips pressed against his cheek. The long-legged prowler found her way into his space. “That party was lit. Thought you’d be there.”

  Why she expected him to be there, Quinton didn’t know. He didn’t even know her. Yet she leaned into him, waiting for an invitation to climb the rest of the way into his lap.

  Q didn’t have time for women who wanted to get into his circle hoping to catch fame by riding his coattails. He didn’t want the hassle of evicting anyone from his bed the next morning only to have her return a year later with a kid who had brown eyes like his. Besides, he didn’t need any distractions. His almost single-minded focus was on raising his profile, on making a more prominent name for himself. The musical genius with hip-hop flavor was ascending to the apex of stardom. Once he arrived, Quinton would have greater freedom to do what he wanted with his talent.

  “You see me working?” Quinton pointed to the equipment in front of him.

  The leggy bombshell looked between the man and his beat-making machines. “Maybe we should take a quick dinner break.”

  Jamal called out. “You trying to eat from the wrong plate, mama.” A few laughed with him, Q included.

  “Nah. I’m good,” Q said and shrugged her arm away. He leaned forward and slipped on a pair of headphones over his ears.

  To her credit, she was partially right. Dinner was long overdue, and the engineer and his assistant were grateful to see an intern walk into the room, carrying a brown cardboard box filled with Chinese takeout. The scent of heavy perfume and the aroma of shrimp fried rice soon hung in the air, an almost sickening mix. However, nothing and no one could delay the creative process. Q was in a zone, and he continued to work into the night. He was creating another hit; he felt it. And when Quinton Ellis created a smash, the world danced to it.

  Unmindful of the fading sounds of those who gave up hanging out with him, he listened to the track and felt the beat. He envisioned the spring social scene changing because of this one song that was about to blow up the career of another talented artist.

  Q had to hear it once more, and no matter how many times the programmed drum beat repeated during the session, all the people around him carried on as if hearing the track for the first time each time he pressed play. His energy mesmerized the onlookers. He would bob his head to the beat until the rest of his body no longer contained itself. He would search the eyes of those around him, watching for that sure sign that they had heard what he heard. Although their heads nodded in unison, Q didn’t see what he was looking for. All he saw was a bunch of yes-men.

  “All you motherfuckers need to bounce.” Q’s announcement didn’t get the reaction he expected, so he turned off the music and repeated himself one more time. “Get the fuck out. Now.”

  Not everyone stood at once. Quinton watched as the ones who obliged did so based on hierarchy. The session interns left first. When Quinton remained silent, assistants followed behind them.

  A glare aimed at the sofa occupants sent the hangers-on packing next with a few muttering their disgruntled, entitled-laced grievances as they went.

  “And take that foul-smelling shit with you.”

  The last of the yes-men to go would leave Q and Logan alone to work. Wes, his assistant engineer, snatched up all the containers, tossed them in a box, and walked out. A minute later, an intern ducked in the room to grab the trash can filled with discarded take out and rushed out just as quickly as he came.

  Q clasped his hands together and nodded to the other man at the board. “Now, let’s get back to business. Play that track for me again so I can hear it without the noise.”

  Not new to Quinton’s work ethic, his employee did as instructed and pressed play.

  * * *

  Right on cue, Wes downloaded a copy of the rough mix for Q, who grabbed his jacket and left with his cousin Jamal to head to his truck. He set the song up in the truck’s system and turned up the volume. He let nothing out of his hands until he had completed the ritual of checking his work out on his stereo system.

  Q scrolled through the contacts on his cell phone, found the number he was looking for, and waited for the call to go through.

  “Hey, lady,” he said to Tara. “Got a sec?”

  She giggled, followed by a fake sigh. “I guess so.”

  “Check this out,” he said, pressing the button on his remote to play the new track. “Well?”

  “What am I going to say this time that I haven’t said before?”

  “Give me something more precise than that,” Q pleaded. But he got only silence. “First dibs, babe,” he said, trying charm to get a response out of her. “You know I can’t be responsible if you turn it down, and it becomes a major hit for Lauren.”

  Tara laughed out loud, the melodic sound easing tension from his shoulders. “You’re good,” she said. “You know I have to pass. I finished my album. I want you to check it out when we see each other again. I have no clue when that is. I guess in Vegas at the awards show next month. Can I trust you not to share it if I send it to you early?”

  “Tara, I should feel insulted. Yeah, send it to the house,” Quinton
replied, knowing she didn’t trust cloud leaks. “When do you go to Hawaii?”

  “I don’t know. I had planned to leave next week, but I changed my schedule around. Maybe I’ll go the week after. I’m in San Antonio taking care of some family business right now.”

  “See how you treat me? Change directions and don’t update me.”

  Tara laughed. “You know how I get when the urge strikes. I need to run. My sisters are calling me, and I have to straighten up this mess I made,” she said. “I’ll tell Sydney to overnight it first thing in the morning. Call me after you listen to it. I’m curious to hear what you have to say. They say this album is my best work yet.”

  * * *

  Tara emerged from her old bedroom when Jordan and Mia left for church Sunday morning. She was making a final search of old boxes in the family’s converted barn. The estate located outside of city limits and, according to her father, offered the perfect escape when the world wanted to close in around them.

  Eleven days had passed since Tara’s arrival surprised everyone, but the sisters soon got used to occupying the home in which the three had grown up. She just wished Jordan would stop avoiding her and hoped Mia would pick a side and stick with it. She needed her family, and with the loan denied, she knew they needed her.

  Tara didn’t realize time had flown by while engrossed in old pictures and listening to tapes the girls used to make of themselves on their portable cassette recorders. The happy times captured in old photographs somewhat eased the sadness of not finding out anything about the child she had given away. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since the night before. Tara started returning stuff to where she had found them.