Oh god, from totally ignored girl to let’s have heart-to-heart girl. And what does he mean by all this? I flush and I look at Alan. Thankfully, he’s absorbed in Linda’s overly animated chatter.

“Nothing to think,” I say quietly, evasively.

Len laughs. “OK. I get it. Mind my own business.”

He nods, smiles, and places a light kiss on my cheek, to my great surprise. I realize he wasn’t being invasive; he was being concerned. I peek at him as I eat my dinner. By the time I’ve finished my meal, I know I read Len Rowan all wrong.

Len may be an ass on the surface, but there is a shrewd sensitivity to him that I think most people miss. It suddenly makes sense that he’s with Linda. They are the balance in this strange cluster of personalities: Linda with the girls and Len with the band. They’re the glue that somehow keeps everyone together.

After dinner, everyone just lounges around talking and laughing. The minutes turn into hours and it’s starting to feel like this evening is never going to end. I’ve spent the better part of four hours listening to an endless stream of industry talk and gossip, there is nothing of the substantive world here. There’s meaningless dialogue occasionally spiced with a quick anecdote about Jack, which feels weirdly inserted into the conversation as a polite attempt to include me. Nothing could be less polite. Every time Jack’s name comes up in passing, I tense. I can’t even imagine what the fallout for this will be when I go home.

Never before have I done anything that would test the boundaries of Jack’s tolerance or his approval. In all moments, I work desperately hard to remain as close to perfect—or at least if not perfect, then privately a mess—so as not to tip the strange balance of our totally careful father-daughter relationship. I’ve always been so afraid to tip the balance.

I stare down into my wine. Well, Chrissie, you better come to terms with the fact that you have tipped the balance. For some reason as I analyze this, it’s anger I feel flooding my tissues instead of my familiar apprehension and worry. I’ve fucked up your image of me big time and this time in a public way, Jack. Are you going to ignore this?

I study the strange herd of dysfunctional people I’ve fallen in with. It’s like a public service announcement. Even Jack couldn’t move past this with his ’60s axioms and nonparenting for parents bullshit.

By the time the group starts to break up, there is breathing into life inside of me, a carefree sense of not giving a shit what anyone thinks about anything—not Jack, not them, not anyone. I fell in love. I let a guy love me. What’s fucked up about that?

I tilt my head to find Alan crouched down beside me. It’s strange, but we passed the entire evening not even together. Those mesmerizing, penetrating black eyes are slowly absorbing the details of my expression, and then he takes my face in his hands, his fingers spreading across my cheeks.

I’m just starting to lean in for a kiss when he stops me. “Are you OK?”

I laugh, frustrated. “God. You’re like the tenth person to ask me that tonight. What’s up with that?”

Alan laughs and shakes his head. “Just checking to see if you’re angry with me again. I’m tired, Chrissie. Take me to bed and be good to me.”

I make a face, lips turning downward in simulated pouting. “Don’t count on it,” I tease.

He shakes his head just enough for the dark waves to dance. “No?”

Beneath his unreadable surface I feel just a smidge of silly Alan in there.

“Nope.”

He takes my hand and pulls me to my feet. The staircase is old, the wood creaks while we walk, and there is something in the creaking sound that is strangely comforting to me. I can see the moon through the round windows, high on the wall, and there is the lovely sensation again that we are alone even though I know perfectly well there are people in every upstairs bedroom. The staircase is narrow and dark we’re in a magical transition away from them to only Chrissie and Alan again.

Alan pauses at the door and flips on a switch before he pulls me in behind him. The room is simple and dominated by a charming, antique brass bed invitingly arranged with hand sewn quilts and country check pillows. The furniture is heavy and old and spotless, and the windows are dual-paned and framed with patches of swirling blue stained glass.

With easy grace, Alan reclines on the bed and stares up at me. Those black eyes are alive with tenderness and lust. It’s a disarming mix. I swallow and lean back into the door. It would be so easy to forget all the questions in my head when he stares at me like this.

“I thought you said you weren’t angry with me,” he murmurs softly.

There’s a sweet kind of smile on his face now, cajoling and affectionate. I feel my body respond.

“Depends on why you brought me here.”

He pretends to be confused. “To The Farm? Or the bedroom?”

I sink on the bed beside him, settling my chin in the upturned palm of my hand. “What’s going on here, Alan?”

He leans into me, long fingers closing on the fastenings of my overalls. He gives me a full mouth kiss that I feel all the way down to my toenails. It leaves me breathless and just a touch angry. So Alan, you don’t want to answer my questions.

I stare up at him, completely committed to being resistant. “You’re lying to them and I want to know why, since you’ve made me a part of it.”

He lies back on the pillow, irritated.

“I’m quitting,” he says, just when it was looking like he wasn’t going to answer me. “You know that. But I’m not a solo act, Chrissie. I can’t walk out in one day. For a lot of reasons, most of them legal and involving lawsuit settlements, I’m doing the tour, I’m doing one more album with the band, and then I’m through. Will you kiss me now?”

“But why lie to them about me?” I stare at the quilt, fingering the design, trying to make sense of this. “You made them think we’ve had this long, hot, and heavy affair going on for months. Why? Why don’t you want anyone to know you were with Jack?”

His eyes widen with a mix of disbelief and irritation. “Fuck, you don’t know anything about Jack, do you?”

I feel my face flood with a burn, and uncontained hurt unfurls within me. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”

I can tell he can see he fucked up with that comment. He runs a hand through his hair and his expression softens.

“Your father is an extraordinary man. He’s the guy people call for you when you’ve fucked up big and you want off the road you’re on. He helps you clean up your shit, get your head straight, and get you on a different road. I’ve got fifteen more months, Chrissie. I just want it all to end. If they know I’ve been with Jack, they’ll know I’m leaving.”

I don’t know where to begin to process my emotions. I didn’t know any of this about Jack, and that’s not the Dad I’ve had, not by a long shot. It makes everything inside of me somehow hurt even more. And even though it’s trivial and secondary, it reminds me of that day at the airport, Alan’s concern over the tabloids spotting me and how sweet I thought his worry was. It was never about me. It was about him, and for some reason I wonder: how much about us is only about him? There is that sense there is something going on between us that I don’t fully understand yet.

I focus on the wood slats of the ceiling, trying to calm my inner turmoil.

“What’s wrong, Chrissie?”

I look to see Alan studying me, trying to assess my reaction to this. I muster an overly bright smile. “I just want to go to sleep.”

I curl on my side, feeling as if I’ve grown smaller, filled with childish resentment about how little Jack was there for me, and a petty type of jealousy that Jack was there for Alan. It’s so bizarre how the random pieces of your life can suddenly join into something so heartbreaking. I’m a little unsteady, a little dazed.