Forgiving Jackson Read Free Page B

probably couldn’t have saved the others, but Trace had been close; since the first, Trace had always been close by, playing rhythm guitar and singing backup, while Jackson played his own lead guitar. “Ginger suffered a broken leg and a slight concussion. She’s on a beach getting some much needed rest. She’ll be fine.”
    “Any chance you’re going to tell me what beach?”
    “No.”
    “I thought not. Is that where you’ve been these last ten days? With Ginger?”
    “Mostly.” That was a lie. He’d flown Ginger to Aruba in his private jet and sent the plane back to L.A. for the rest of his people to take back to Nashville. He’d instructed his accountant to write some big checks and he’d hidden out on a small island off Aruba until the funerals were over.
    It was almost as if Carson picked up on his thoughts. “There was a lot of talk about your failure to attend the funerals of your entourage. Some even speculated that you were badly hurt or dead.”
    He smiled. “Obviously that was a bit dramatic. Ginger was understandably traumatized. I felt that my place was with her.” Ginger would cut her tongue out before she would tell that he’d hidden to avoid the funerals; any of them would.
    “Ginger has been with you since before your first record went gold when you were nineteen. Is it fair to say you look to her as a mother figure?”
    This had been a mistake. If there had been anywhere to go, he would have walked out.
    “No. Ginger works for me.” Though Ginger was exactly the age his mother would’ve been. And she’d done everything for him, short of wiping his nose. That was over. From here on out, he was wiping his own nose.
    “But there is no denying that she’s devoted to you,” Carson persisted.
    “I don’t deny it. I deny that she’s a mother figure.”
    “Some have speculated that there was at one time a romantic relationship between the two of you.”
    “Some have also speculated that aliens descend from outer space on a regular basis to mate with mermaids but that doesn’t make it true.” This was not the first time he’d heard that and it never got any less ridiculous. Funny thing was, he got the feeling Carson knew that. Was she just asking random questions or was this all going somewhere?
    His new best friend, the flight attendant, came through with her cart.
    “Breakfast!” He popped his tray down. Maybe Carson would get distracted and get on with asking him if he liked grits. Which he did, if they were cooked right.
    “Thank you. None for me,” Carson said.
    “Not hungry?” Jackson took a sip of his coffee and inspected the omelet to see what was inside.
    “I had breakfast on my last flight. An hour ago.”
    “Are you going to write down what I’m eating for breakfast?” he asked.
    “I hadn’t planned to. I would rather talk about how this fire took you back to a fire you experienced when you were twelve years old.”
    Jackson hesitated with his fork halfway to his mouth. Then he stopped. “What makes you think it took me back?”
    “How could it not?” Carson said simply, as if she were discussing ducks on a pond or the color of birthday cake icing.
    “That was a long time ago.” Coming up on twenty years, in fact.
    Carson narrowed her eyes. “Is it ever a long time ago when you lose half your family?”
    She had that right. It was yesterday. Last night. This morning.
    “They never discovered what caused the fire that night, did they?”
    “No. They never did.” That was true, but just the same, Jackson knew.
    It had been their last night of vacation at Myrtle Beach. He and the twins were camping out, like they had been allowed to do the previous three years. Beau was supposed to join them for the first time but had gotten sick and been kept inside. They’d done the usual—made s’mores, popped popcorn, and told ghost stories. Like he’d done every year after building the fire, Jim Beauford had admonished his oldest son to make sure the fire was out