Redwood Bend

rehab, whatever you can imagine. Except Dylan. He began to appreciate the simpler expectations of the small Montana town where he lives, got an education and built himself a little business. I can’t say why he tars himself with that same brush—he’s nothing like the rest of them.”
“How in the world did you find that little town?” Katie asked.
“I made a few phone calls and someone knew the place—that it was in a beautiful setting, that it was rustic and not a particularly easy place to live. Mother Nature is a difficult taskmaster in that part of the country, but she rewards the brave and strong with astonishing natural beauty. Now, I was at a time in my life that living with any sort of challenge did not appeal to me in the least. But Dylan? Oh, my…” Adele sipped her tea. “Has Dylan talked much about what it’s like to be a Hollywood kid? A child star?”
“He talked about it some, but I admit, it’s hard to imagine.”
“Imagine this,” Adele said. “As long as you’re in demand, as long as you have the right ratings, you can have anything you want. While you’re a success, people live to please you and there are practically no limits. What’s particularly hard for a child star to understand is that success is very fragile. And the second you slip, the party is over. The fall from grace is fast and hard, you can no longer get away with bad behavior. The pressure to do well is astronomical. Yet Dylan probably had no idea how much pressure he was under.” She shook her head. “Even with all the hard work, big money, fame and recognition, it’s a very difficult and artificial life, but it was all he’d known.
“I took Dylan to a place where he could learn how the America that worshipped him actually lives. And to see what they really thought of him—not as a star but as a kid who had trouble reading, couldn’t play sports very well, had never had to make his own bed, et cetera. I intended for him to be laden with chores rather than the memorizing of scripts, which by the way, someone always read to him to be sure he remembered the right lines.”
“Does he still have trouble reading?” Katie asked.
“I believe he learned to compensate while in Payne. They had a school librarian who had worked with some minor dyslexia in students and she stepped in when asked by his English teacher. Payne—small town where people worked together. They didn’t have much money, couldn’t generate much by way of tax dollars, so they put muscle into their community spirit.”
“Sounds like this place,” Katie said with a smile.
“Dylan was mesmerized by that rugged beauty. I was not—it was too harsh and unyielding for me, but… There’s a hand on the property because there are animals to take care of, and I needed him to show us the ropes. Dylan and I wouldn’t have the first idea what to do if a herd of elk got in the yard—later he had to clear a herd to build the runway.” She smiled. “Look what he’s managed to do. Isn’t it amazing?”
“Does he know how proud you are of him?” Katie asked.
Adele scoffed. “I have a tendency to be a bit rigid. Unsentimental.” There was a snort and some muffled laughter from the direction of the town car and Adele shifted her gaze sharply in that direction. She muttered something that sounded vaguely like pain in my ass.
Katie laughed softly. They were like an old married couple.
“I hope he knows how much I admire him,” Adele went on. “Talk about taking a sow’s ear… Well, he’s turned himself into a rancher, businessman, good neighbor, friend… I failed his father. I was a hardworking actress while raising Dean and I left him with staff, indulged him, sometimes pulled strings for him and did whatever it took to shut him up. What I ended up with was a great actor who was so completely self-indulgent he was doomed to hubris. He thought he was invincible and thus died in an alcohol-related car accident.” She tsked, shaking her head. “Such a loss. Tragic. So you can see my desperation to rescue Dylan. It was bloody awful, let me tell you. I almost killed us both just learning to drive a Jeep around Montana’s snow-covered roads! Not to even mention the debacle of me trying to feed a moose buck an apple like I thought the thing was a docile pony! We had three years of adjusting to each other, the land and homestead, the people. And then he went to college and set me free. Thank God. But you can be damn sure I never let him get far