Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
I drink some more beer. There’s peace to be found in sitting here with him in the twilight. It’s like the gentle current of the water washes away my bad mood and disappointments.
“What about you?” I ask. “What did you bring with you?”
Nash’s vehicle is a blue forty-odd-year-old Jeep Wagoneer. Way more storage room. “My 1938 Martin D-45.”
“Is that a guitar?”
“A very beautiful acoustic guitar of which there were only ninety-one made.”
“You only brought a guitar?”
He nods. “That and my toothbrush.”
“Well, thank goodness.”
“Two houses full of stuff didn’t make me happy.”
“There’s something very wrong with you,” I joke. “The mansions alone would make me ecstatic. Like, smile so hard I break my face.”
“Fame is a cage and money doesn’t matter.”
“Only someone with money would say that.”
He laughs.
“It’s true, though.”
“Oh, I know.” He downs some more beer, then stares off at nothing down the shadowy length of the river. “There wasn’t much of the stuff around when I was growing up. Mom worked hard to make sure we always had what we needed. But wanting things was a luxury we couldn’t afford, you know?”
“She sounds like a good mom.”
“She was a great mom.” And he says no more on the topic.
“Are you close with your sibling?”
He jerks his chin. It’s a definite no. And given his demeanor, he doesn’t want to talk about it.
Which is when something else occurs to me. “I haven’t seen or heard a guitar.”
“It’s still in the Jeep.”
“If it’s worth so much money, should you bring it into the house just to be safe?”
He frowns. From the idea of theft or due to the instrument being a reminder of his music career, I don’t know.
The first star has appeared high up in the sky. I tip my head back and say, “Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight. Wish I may, wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight.”
“What’d you wish for?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“How about I trade mine for yours,” he teases.
I take another sip of beer and shake my head.
“So mysterious,” he says. “You know, I’ve smiled more here with you and Audrey than I have in years. I can be alone here, like I was working in the garden the last few hours, but it doesn’t feel lonely for some reason.”
“Good,” I say simply.
We sit in silence, watching the fireflies and listening to an owl hooting somewhere nearby. I need to record the soft sound of the water flowing to play when I can’t sleep. It’s so soothing. Or maybe I just want to hear Nash talking about things.
Then he whispers, “I wished Audrey would lose her stick.”
And I laugh.
Grandma doesn’t come home until after ten. I’m seated at the table on the back deck doing some work. The money I need to fix my car isn’t going to make itself and it’s too beautiful a night to be inside.
“Have fun?” I ask.
“The local drag queens always make bingo fun. You should come with me sometime.” She smiles. “Has our guest gone out?”
I shake my head. “He went to bed a while back.”
“The gardening wore him out. Good. He needs to keep his hands busy to get out of his own head sometimes.”
“Overthinking can be a curse.”
“Yes it can be.”
“And he thought he had to do the garden to stay in your good graces.”
“I handled that boy for a good many years. The music industry can be crushingly hard. And despite that thick skull, he’s a sensitive soul,” she says. “I’m glad you two have settled on being just friends. Because it’s best if he remains with us for a while. Has a chance to sort out next steps. You know there wasn’t a day when fans and photographers weren’t standing outside his house.”
“He said fame was a cage.” I save my work and turn off the laptop. “Also told me he grew up without much.”
“Did he?” Grandma sounds surprised. “He doesn’t usually discuss his childhood.”
“It’s not like he said much.”
She settles into the seat opposite me. “How are you doing?”
“Being here has been good. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome to remain for as long as you like. I’m not so secretly hoping you might stay here. Should you decide you don’t belong back in Phoenix.”
I smile. “I like that idea. Let me give it some thought.”
Friday night is karaoke time at the bar. Mac the mechanic has just finished his rendition of “Fast Car” by Tracy Chapman. And his performance owes more to exuberance than actual musical ability. But the applause is loud and supportive just the same. The Bend is a great town.
Nash wipes his mouth with a napkin. “That was fucking—”
Grandma clears her throat.
“Fire trucking delicious.” He pats his stomach. “Easily the best BBQ I’ve had in a while. And the potato salad and cornbread were both excellent. The microgreens were meh and I could have used that square inch of space for more ribs. But otherwise…”