Sour notes, p.16
Sour Notes, page 16
A bunch of good old boys grabbed me and took the gun away. Another group held him down. Next thing I knew, cops were coming through the door, and everyone was saying I pulled a gun on this guy. Nobody had seen which one of us had it at the beginning. Even if they had, they probably wouldn’t have been on the side of some skinny, long-haired musician from out of town.
I tried to explain what had happened, but they hauled me down to the jail because they didn’t believe me. The next morning, though, they let me know the guy was telling them it was his gun, not mine. He wasn’t doing it to protect me. He just wanted his gun back.
Anyway, the serial numbers proved it was his.
He, of course, said he’d never pulled it out or anything, which was true, so I must’ve taken it from him during the fight. Now, there wasn’t a fight, but all I wanted was out of town. The guy said he didn’t want to press charges, and I sure didn’t, so everything got settled without any fuss. The cops wrote it up just like he told them. They warned me never to come back to town, like I had any plans to do that.
I caught back up with the band, and we skedaddled. The whole drive to the next town, Snake complained he’d never gotten laid.
Next thing I knew, someone in the band told the story to a newspaper. Probably Snake, though I never found out for sure. He must’ve thought it would make the band sound tougher.
A reporter pulled the police report, which said I had taken the guy’s gun from him during the fight, and shared the story. The band started calling me Mad Maverick McDougal.
I was going to tell the truth, clear up the whole mess, and stop the stupid lie, but I got a call from another band who had heard the story and offered me a job. I wanted out of that awful band I was in, so I took it. Then I couldn’t tell them the truth because it was the whole reason I’d gotten the gig.
So that’s the whole sordid story.
Harrison leaned against the tree while I waited for his reaction. “So you let everyone believe a lie for a job?”
I thought about that for a moment. I’d never told anyone the truth about what happened that night. “Not for the job. Yeah, at first, maybe, but also because it was easier than admitting the truth.” I paused for a minute and realized there was more to it. “But it was the way people looked at me too. For the first time in my life, they didn’t see some scared punk who let people run over him. They saw a guy who stood his ground against a man twice his size. An armed man.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No,” I admitted. “I haven’t done it much in my whole life. But it felt good that people thought I could.”
He chewed on his lip as he thought that over. Finally, he nodded. “That makes sense.”
It did because it was the truth, not something I told myself much. But saying it aloud made me realize something more. “You know what I really want?”
“What?”
“To know for myself that I can stand my ground. I don’t want it to be a lie. I want it to be real.”
Harrison stroked his guitar in thought for a few minutes. Finally, he looked up at me and cocked his head. “Mom says you used to busk the streets in Asheville.”
I nodded.
“That took guts, didn’t it? Playing your guitar in front of strangers. No stage. No separation. Just you and them.”
“Yeah, I guess it did, but I think music made it easier.”
He picked up his guitar and strummed a few chords, tuning as he went. “Maybe. But it still takes guts.”
I’d forgotten about my nervousness that first time Anna and Charlie got me to play in Asheville. I never would have done that without them conspiring to make it happen. I’d wanted to run away so badly. But I’d stood there. And played. Conquered my fear. And that had felt good.
I looked Harrison in the eye. “I’ll do whatever you want. Leave if you ask, but I’ll be blunt. I’d prefer to stick around. Get to know you some.” I paused, waiting for a reaction. When I didn’t get one, I said, “If that’s cool.”
He fingered his guitar as he thought. He didn’t say yes. But he didn’t say no either. “Let’s play a few songs.”
We played more than a few as the afternoon passed.
31
When I returned home, I checked in on Dad. He slept fitfully, murmuring in his sleep. Mom sat in the chair in the corner, a book in her lap, eyes closed and snoring softly.
I wanted her to get her rest while I prepared our dinner, which was little more than selecting one of the many casseroles from the refrigerator and sliding it into the oven. The noise, though, woke her. She joined me in the kitchen and chopped fresh vegetables for a salad then shucked corn.
While we worked together in the kitchen, I wanted to tell her about Harrison. He was, after all, her only grandson. My leaving, no matter what might have happened between Sarah and me, had deprived her of watching him grow up as one of her own. She would recover from any shock with the joy of being a grandmother.
I held back, though. What little relationship I had with Harrison was too fragile. To build trust, I needed to plan each step with him—and his parents. Small towns loved their gossip. This would be seismic news.
After eating our early supper, we sat rocking on the front porch. We didn’t need to talk to enjoy each other’s company. A vehicle coming up our gravel driveway broke our quiet. My gut tightened as Russ Caldwell’s pickup truck came into view, followed by a cloud of dust. He parked beside my rental and approached the porch.
Other than our brief exchange in the park, we hadn’t spoken since my return. Had I said or done something earlier in the day to upset Harrison? Perhaps Sarah had revoked her permission for me to talk to the boy. Or maybe Russ had his own opinion and was going to forbid me from any further contact.
I held my breath as he exchanged pleasantries with Mom, asking about Dad and her day. Then he asked her, “May I borrow Freddie for a few minutes?”
We left her rocking on the porch as we walked across the yard and entered the barn. Without having to search for the switches, he flipped on the lights and walked deeper into the gloom. He came to a stop at one of the thick supports and ran his hand along the rough-hewn edge. He paced, checking other signs of disrepair even my out-of-practice eyes noticed. A hook dangling on a broken nail. A rusted pulley. Frayed ropes. “I’m planning to fix this building up come winter. Patch a few leaks. Replace some rotting boards.”
“You need the storage?”
He leaned his back against the post. His shoulders bunched in an almost-imperceptible shrug. Russ had taken on the stoic characteristics I remembered of his father. “Not yet. Have to keep up on the maintenance, though.”
How many times had I heard my father say those words? “Have to take care of the things you own, son, so they’ll last,” he would say. And that was what Russ was doing. He owned these things now.
I asked, “The house too?”
His head moved in the slightest of nods. “Yep.”
“Because one of your kids will move into it someday?”
He shifted. “Don’t worry. I keep my promises. Libby lives in that house for as long as she wants. I’m in no rush. The kids are years away from needing their own place.”
“Harrison is sixteen.”
The edges of his mouth turned up. “I’m talking Brandon or Brenda. Maybe both. Harrison won’t stay in Millerton.”
“Because of music?”
“Because he’s not a farmer.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
Russ tilted his head and eyed me. “Is that what you think?”
Uncomfortable under his stare, I walked into a shadowy corner, inspected a hay bale for a hidden snake or mouse, then sat on it. “No, of course not. I left, didn’t I?”
“Not that.” He looked up at the ceiling in thought. “You believe Skeeter thinks less of you because you didn’t want to be a farmer?”
I picked at the straw in the bale. “Used to think that way, but I’m starting to see Dad understood me more than I realized. Things were certainly easier for Dean because he didn’t want to leave.”
Russ chuckled. “Are you kidding? Dean and I spent hours talking about ways out of Millerton. Military. Go to the community college and learn a trade. Just disappear, like you ended up doing.”
That stopped me cold. I couldn’t imagine either of them somewhere else. “Why didn’t you leave?”
He crossed the dirt floor and sat beside me. He didn’t bother checking for varmints first. “When I was seventeen, my dad woke me one night about two in the morning. I had school the next day and some big test, but he needed my help, so I got dressed and followed him. A cow was calving and was in distress. We were going to lose both of them if we didn’t help. A few hours later, covered in mud, blood, and shit, I was sitting on my tired butt, watching that calf take its first step while its mom nuzzled it. I was freezing cold and knew for sure I was going to fail the test. But instead of hating it, I realized I couldn’t be happier.”
I snorted. “Sounds awful to me.”
“Of course it does. It’s why you needed to go out into the world. Skeeter knew that. I knew it. Dean knew it.”
I stared at my hands in my lap. “I thought Dean hated me for it.”
Russ squeezed my shoulder, his calloused hands digging into my skin. “Dean envied you for it. He never stopped wanting to leave and was so jealous you were actually doing it.”
“But…” I struggled to understand my brother envying me for anything. “Didn’t he have a moment like you did? Wanting to be a farmer?”
He shook his head. “Don’t get me wrong. He hadn’t decided he didn’t want to be, but he hadn’t decided he did either. He just didn’t think he had a choice.”
“Sure he did. Just like I did.”
Russ clasped his hands together and looked away from me. His voice was quiet in the hush of the barn. “Dean understood you would never be happy here. Going out into the world and making your music was your only choice. But that meant Skeeter had nobody to take over the family farm if Dean left. He was the last McDougal. Two hundred and fifty years weighed on his shoulders. Hobard McDougal sending his demands from the grave. Other than you, nobody defied the McDougal legacy. He was scared to tell Skeeter he wanted to leave too.”
Trying to imagine Dean scared of anything or anyone was nigh impossible, but picturing him fearing Dad was even harder. They talked about everything. Or at least, so I’d thought.
Besides, I couldn’t imagine Dean being anything but a farmer. He loved the dirt and the sweat. “What did he want to do?”
Russ smiled. “Depended on the day. Motocross racer. Firefighter in some big city. Marine. Forest ranger. Pirate on the high seas if he could figure out a way. Something outdoors, physical, adventurous.”
“He never told Dad?”
“Didn’t think he could. And once he died, I told no one until now. No point in that.” Russ stood and ran his hand along the rusted pulley. “But that’s why I’m so careful to let Harrison know he can do what he wants. Brandon and Brenda too.”
“And if none of them want to stay in the business?”
“Then when I’m too old to do it, I’ll sell the place. Sarah and I will go live on a beach somewhere.”
I laughed. “I can’t see you living on a beach.”
That earned a smile from him. “Fine, a cabin deep in the woods. It doesn’t matter to me. Though I think Sarah would pick the beach, and I’ll do whatever she wants.”
In my self-centered youth, I’d never really paid attention to the type of person Russ was. A guy who would go on a sleepless night to save the lives of cattle. Who would make sure his kids did what they wanted with their lives. Who would live anywhere just because his wife wanted to. I could see how Sarah had fallen in love with him.
As I watched his hand on that pulley, I noticed what wasn’t there. “You don’t wear a wedding band?”
“Too dangerous to wear during the day. Get it caught in machinery and rip a hand off. Or lose the thing out in some field.” He spread his fingers and looked at them. “It’s in a box in our bedroom. Every night when I go home, I take a shower and put it on. It’s just a simple gold band. I’m not much of a jewelry guy.”
I thought of some of the musicians I’d played with. Necklaces. Rings on fingers, noses, ears, and other places not worth mentioning or imagining. Realizing how not dangerous our work was compared to Russ’s made me smile. “So, the wedding band is the only jewelry you own?”
He pursed his lips in thought. “That and my old class ring, but I only take that thing out once a year for the homecoming game. Stays in the box the rest of the year.” He shrugged. “Seemed like a big deal to have one back in the day, but not so much now.”
I looked at my own ringless fingers. Over the years, I’d owned many rings to flash on stage. I had pawned them all in the last few years since the work dried up. “I remember Dean saving every penny he could to get one.”
“I probably should have saved my money. Those things were expensive.”
Thanks to my busking cash, I could have afforded to buy one more than anyone else, but I never saw the point. But for guys like Dean and Russ, they mattered more. Maybe it was school pride. Or maybe it just was the way people were wired. When Dean got his, he wore it everywhere. “I could help Harrison buy his.”
Russ turned back to me and smiled. “Feel free to offer, but I think he’ll pass. He has shown no interest.”
“So you’re okay with me talking to Harrison?”
His face grew serious, and he locked eyes with me. “Sarah said she told you she would hunt you down if you hurt him?”
I nodded.
“I’ll be right beside her.”
I swallowed hard.
He continued, “But as long as we’re clear on that, yes, I’m okay. In fact, I think it’s a good thing.”
Tension I didn’t realize I was holding drained from my body. Russ’s acceptance surprised me. “You’d do that for me?”
“Not you. For Harrison.” He picked at his fingernails and spoke softly. “I mean no disrespect to your father, but I watched Skeeter with you. He tried to do the right thing by you but couldn’t figure out how. I’m no smarter than him—learned the half of farming my father didn’t teach me from him—but I don’t want to make the same mistakes. The truth is, I don’t know music and don’t understand it. Sarah does, of course, but he needs to know I support him. Letting him learn from others, especially from you, is the best way I know how.”
He turned to me. “So I’m not giving permission. I’m asking for your help. Can you do that for me?”
My mind spun, and I sputtered, “What if he decides music isn’t for him?”
“That’s fine too. All I care about is he’s happy.”
As we shut off the lights and walked back to the house, I admitted to myself for the first time that maybe I wasn’t leaving quickly.
32
Before Russ left, we discussed telling my parents about Harrison. We both thought it was the right thing to do, but we also wanted to ensure we moved at a speed Harrison was comfortable with. The repercussions would affect him more than any of us. Russ committed to discussing it with Sarah and Harrison that evening.
As he drove away, a tightness spread through my chest. Guilt seeped through my body.
My whole life, I’d run from conflict. Was that the real reason I so readily agreed to delay telling my parents about Harrison? Maybe I wanted to avoid seeing the hurt and confusion on my parents’ faces. That’s why I left Millerton without telling anyone goodbye. No one was going to stop me. No matter how much I tried to justify it in my mind, I just didn’t want to have to deal with their feelings.
I stuffed my hands into my pockets and walked through the rows of corn, deep in thought. This felt different than running and avoiding. I wasn’t deciding based on how it affected me. This was about Harrison. For the first time in a very long time—possibly ever—I was acting based on someone else’s needs. I didn’t want to avoid things just because it was easier. One more day, I promised myself. Unless Harrison wanted more time.
As the last of the day’s light faded from the sky, I made my way back to the house and inside. Knowing I was doing the right thing didn’t make it any easier to face Mom. She didn’t ask what Russ and I had discussed.
Fortunately, it didn’t take long for Mom to settle on the couch for the night. I sat in a chair near her feet and talked, but within a few minutes, her soft snores stopped me. I adjusted the blanket covering her and turned off all the lights except for a single lamp, enough for her to see in case Dad needed her.
Before going to bed, I settled into the chair in his room. His chest rose and fell as he wheezed, but he never woke. As the hour grew later, the world outside fell silent except for the lone owl hooting from the barn.
I stood to retreat upstairs but paused when I reached the doorway. I turned back to look at him, the light from the next room casting a soft glow on his face. I had grown to understand him better in the past few days. How he cared for me even if he struggled to show it. How I’d hurt him even if I’d never meant to.
I crossed the room and gently brushed his thinning hair. Then I leaned over and kissed his forehead. Tears blurred my vision as I left his room and climbed the steps.
As had become my habit, I turned on a lamp in Dean’s room and sat on his bed, staring at his trophies. I wondered how often he had lain here dreaming of leaving Millerton. I wished I had realized he wondered about his possible futures like I did. We could have shared our dreams.
The more I learned about him now, the more I realized I hadn’t understood him when we were kids. I’d lived just across the hall and not known my own brother as well as his friends had. Maybe we’d always been destined to be two strangers growing up under the same roof.
