It also helped that this guy was clearly more starstruck by the van than by me.
“Seems like it,” I agreed, as though I assessed tire tread counts all the time. “It’s not mine, though. I’m just renting it for a few days.”
“Ah.” The man nodded, and little creases formed at the side of his eyes as he smiled. “Must be nice to live the dream for a little while, huh?”
The dream?I looked at the serviceable white passenger van with its dark tinted windows and the run-down gas station in the middle of nowhere. Well… different people had different dreams, I supposed.
I gave him a half-smile. “Kinda, yeah.”
“I’m Chet, by the way. Chet Hatcher.” His smile turned sheepish as he extended a hand covered in silver rings for me to shake. “And before you ask, yes, I’mthatChet Hatcher.”
“Oh.” I blinked. “Sorry, I don’t…”
“Of Chet and the Newsmen? Voted Cass County Fair’s band of the year for four out of the last five years?”
I shook my head and fought not to ask what had happened the fifth year. “Sorry. Still not ringing a bell.”
“Not much of a music fan, then?”
“No, no, I am,” I assured him. “I’m just not from around here.”
His eyes lit up. “Yeah? Where ya from?”
“Florida,” I answered without thinking.Fuck. I was such an idiot. “I mean… I mean, I came from Florida just now.” I waved a hand in that general direction. “I’m from outside of Huntsville, originally, and then New York.”
“A travelin’ man like me, eh?” He nudged my arm with his elbow companionably, then stuck his thumbs through the belt loops of his worn jeans. “Well, in a couple years you’ll have heard of the Newsmen, ’cause we’re gonna bebig. And you’ll get to tell folks you met me, once upon a time.”
“I definitely will,” I said solemnly.
A couple of years back, that had been me, so confident fame was around the corner and every stranger was a potential fan who just hadn’t heard me yet. Chet seemed a bit older than me—maybe forty or so—and I wondered, if I hadn’t gotten my record contract, whether I’d have been offering my music for free at gas stations when I was his age.
Probably. I’d beenthatdetermined to make things happen for me and for Aimee.
Now here I was living Chet’s actual dream—not the van, but Debbie, and a gold record, and tour dates, and songs getting national airplay—and I was in danger of losing it all because I didn’t want to make my private life public. It seemed like an inconsequential hill to die on, considering all I’d given up already… but how much more of myself was I willing to give?
Chet grinned. “Remind me to getcha a CD from my trunk in a minute. It’ll blow your mind.”
I blinked back to awareness. “Oh. Uh… cool. Thanks.”
“Listen, I’ve got a favor to ask,” Chet began, and I froze. Did he recognize me? Did he want me to listen to his album because he thought (incorrectly) that I could somehow help him get a recording contract, or—
“Do you have some spare change? I’d get it back to you somehow,” he added quickly. “Promise.”
“Oh.” I blinked, then patted my pockets and scooped out the few coins I carried. “I don’t carry much cash, but if you need some lunch, or something, I could…” I nodded toward the brick building.
“Nah nah nah.” Chet waved me off. “I got plenty of food. It’s just that my car broke down.” He pointed toward an old Chevy hatchback parked off to the side of the parking lot with its hood up. Its gray body was sprinkled all over with rust freckles, and its rear side window appeared to be fashioned entirely from lime-green duct tape, which added an intriguing pop of color. “And my lady’s waitin’ on me back home.”
“Your lady?”
“Chrissea Drake. That’s Chrissea with an s-e-a. Special, just like she is.” He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet proudly, making his wallet chain swing. “She’s the prettiest girl in Dry Hump.”
“In…pardon?” The word came out in my stepmother’s church-lady voice, which was slightly horrifying.
“Dry Hump, Missouri. Way over on the western side of the state,” he explained. “And at least Ithinkshe’s still my lady. Today’s our six-month anniversary, see? And Dotty went ’n gave up the ghost this morning, so I told her I might not be home in time, and she hung up on me.”
“Dotty did?”
“No, Chrissea.” He looked askance at me. “Dotty’s the car.”
