She smiled. “Hey.”
I straightened. “Hey.”
She sat down in the adjacent Adirondack chair, like every other night. “I wrote you a song. Wanna hear it?”
I couldn’t tell from her tone or expression if it was a happy song or one that was going to break my heart. “Sure. I’d like that.” I started to put my guitar in its case but she held out a hand to stop me.
“It’s a duet. I’ll lead. You back me up?”
“Sure.”
She offered me a piece of sheet music she’d handwritten. I didn’t look at it, too afraid to read the words. Something about her expression and the way she was sitting, careful and guarded, told me exactly what this was.
I made sure not to look more than a measure ahead, trying to prolong the devastation that was headed my way, still hanging onto hope that I was reading her wrong. I didn’t even try to start strong. I couldn’t have, even if I’d wanted to. Her voice was steady and clear while mine was barely above a whisper.
You’ve always been my solid ground,
The one who pulls me back when I spin out.
Late-night drives, just killing time,
Singing too loud to songs we don’t know right.
All right. So far, so good.
But then we hit the lead up to the chorus.
And I don’t say it, but I hope you see,
Some things are meant to stay easy.
There it was.
Easy? This had never been easy for me. Not really.
I wanted to do anything but sing this song with her. Literally anything. Stick toothpicks in my eyelids, wrestle a rabid raccoon, eat a ghost pepper and follow it down with a gallon of expired milk. But I kept singing. Because I’m Cash Dupree and that’s what I do.
Right where you are, side by side,
Laughing at jokes till we both start to cry.
No need to change, no need to chase it,
Some love is best when you don’t have to name it.
Dang. This was really good. How long had she been writing?
I hated that I was just learning this about her during a breakup song she’d written for me. But still, stupidly, I held on to a glimmer of hope.
You’re my safe place, my solid ground,
But if you’re hoping for more, don’t wait around…
Charlie moved on but my eyes were stuck on that last line, the air leaking from my lungs like a tire that had run over a rusty nail. I read that line over and over, my fingers refusing to play another chord.
“C’mon, Cash,” Charlie laughed nervously. “Don’t you like my song?”
I looked at her, heat rising in my cheeks. “No. I don’t. I can’t believe you made me sing it.”
