“The coffee’s good on its own, but I’ve got a really good well on the property. That plus the filter makes for some damn good water. Highly mineralized, but very, very tasty.”
“Good to know. Special magical songwriter water.” She hums, closing her eyes as she takes another sip.
“Well, c’mon. Let’s see if that wasn’t just a fluke, me helping you before.”
Worry or something close to it wrinkles her brow.
“What gives?” I ask, putting my hand on hers.
She inhales deeply, looking first at our connection, then at me.
“I want your help, but the stubborn part of me wants to try again.”
“Then go for it,” I say, grabbing the guitar from its stand and handing it to her.
She takes it gingerly and strums. That sounds good enough, and she’s keeping a decent rhythm, but when she tries to add chords, the dexterity and strength she needs aren’t there yet.
“Have you talked to your physical therapist about your fingers?”
She sighs. “I was a bit salty about the dexterity training that first week. We’ve shifted focus to the basics, like walking without falling and eating food without wearing it.”
“That’s great and all, but I’ve only known you for a little bit, and I would bet that, given a choice, you’d rather your hands work over your legs.”
“You’d be right about that. “
“Which means you might need to apologize to your therapist and beg her to add back the dexterity and hand-strengthening exercises. I bet you a dollar she’s been anxious to add more hand dexterity. I think if you ask her to move it up on the schedule, you’ll both feel better about your progress. Just my opinion.”
“I value your opinion. I’ll talk to her about it, maybe apologize.”
Mac offers the guitar, and I take it from her hands. “Maybe?”
“Okay, fine. I’ll apologize.”
“That’s what I thought.” Ignoring her eye roll, I ask, “Do you wanna try to sing a little? Your speech has improved quite a lot since you got here.”
“It has?”
I nod, making a few minor tuning adjustments. “Can’t you tell?”
“It’s weird, but not always. I can hear improvement on the esses, but Mason said he can understand me better now. Not sure what to make of it.”
“I don’t think you’re quite at the same level of enunciation—at least from what I remember of our first conversation—but you’re definitely not slurring your esses as much. Hardly at all, actually.”
“Okay. Let’s give it a shot,” she says but can’t quite hide the doubts in her eyes. “Do you know the basic chords for ‘Sweet Baby Mine?’”
I grin. In the short time since I’ve become acquainted with Mac’s catalog, that’s one of my favorite songs. “In fact, I do.”
Strumming out a few notes, I make one more quick adjustment and play the opening chords.
She begins to sing, and it’s not bad at all. Even though it’s a little rough, the words are clearer than in her first attempt. She stops mid-verse with a disgruntled expression.
“What’s this? That was great,” I say sincerely.
She glares at me, rolling her eyes. “That was awful.”
Man, she’s as bad a perfectionist as I am.
“Mac, you have way more vocal control than the last time you tried to sing. Your voice is a little rough, but not in a bad way. You know us girls like a little growl in a singer’s voice.”
