He came back home, and he found me, swimming by myself in that lake. Both of us nothing alike and yet the same. Both so deeply rooted here in our hometown, and yet both of us so lonely.
Until we found each other.
“I don’t care about Walker Rhodes, the myth and legend,” I tell him. “I just care about the man underneath it. About my…”
My what? My boyfriend? My first love?
“My man,” I settle on.
I can tell by his expression he likes that.
“So,” I continue, “I want you to promise me to do one specific thing that will be good for your soul.”
“What’s that?”
“I want you to promise me you’ll write a song. Not for me. For you.”
Surprise moves through his face. Whatever he was expecting me to ask for clearly wasn't this.
Then he smiles.
He used to be all storm-cloud eyes, but this is a full-beam-of-sunlight kind of smile.
They used to be so rare, those smiles. This is the third one I’ve seen this morning.
“Darlin’,” he says. “Don’t you know? Any song I ever write again will be for you.”
I look at him, at the green eyes and the smile and the hands warm on my face, and I feel my own smile spread, helpless and wide, the kind I can't manage or contain.
I know that leaving is going to tear me apart.
But for now, it’s still summer. The meadowlark is still singing, and the sun is still shining, and the coffee is still hot.
Autumn is a world away.
So Walker and I sit back down and he pulls me into his lap and starts to teach me some chords on the guitar, and then his hand starts wandering up my shirt and his lips are on my neck and he puts the guitar away and plays me instead.
Chapter 28
Fourth of July
WALKER
The Fourth of July is like Christmas in summertime as far as my son is concerned.
He gets to ride his favorite pony, Biscuit, in the Marble Falls Fourth of July Parade, right next to his grandpa up on Colonel, his rescue draft horse. Then we come back to Rosemont for my dad's all-day cookout, an institution as reliable as the mountains, running since before I was born.
The celebration here is nothing fancy, nothing crazy, but loud and chaotic and perfect all the same. Everyone who works at Wild Rose Ranch can cycle through with their families all afternoon, the grill going from ten in the morning until the fireflies come out.
It’s unchanged from my own childhood memories of it. Charcoal smoking on the grill, kids on the slip-and-slide shrieking at the cold water, adults with full plates and a drink in hand, just soaking up the sunshine. There’s music and the cottonwoods along the river throwing puffy white tuftslike confetti across the blue sky.Burgers and hot dogs and grilled corn and watermelon and enough popsicles to dye every child in Marble Falls red, white, and blue from the mouth down.
Jonah is proof of concept on that last point.
I spot him from across the yard. He's on his fourth or fifth firecracker popsicle by my count, standing in the afternoon sun with his pearl-button shirt he wore to the parade now untucked and his hat pushed back. His hands are stained the color of the American flag.
Sadie's kneeling in front of him with a wet napkin, attempting damage control, while Jonah bounces on his toes and tells her a story that apparently involves a catastrophic crash. His arms are going in every direction. She's got her lips pressed together, clearly trying not to laugh but her eyes wide and serious. Treating him like whatever he's describing is the most important thing she's heard all day.
This is exactly why I came back to Marble Falls.
