He took another look at the yellow duplex, his eyes hardening. “I used to think, if I’d been a better kid, she would have stayed. Took me a long time to understand it didn’t have anything to do with me. I don’t know which is worse. To think I caused my mother to leave or to believe she left because she didn’t want me, not because of anything I did or didn’t do.”
I lifted his hand to my lips and kissed his knuckles.
“Okay, Earl. Let’s go see something happier. Can you take us to Leiper’s Fork?” He turned back to me. “I’ll show you Wes and Margaret’s house where I spent most of my teens.”
The drive took us out of the city, past rolling hills and white-fenced horse farms, into the countryside that surrounded Nashville. Leiper’s Fork was a tiny town with one main street and a handful of shops.
“Wes worked in the city but Margaret wanted quiet, so he bought her this.” The house was a white farmhouse with a wraparound porch, set back from the road behind a low stone wall. A barn sat behind it, painted red, and horses grazed in a pasture that stretched toward the hills.
“They sold it when Wes retired, but I have a lot of good memories from here. Practiced guitar on that porch.”
“It’s idyllic.”
“I think sometimes about what would have happened to me if they hadn’t been there. I’d probably have gotten in with a bad crowd. Destroying my life one shot of Jack at a time.”
“But they did, and look at all the things you’ve accomplished.”
“Life isn’t only about accomplishments, you know,” he said gently.
“It has been for me.”
“I know. But maybe it doesn’t have to hold all your self-worth.”
“That’s a lesson I’ll have to learn again and again. It’s defined me for a long time. Having you in my life is a great reminder that there’s more to life than work.”
He played with a lock of my hair, wrapping it around a finger. “Ready to go back to the hotel?”
I nodded. “Ready if you are.”
Earl drove us back as the sun began to set in a sky streaked with pink. I leaned against Hunter’s shoulder, watching Nashville roll past. Ideas and characters started to come to me in the way that made my fingers long for Bertha. But this was not a weekend about work. This was a weekend away with the man I loved. Stories could wait until I got back to my desk.
“It’s okay,” Hunter said.
“What’s that?” I looked over at him.
“You can let the stories populate that amazing brain of yours. I don’t mind.”
I smiled, placing my hand on his knee. “I didn’t bring Bertha, so you’re safe.”
He tapped my temple. “It’s in there, ruminating. As it should be.”
“What about you? Any stories coming?” I asked.
“As a matter of fact, yes. ‘Destroying my life one shot of Jack at a time.’ That’s a great line for a song.”
“I can’t wait to hear it.”
By then we were back at the hotel. Earl gave us his card and said he could take us anywhere we wanted to go this weekend. “Just text me, and I’ll be there.”
We thanked him and climbed out of the car, holding hands as we walked back into the lobby and upstairs to our room. Our room with only one bed.
I swallowed my nervousness and followed Hunter out of the elevator and down the hall. This was about trust and surrender, I thought, as he unlocked the door. It was time to give my heart and my body to the man who touched my soul with his music and his goodness and his big Tennessee heart.
That night,Hunter and I walked a few blocks to a restaurant with checkered tablecloths and live music in the corner. We ate fried catfish and hush puppies and drank cold beer. And laughed and laughed. After our time together before dinner, I felt like I was floating. It was still hard for me to believe, but he was real. This was all real.
“May I say, you’re looking even more beautiful than usual,” Hunter said.
I flushed, remembering that hotel bed and the messy sheets we left behind. “This is all … just right. You’re just right.”
