Lindsey reached over and squeezed Candice’s hand. “It would mean the world to me.”
The following evening,Candice and Lindsey drove out to the bartender Matthew and his wife Netta’s house. It was a two-story red-brick about five miles from the country-western bar, and a few chickens clucked around in the side yard. They’d brought two bottles of wine and were slightly overdressed, which they didn’t realize until Netta opened the door in a pair of blue jeans and a white T-shirt. “Your city friends are here!” she called back to Matthew before grinning and letting them in. “Goodness, you didn’t have to bring wine! We don’t know a thing about wine, but we’ll drink it.” She winked.
They found Matthew in the living room, drinking a beer. Candice and Lindsey opted for beer, too, and soon, they were sitting around, chatting, while Netta finished the last of dinner. Candice wasn’t the slightest bit hungry. She wanted the story of her mother as soon as possible. But she knew she had to indulge in this “Southern hospitality.” Politeness was key.
Once they were at the dinner table, Matthew raised his glass of beer. “My uncle would be pleased you’re here,” he said. “He talked about Stella and Sally till he died, didn’t he, Netta?”
Netta nodded. “He beat himself up for everything that happened.”
“Which you don’t know about,” Matthew said, shaking his head. “That just kills me. I don’t understand why Stella wouldn’t pass that along. The story of that awful night. You were there, weren’t you, Netta?”
“I was a big fan of your mother and aunt,” Netta said. “That was the day their song hit number one, I think! We were all joyous. Our Nashville girls are making it big. But then, those awful men came into the bar. I still remember them.Massive hillbillies, throwing punches around. There was a gun, too. I think they almost got the cash register. I was terrified, looking for Matthew everywhere. Remember, you found me hiding under that table?” Netta laughed, then nibbled on her cornbread, her eyes growing shadowed. “From the sounds of things, one of them was Stella’s husband. She’d left him somewhere, from whatever awful holler they’d escaped. The other was Stella and Sally’s daddy. He was piping angry about them having left.”
“They wanted their money, more like,” Matthew said.
“The husband sure beat Billy Long within an inch of his life,” Netta said. “You remember? He almost went into a coma.”
Matthew nodded gravely.
“Who’s Billy Long?” Lindsey asked.
At this, Matthew and Netta went quiet.
“You really don’t know anything,” Netta said finally, offering a strangled laugh.
“Billy was your mama and aunt’s producer,” Matthew said. “And Stella and Billy were thick as thieves.”
“Very in love,” Netta said. “I remember thinking they were the prettiest couple I’d ever seen. I figured they’d have a full Hollywood romance, that he’d take Stella and Sally off to LA and make them big stars.” Netta’s smile fell. “Oh, but he left as soon as he got out of the hospital, didn’t he? He told your Uncle Boo that he didn’t want anything to do with the McGee sisters anymore.”
“Boo fought him on that. He told him to do the right thing. He told him….” And here, Matthew set down his chicken and wiped his hands. He looked at a loss. “Well, you must know this part. You must.”
Candice’s stomach swelled with panic.
“You must know that she was pregnant,” Matthew pushed it. “She was starting to show. She thought she wasn’t, but just abouteveryone started to notice around then. Maybe Billy knew, but maybe he didn’t. But I know that my uncle hinted to him that Stella was in a family way before he took off. Billy said that it wasn’t his problem, something like that.”
“He was always chasing money,” Netta said, shaking her head. “He didn’t care about her. He didn’t care about anyone.”
“She was pregnant?” Lindsey gasped. She was the only one of the two of them who could speak. Slowly, the math clicked in her mind, and she turned to gape at Candice. “This was… when did you say this was?”
“July 1980,” Netta said.
“Netta always knows her dates,” Matthew said proudly.
Candice’s palms were clammy. Her birthday was in early February 1981. It meant that Stella had been pregnant with Candice before she’d ever left Nashville. It meant that Billy Long, whoever he was, was her father—not Ben Winthrop, her beloved and long-lost “father,” the one for whom she’d wept at his funeral, the one who’d taught her to ride a bike and bake banana bread and always, always say she was sorry first.
“I see this is hard for you to hear,” Netta said, dropping her chin.
“We’re sorry,” Matthew offered.
“No,” Candice said. “It’s good. It’s good to know the truth. It is.” She got to her feet, but her legs felt like jelly, and she nearly collapsed again. “I think I’d like to read more about that incident at the bar,” she offered. “Were the men arrested?”
“Your mother’s first husband and her daddy?” Matthew asked. “They were arrested, all right. Aggravated assault. They tried to rob us!”
“It should be in the paper. You could try the library archives,” Netta said.
“Heck, maybe it’s online,” Matthew said, pulling out his phone.
Sure enough, there was a four-paragraph article written on July 20, 1980. In it, Stella and Sally McGee were not mentioned, which was why Candice and Lindsey hadn’t discovered it before.
