A Nashville Collection (64 page)

“Daddy wrote this song during a difficult time in his life. ‘A time of pruning,' he said.” My eyes scan the audience. “God's been doing some pruning in my life lately. Can anybody relate?”

The audience applauds.

“Yeah, me too.” The song evokes a treasure of memories. The ones Connie challenged me about. The imperishable lessons my parents taught me. Values that can't be carted off to the city dump.

As I start to sing, the first line of the verse catches in my throat. From the third row, center, Piper signals me to keep going by whirling her forefinger in a circle.

Next to Piper, Connie sits like a proud momma. Behind her is the family of four I met earlier. The mother gives me a thumbs-up.

I stumble through the lyrics, my voice weak and wispy, humble but not broken.

I'll never build up to the chorus from here.
I wish I could break, breathe, cough, swallow. It's the CMA Fest all over again, I'm failing.

Suddenly a smooth baritone bolsters my weak voice, and I look to see Ralph strolling toward me, his guitar hanging down his side like Daddy's used to do.

I smile and wrap my arm around his. Our voices rise to the top of the auditorium in perfect harmony, and together we go to the “Mountain of Myrrh.”

31

Scott

Riding the elevator up to the seventh floor with Aubrey, I take a mental
inventory of my loft. For the life of me I can't remember if I finally cleaned up the pile of soggy cereal dishes.

Is there toilet paper in the guest bathroom?

“Do you like living in these lofts?”

Yes, there's toilet paper. I remember putting some in there last shopping trip.

“I do. Great locale.” I look down. When did being around her start to feel so right? The first time I met her. Last summer.

“Car was jazzed about increasing downtown residential property.” “It's been a fight, I know. But we'll get there. I sorta like it quiet, but if more residents move in, there will be more shops and restaurants within walking distance.”

The elevator slows at my floor. “This way.” I unlock my loft door and stand aside for Aubrey to pass, reaching around to flip on the track lighting.

“Scott, this is amazing.” She turns a slow circle. “What a great place . . . Oh, your loft has a loft.” She points to my upstairs office.

“Yeah, it's a nice perk.”

“I can't stand it,” she says, hands on her hips. “A bachelor's pad has more ambience and color than my luxurious Belle Meade house.”

“Well, my mom—”
Do
not
talk about your mom
.

“She . . .” Aubrey waits with arched brows.

“. . . likes to decorate.”

“She's good. Your place is beautiful.” Aubrey walks over to the window. “What a great view of the city at night. You can see the Gaylord from here. Don't you love Nashville?”

“More every day.” I drop my keys on top of the breakfast counter. She turns to me. “What do you—”

A knock interrupts her question. My friend and neighbor, Brandon Otis, is on the other side of the door.

“Brandon.” I don't open all the way to him. “Kind of late.”

“I heard you come in and—” He spies Aubrey. “Didn't know you had company.” Brandon shoves past me and my half-opened door. He's a massive man with massive amounts of charm and during our four-year friendship, I've watched him conquer some of Nashville's most beautiful women. Yet in the presence of Aubrey, he's dumbstruck. He can't take his eyes off her.

“Brandon.” I follow him like a dutiful wing man. “I'd like you to meet Aubrey James. Aubrey, this is Brandon Otis, the wide receiver for the Nashville Kats.”

His blatant gawk doesn't faze her. “Nice to meet you. Brandon, is it?”

“Aubrey James.” His charm light clicks on. I recognize his expression. “Have we met before?”

“No, I don't believe we have.” Aubrey slips her handbag from her arm and sits on my couch, crossing her legs, shaking her head subtly so her hair falls over her shoulders.

I bite my lips to keep from laughing. She's so playing him.

“And how do you two know each other?” she asks.

“I did some PR work for the Kats before I went to
Inside the Game,
” I say. “Very nice.” Her expression and tone are perfect.

Brandon tries to charm her with a few of his classic lines, but she shows not even a flicker of interest. Instead, she toys with the straps of her handbag and gives him one-word answers.

Anyone else, I'd consider her actions rude. But Aubrey is savvy. She pegged him the moment he walked in. Man, it's all I can do to keep from laughing.

I wait another minute, then slap Brandon on the back. “Talk to you tomorrow, dude.” I walk him to the door.

In the hall, he whispers, “Get her number for me.”

I grin. “No problem.”

“How'd I do?” There's a glint in Aubrey's eye.

“You vindicated hundreds of Nashvillian women, and if they knew, they would thank you.” I pull a couple of bottles of water from the fridge. “He asked for your number.”

Aubrey laughs, taking the water bottle. “If I had a dime for every Brandon Otis I've met in this life . . . What? No FRESH!?”

“Can't afford it.”

“Please . . .” She pops me gently on the arm.

“Brandon's not a bad guy under all the bull and good looks.” I take a swig of water.

“Thank you for what you did tonight at the Ryman.” She twists the cap off her water. “You gave me courage.”

“I wanted to punch the old biddy.”

“What, and sink to her level? Do to her what she did to me, only with fists instead of words?”

“Point taken.” With my thumb, I press in the top part of my water bottle. The plastic crunches. “But she infuriated me.”

“And she humiliated me. But come on, Scott, neither of us can deny the ring of truth in her words.”

“What ring of truth? That your parents would be disappointed in you?”

“No, that my life does not reflect the values and character they taught me. Being orphaned at sixteen is no excuse.” She picks at the water bottle label. “Connie made that clear a few weeks ago.”

“How so?”

She sits sideways on the sofa, hugging her legs. “When Car moved in, he threw away the boxes I had in the library”

“You're kidding.”

She props her arm on the back of the couch and presses her cheek against her hand. “He claims I told him I didn't want to keep the stuff. But he was half asleep, so who knows what he heard.”

“Did it tick you off?”

“Yes. But Connie reminded me the real jewels I have from my parents are the ones they instilled in my character, in my heart.”

“Do you think you would have taken the same road if they were alive?”

She thinks for a minute. “I do, and they would've been my biggest fans. My music choice is not the problem, or even being famous. It's my source of inner strength. If my parents were alive, I probably would've made different personal decisions. Like Jack and Derek. Car would've never moved in with me.”

“Where to from here?”

“Home.” She slips off the couch, grabbing her handbag. “You have to get up early, my friend, and I'm keeping you from a good night's sleep.” Walking to the kitchen, she holds up her empty water bottle. “Trash? Recycle?”

“Set it in the sink. I'll get it later.”

“Is this your family?” Aubrey wanders down the short hall to her right. “Yes.” I join her, looking at the pictures on the hall table. “My parents, there, and my sisters and their families.”

“Where do they live?”

“Murfreesboro. Born and raised. All of us. Got a whole herd of kinfolk. Aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents. Mom's first-grade friends are still her friends, and Dad still gets with his old high school football buddies.”

She shakes her head as if astounded. “I cannot imagine. What are your sisters' names? They're very pretty.”

“Older one is Patti.” I tap the frame. “And this is Sally.”

She chuckles. “You're the baby boy, huh?”

I nod. “Yes, the not-so-spoiled boy. Both Mom and Dad are the oldest children in their families, so for the longest time I was the only boy grandson, cousin, and nephew. Got loaned out for chores and grass cutting. I've probably mowed half the lawns in Murfreesboro. Family, friends of family, you name it.”

“Builds character, my dad used to say.” Aubrey looks up at me, smiling, her gaze meshing with mine. “Well, I guess . . . we'd . . . better get going.”

I touch her arm. She steps closer. I slip my arm around her back. She smoothes her hand over my chest. “Is this a good idea?”

“You tell me.” My heart pounds under her hand.

She lifts her face to mine. “Every ounce of me wants to say yes. You are an amazing man, Scott. But I've been here before. Emotions on the surface, hearts connecting, romantic setting . . .”

“I'm not like them.”

“Yes, but I'm still me. Broken, wounded, messed up, and impulsive.” Her lips quiver. “I don't want to hurt you.”

As she looks down, a lock of her hair falls over her face. When I touch her forehead to brush it aside, electricity fires through me. Aubrey cups my hand to her face, then lightly kisses my palm.

“If it took Melanie Daniels' betrayal for me to meet a friend like you, I'd do it all over again.” She laces her fingers with mine. “And if it took Car tossing out my past in order for me to realize my future, then it was worth it.” Aubrey lifts her face to mine. “I like being here with you. Too much.”

Every molecule in my body is urging me to take her in my arms and kiss her. “Yeah, me too—” I clear my throat. “How do you expect a guy not to fall in love when you confess something like that?”

“I'm not playing fair, am I?”

It takes all my strength to pull away from her. Another second, I'd barge past the boundaries she's drawn. “Guess the dog-face boy should drive the gorgeous country girl home.”

“I guess he should.” She follows me to the kitchen, her fingertips hooked with mine.

Picking up my keys, I turn to her. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes, her lips, her face, everything about her entices me. “Better go.”

It's late. I'm going to hate my alarm when it goes off at three a.m., but I
have to do this.

Flipping on my bedroom light, I root through my top dresser drawer. It's in here somewhere, unless Brit took it when she came for her CDs and DVDs. After she left, I discovered half of my media collection missing.

Small price to pay to get her permanently out of my life.

My fingers land against a thick velvet box. Popping open the lid, I regard the half-karat solitaire diamond in the light.

Sheeze. What an ugly piece of jewelry. Brit reset the diamond in a gaudy gold mount when she thought she could dump me but keep the ring.

Riding the elevator down to the street, I jog toward Riverfront Park in the red and amber lights of downtown. The night air is thick and warm. I yank my shirttail from my belt.

This past month with Aubrey has cleared the final Brit cobwebs from my mind. Whether I'm falling in love with Aubrey James or
not
, I'm back in the love game. Come to find out, my heart isn't quite as broken as I thought.

When I arrive at the river, I lean against the sidewalk rail and retrieve the ring box from my pocket. My heart thumps as I wind up for the pitch.

“Here's to you, Brit.”

But just before releasing the ring box and chunking my past into the rippling waters, I hesitate.

Six months of Ramen Noodles. Washing and ironing my own shirts instead of taking them to the cleaners. No cable TV or Internet at home. Going to a barber instead of a stylist. Changing my own car oil. Any place I could cut expenses to save for a ring, I did.

Down twenty pounds and mourning the loss of two dress shirts scorched by a rogue iron, I'd finally saved four thousand dollars.

What did it buy me? The world's biggest heartache. I cock my arm back again. “Here's to you, Brit.”

The ring box floats out over the river in a nice, high arc, then breaks the water's surface with a tiny splash. I punch the night air with a cleansing yell. “Liberty!”

32

“Back to gospel? Country superstar Aubrey James rocked the Coming Home Gospel Celebration at the Ryman last night. But the country diva is not without her critics.

“Gospel and Aubrey James?” wondered her former musical director Melanie Daniels. “Don't go together.”

—Fox 17 News 7

Aubrey

Piper and I review the final photos from my latest FRESH! photo shoot,
deciding which image we like the best, when the french door jerks open. George and Ringo scamper in, attached to Gina, who is gasping for breath.

“Another rabbit?” I bend down to greet the dogs, taking the leashes from Gina.

“No
. . . (gasp
,
pant)
A cat. A blame cat.”

The dogs lap water then nuzzle my navy capris with their wet noses. I sit on the floor and bury my face in their fur. “Did you have fun with Gina? Hum?”

Gina's cheeks are rosy and her smile wide as she retrieves a pitcher of tea from the fridge. “Fall is in the air. It's a beautiful September morning.”

“I can't believe it's September already. The summer is almost gone.”

Gina waltzes around the kitchen with her pitcher of tea, singing Neil Diamond. “September morn . . . We da-da-da-da-da-da, something-something brand-new day.”

I laugh. “Want me to call Neil for the lyrics?”

“What, don't you like my version?” Gina stops swirling and leans her hands on the kitchen counter. “I am so glad for a dip in the temperature.”

“It is a gorgeous day.” George nudges Ringo aside so he can give me a slobbery lick.