A Plain Love Song (43 page)

She took one last look around. RaeAnne wouldn’t be able to tell anyone had used her room. Everything remained exactly as Adah had found it. The posters of horses, the Nancy Drew mysteries on the bookshelves, the checkered bedspread on the four-poster canopy bed. The only changes were to herself. She knew this wasn’t her world. She missed her family and her home and her life with an ache so big her entire body hurt. Uncertainty magnified the ache. Would they take her back?

They would. Mudder and Daed would forgive her and take her back. That was what Plain families did. They would want her back for her sake, no matter how much pain she’d caused them. They would want her to be baptized and become a full-fledged member of the district.

Matthew, on the other hand, would forgive her, but whether he would take her back…well, that remained to be seen.

She drew a deep breath and exhaled. Time to find out. She shut the door and marched down the stairs, aware of the thud of her sneakers against the carpet and her damp hand as it slid down the smooth, varnished banister. Captain led the way, occasionally looking back as if to say
Come on, get it over with.

Time to go.

Time to face the consequences.

Time to say goodbye to Jackson.

The pain of that thought made her want to run back up the stairs. Saying goodbye would cause him pain and she’d never wanted to do that. Best to do it quick.

The sound of music blaring from the living room stopped her midway down the stairs. Captain paused at the bottom and swiveled his head to look back. Her hand tightened on the banister. Jackson had wasted no time mourning what had happened earlier in the day. His
friends were back. Another jam session. She didn’t want to do this in front of his newfound friends or jamming buddies. She listened, her heart jabbering away in her chest, telling her to run back up the stairs, not to do this, not to him, not now. Let him enjoy the music. It sounded so good. Really good.

He could do this without her. Easy. He was good. He’d chained himself to a girl who would never make it in this world. He needed to go on without her.

No turning back now.

She breathed, clomped down the remaining stairs, and marched into the living room. Jackson sat in his usual place on the couch, his guitar on his knees, a cigarette dangling from his lip. Two men and a woman she didn’t recognize occupied the rest of the chairs in the room. The woman tucked a fiddle under her chin and leaned forward, her elbow held high, her eyes closed, expression rapturous, as she plied the bow up and down, back and forth in a vigorous, gorgeous outpouring of high, tight notes that sounded like a woman crying—first deep sobbing, then high-pitched wailing. A sad, sad song.

Next to her, one man played a bass guitar, the other a mandolin. Their picking sped up, then eased off, up and down, back and forth in perfect harmony.

Adah stopped, transfixed as each note danced across her skin, raising goose bumps in its wake. No one sang. No lyrics? She could already hear words in her head, attaching themselves to the notes.

Jackson looked up at her, his expression oblique. His strumming came to an abrupt halt. He took the cigarette from his lip, took a long drag, and let the smoke stream from his nostrils. The others stopped. They seemed to come awake as if startled from a dream. The room became utterly silent.

Jackson picked up a beer bottle from a coffee table dotted with bottles and overflowing ashtrays, took a long swallow, and slapped the bottle down with a crack against the wood.

He plucked a note as if he would continue to play with her standing there, knowing she had something to say. Maybe the only way they could communicate was through the music. What did that last song say? It said
I hurt
. It said
The pain is too much
. It said
Don’t go
.

She had to go or more pain would follow. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

He stubbed his cigarette in the closest ashtray. Ashes and butts spilled onto the polished oak. “What’s with the duffel bag?”

She glanced at the other folks. The woman smiled and waved the bow in the air. Her poufy white-blond curls bounced. “I’m Darla.”

“Adah.” She nodded at the men who grinned in unison, but didn’t speak. They were twins with teeth so bleached white they couldn’t possibly be real. She focused on Jackson. “I really need to talk to you outside. On the porch.”

He leaned the guitar against the couch. “Sorry, guys, I’m done for the day. I hear a fishing rod calling my name. Let’s give it a shot again tomorrow, okay?”

The two men stood without speaking. Darla shrugged and laid her fiddle in a carrying case at her feet. “Whenever, babe, just let us know. You’re on to something with that last riff.”

Babe?

Jackson shrugged. “Yeah, we’ll see.”

“We’ll let ourselves out the front. You go make up with your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Jackson’s voice dropped on the last word. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “She’s a guest.”

Darla turned away, but not before Adah saw the delighted smile spread across her face. She had red lipstick on her teeth.

Ignoring the pinprick of something like jealousy—jealousy she had no right to feel—Adah headed to the back door, Captain padding behind her. She hoped Jackson did the same. On the porch she gazed at the lake, absorbing the view one last time. Such beauty in the midst of such disharmony.

“What’s going on?” Jackson stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jean shorts. “What’s with the bag?”

She faced him. “I’m going home. I’ve saved enough money for my bus fare, but I need a ride to the station.” The words came out in a rush and picked up speed as his expression darkened. “I thought you might do me the favor.”

“No, no.” He shook his head. One hand jerked from his pocket and
he slammed his palm against the porch column with a force that made her stumble back two steps. “You can’t go. You had a bad day. It’ll get better. We’re just getting started.”

“You’re just getting started. It’s obvious this isn’t for me.” Adah sought words to explain. “I belong with my family, with my folks.”

“Your church, you mean.”

“I mean performing isn’t for me. This dream isn’t as important as my faith or my family. You’ll do better without me.” She waved a hand toward the house. “You already are.”

“Faith and performing are not mutually exclusive.”

“They are for me.”

He moved into her space. The anger and bluster disappeared, replaced with an expression that reminded Adah of her little brother when he didn’t get the hunting rifle he so hoped would be his for Christmas. “Don’t go.”

“I can’t stay here. I don’t belong.”

“You’re not trying.” His voice rose again, the anger overtaking him. “You don’t practice. You stopped writing lyrics.”

“The words are gone. Completely gone. My joy is gone.” Adah paused a beat, determined to still the trembling in her voice. “I can’t. I can’t play or sing or dress for you.”

“Because if you did change for me, you would have to admit you love me.”

“You shouldn’t have to change yourself for a person.” Adah chewed on her lip until she could force the tears back. She breathed in and out. “I’m sorry, but I don’t love you.”

“You do too. I can see it on your face.”

“What you see is a kindred spirit. We have something in common. It has to do with the words we hear in our heads.” She gripped her hands in front of her, trying to calm the shaking that spread to her whole body. “That’s not the same as love.”

“The feeling that goes with those words is love.” His voice cracked on the last word. “Deny it all you want, but it’s love.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t.” She picked up the duffel bag. She’d been wrong to ask him for a ride. It poured salt in his open wound. “I’m going. It’s better if we say goodbye here.”

“You think you can quit. You can’t. Songwriting is an addiction for you. Just like it is for me. We’re addicted.”

“That’s silly.”

“Is it?” He gripped the porch railing so hard the blood vessels stood out on his forearms. “You tried to quit and couldn’t. That’s why you got in that truck and came to Branson with me. You couldn’t quit. That’s the definition of addiction.”

“I’m quitting now. For good.”

“You’re running away like a scared chicken.”

“I’m running home to face the people I love and ask their forgiveness for hurting them more than I can bear to think of. There’s nothing chicken about that.”

His lips twisted in a bitter smile. “Fine. Fine. I’ll give you a ride.”

“I shouldn’t have asked you. I’m sorry. Go back to your jam session. I’ll get there on my own.”

“You can’t walk to the bus station. I’ll take you.”

“No. You’ll spend the whole time trying to convince me to stay.”

He turned his back on her. His shoulders heaved. “Go on, then. Go.”

“Jackson, I want you to know I do care for you. I hope you get your dream. I hope you get everything you’re working toward.” He didn’t turn around. Somehow that made it easier for Adah to say the words. “Thank you for trying. Thank you for believing in me and giving me a chance to have my dream.”

“Just go.” His voice broke. “Please.”

He threw open the screen door so hard it smacked against the wall. Adah jumped. He stomped through it, and let it slam behind him. Captain barked once, a loud objection. Adah jumped again.

“Jackson.” She swallowed tears that burned and ached in her throat. “Goodbye.”

She ran down the steps, driven by thoughts that whirled round and round in her head. She hadn’t expected it to hurt so much.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

After a few yards, she realized Captain followed. She stopped. “No, no, you have to go back. You have to stay.” Captain halted, panting as hard as she was. “Stay!”

The dog woofed, his expression puzzled. He looked a lot like his owner in that moment.

“Stay.” She fought to make her voice deeper, more commanding. “You can’t go.”

Her voice broke. Squatting, she dropped her bag, threw her arms around the dog, and buried her head in his thick, soft fur. “I’m sorry. You can’t go. I can’t stay and you can’t go.”

Wiping at her face with the back of her hand, she stood and gave him a gentle push. “Go on, Jackson needs you. Go on. Go home. Go to Jackson.”

Captain cocked his head, snorted, turned in that painful, awkward way he had, and hobbled home.

“Good boy,” she whispered. “Good boy.”

Time to go home for everyone.
Gott, forgive me. Please forgive me.

The words of contrition rushed from every pore as she trudged down the dirt road, dust billowing under her sneakers, turning them gray. If it weren’t for the need to get to the bus station and get started on the journey home as quickly as possible, she would’ve dropped to her knees and bowed her head. If it weren’t for the burden of her bag, she would’ve thrown her arms up, begging for mercy. The words in her head took on a melody and began to sing of their own accord in her head. Singing for mercy. Singing for grace. Singing for her very life. The only life she truly wanted or needed.

Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me.

The more the words repeated, the less she saw Jackson’s face. The jut of his jaw as he tried to control his emotions. The liquid blue of his eyes under that dark hair. The way he looked at her when he said
I love you
.

She loved him too, but not the way he wanted.

For him, she was truly sorry. For the hurt she caused him, she begged forgiveness. Over and over again.

By the time she hit the road to Branson, the bag bit into her shoulder, the bodice of her dress was soaked in sweat, and her head ached from the blinding light of the sun. And her emotions. She continued to pick up one foot and then the other. A mile. Then another. Sweat ran down her forehead and burned her eyes. Her feet ached and her mouth grew so parched her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.
Frightening as the idea seemed, she stuck her thumb out, hoping someone nice would stop.

Would she be able to tell if they were nice? Did only nice people drive minivans?

A brazen honk shook her from her reverie. She lifted her hand to her forehead to shield her eyes from the sun. Charlene’s VW bug rolled to a stop several yards beyond her and began to back up.

“Are you crazy, girl?” Charlene ground the gears and brought the bug to a halt as she yelled through the window. “Didn’t your parents teach you right? I’d paddle any child of mine who hitchhiked.”

“I was tired of walking.”

“Ever hear of a taxi?”

“Taxis cost money. I have just enough for my bus ticket home.”

Charlene sighed, an exaggerated loud sigh. “Because you gave me next month’s rent yesterday. If you were leaving, why pay for the rent?”

“Because I didn’t know yesterday.”

Charlene jerked her head toward the interior. “Get in.”

Adah did as she was told, fighting tears as she sank into the seat and felt the delicious chill of the air conditioned interior on her face.

“That nephew of mine is no gentleman.”