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Authors: Chautona Havig

Tags: #Christian, #Fiction, #General

Argosy Junction (26 page)

BOOK: Argosy Junction
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She ignored her red face and continued the conversation as though she hadn’t just embarrassed both of them. “So if you were spending your money—”

“I overheard Mom and Dad talking. They were just making it every month with what I gave them. Mom was afraid I’d decide to move in with one of my friends—I’d thought about it—and that’s when I realized I needed to find a way to make more money. I needed a way that if I wanted to move out, I could do it and still help them.”

Her arm slipped around Matt’s waist and she hugged him once more. “You are such a good man, Matt.”

“Dad and I talked. I told him what I wanted to do and asked how much they needed to keep above water until I could get my certification. Dad said he could make it with seventy-five and he’d take a job delivering pizzas at night until I had it to help me make it through.”

“Couldn’t you qualify for some kind of financial aid or some kind of financing or something?”

Matt sagged against the nearest tree. “I hate debt, Lane,” he forced himself to confess. “I’ve seen what it does to people. It’s a choke chain. You get a bit of reprieve where you can breathe until it jerks you back to reality and chokes you, and then it starts all over again.”

They wandered through the little wood talking. Lane tried to find a natural place to tell him about her discussion with Tad, but none presented. She finally abruptly changed the subject.

“Tad and I talked last night.”

Something in her voice caught his attention. “What about?”

“Men.”

Nodding as though her response made any kind of sense, Matt prodded. “And?”

“I’m sorry I was so difficult about the room thing.”

“Room thing?” Matt wasn’t following her.

“Tad said I was selfish and naïve to be so upset about the whole loveseat by the elevator thing.”

“You were really that upset? I thought you were just frustrated that it was necessary— like me.”

Shaking her head, Lane’s face took on a sheepish expression. “I thought you thought we’d both give into temptation and—”

“Oh, Lane, no! I knew neither one of us would risk our relationship by being premature that way. It’s just so hard to explain—”

“Tad explained,” she interrupted. “I’m sorry, though. I wouldn’t have said anything if I’d realized you didn’t know how frustrating it was for me. I really felt a little insulted.”

“It’s good to get stuff like this out in the open though. If we can’t talk about things, we’ll be vulnerable in more ways than one. And when they leave, you know we’ll have to talk about—”

“Yeah. But not until they leave, right?”

“You can’t avoid it forever.” Matt’s finger curled absently around the hair on her shoulders.

“But I will as long as I can.”

 

Seventeen

 

 

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Tad’s anxious voice had kept a running commentary on her actions since he and Lane left the hotel. They’d walked to the subway station where she passed out cards to the homeless, sending Tad through the roof. They got on the train to Matt’s neighborhood, and she’d passed out the rest of her cards, stopping to buy a woman a cup of coffee and a hot dog from a street vendor.

Now they wandered up the street to Matt’s apartment building. It was quieter on a Tuesday mid-morning, but still quite noisy and dirty. She took Tad up the walk, into the building and up three flights of stairs. Tad’s horrified expression grew grim and resolute as they passed each floor. Outside Matt’s door, they stopped.

“This is where he lives. He gave me a key in case I ever got lost and found my way here. I’m going to do something really tacky and take you in. No one is home. You’ve gotta see this, Tad.”

From Tad’s perspective, the apartment was the most pathetic thing he’d ever seen. Cluttered with knick-knacks, the furniture was cheap and poorly designed to imitate quality making it look even worse than it would have. The room screamed “genuine imitation wealth.”

It also had the look of thirty years of living in the same place. The paint was old and dingy, and the carpeting should have been replaced decades earlier, but as Carol asked whenever the subject was broached, where would they put their things while it happened? So it stayed and they cleaned around it the best they could.

“Let’s get out of here. I can’t take it.” Tad’s voice was laced with a new kind of pain he’d never known.

“Wait, you need to see this. Look at Matt’s room.”

Matt’s room was different. The quality of the furnishings wasn’t any better than the rest of the house, but the simplicity of the lines made each piece seem nicer than it truly was. There were no cheap posters, no velvet Elvis pictures, and no pathetic attempts at a lifestyle he didn’t live. The room stood out from the entire surrounding area like a lone oak tree in a landfill.

“How is it—I mean how can he stand living here? He’s got something that the rest of these people—”

“Don’t say it Tad. I’m learning that a lot of these people have the same instincts, but they don’t know how to use them. Matt learned somewhere. That’s the only difference. I think they all want a better life somewhere down deep. Matt just figured out how to achieve it in the midst of the one he has.”

“What do you think made the difference?”

She led him back downstairs, across the street, around the corner, and the ten blocks to Matt’s old school. She stopped in at the office and got them passes to see Mrs. Hayward. Tad grew amazed as he watched the familiarity Lane already showed in these strange surroundings. Where she boldly pressed onward, he wanted to retreat.

“This is his old teacher’s class. We’ll just slip in the back door and listen a bit. You’ll see the kinds of things and the people who made a difference in his life.”

Mrs. Hayward was still discussing the same canto. Leticia read it very well though not nearly as fluidly as the teacher or Matt. One of the students noticed them at the back of the room and commented, “Looks like she found another dude today. That one gets around.”

Franco glanced back and growled, “You moron, they’re related. Any fool can see that.”

“Lane! Welcome back. Care to try this canto with us?”

Tad watched in further amazement as Lane rose and walked to the front of the room taking the book from the teacher’s hand. She tried to read the words, but stumbled along laughing good-naturedly at herself with the rest of the class. “I’m not up to par on this one, I’d say!”

The teacher called on Franco and he read it easily if not well. “You know, Franco, you have the ability to make this poem come alive, but you won’t apply yourself.”

“I’ve gotta save some self-respect. We can’t all be like her boyfriend.”

Lane laid her hand on Franco’s arm as he moved past her to return to his seat. “I believe you could be
almost
as wonderful as Matt. No one can quite do it, of course, but you could probably give him a run for his money.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

“I can’t believe you’re not angry with her. She was practically flirting with the guy, and he’s just a year or two younger than she is.” Tad’s mocking tone held a trace of sincerity. He’d never seen anything like the side of his sister she’d shown that day.

“I’m proud of her. She did exactly what Franco needed. She showed confidence in him without going overboard. Showing loyalty to me gave her words power.” Matt beamed at Lane. “She’s getting it. She’s starting to understand life in this city.”

They sat in the lobby debating the differences in city life and ranch life, while waiting for Warren. Matt eyed his watch nervously. If they were late for their reservation, Ming China would give away their table. Just as he started to suggest leaving a message for Warren on his cell phone, Lane’s father strode into the lobby looking as casually comfortable there as he did in the saddle.

“Hey, all! Sorry I’m late. Tad, Lane, remember Hank Miner from Missouri?”

“Suffolks or Blackface ?”

Lane answered. “Suffolks. He came to compare us and that ranch near him to decide if he wanted to add Blackface.”

“That’s right. He remembered you two singing that night before he left and asked me to see if you two would sing at the ‘campfire’ on Friday night.”

Tad spoke before Lane could reply. “I didn’t bring my guitar. A cappella in a group that large would sound awful.”

“Hank says he’ll provide a guitar tomorrow for practice all week if you guys will do it.”

Their dinner centered on the convention, whether or not Tad and Lane would perform, and what they’d sing if they did. For Matt, it was a tiny version of his time on the Argosy Ranch, marred only by the absence of Martha, Patience and the boys. As they fumbled with chopsticks and ate rice a few grains at a time, the family relaxed and enjoyed the meal, the discussion, and the companionship.

At Matt’s subway station, he said goodbye and glumly walked down the steps. The others went to return to the hotel, but Tad did an abrupt about-face and raced back down the street and into the subway station. He found Matt seated on a bench waiting for the next train.

“Hey, Matt! Can I ride home with you?”

Matt grinned. “Dunno, can you?”

“Ha. So Lane and I went to your old school today.”

Acting completely taken aback, Matt sat silently for several seconds. “Wow. I had no idea.”

Tad punched him. “Cut the sarcasm, Matt. I have to tell you, she took me to your house too. She had a key. I wasn’t comfortable with it, but—”

“Oh no, I’m glad she did! I kind of hoped, but I didn’t want to ask her to. I’m not ashamed of my family or how I grew up, but it is hard to explain to someone who hasn’t ever seen it first-hand.”

They got on the subway and talked as it shot through tunnels. “Matt, I don’t know if you realize how close Lane and I are. Carrie was always jealous of our relationship. We talk more like brothers or sisters rather than brother and sister.”

“Where are you taking this, Tad? I’m not following.”

“We talked the other night, and she told me a little bit about your past—”

Matt thought he understood. “If I could undo my past—”

“Matt I could care less what or who you were before you met us. We’re deeper than that. It just bugged me that I knew something about you that you didn’t tell me. Now, can we talk sports scores or sheep breeding practices? I’m really not good at this touchy feely stuff.”

The train pulled into Matt’s station minutes later, and Tad sent him off with reassurances that he knew how to get back to the hotel. He watched the city fly by without seeing it. In the dark tunnels of the subway, the cars flew past stations and swept him from the run-down dirty section that Matt called home to the chic side where no one seemed to know or care about the less privileged section of the city.

 

~*~*~*~

 

The week nearly vanished before their eyes. Lane and Tad stood backstage at Friday night’s campfire program waiting for Hank to announce them. Tad beckoned her to his side. “Hey, I found him. Look a direct line through the center of that electric fire thing at the opposite wall. See?”

She did see. Matt sat on the end of the row with a perfect view of the stage from his vantage point. Lane twisted one side of her hair thoughtlessly as she waited through the final awards and announcements. They were the closing show. Once their fifth and final song ended, the convention would officially conclude

The crowd looked restless and bored. Occasionally, people crept up the aisles to leave, making Lane wonder if there would be anyone, but Matt left by the time they took the stage. “Hey, Tad. Remember how we goofed around with Hank? Took requests and made up silly verses? I think we need to go out there casual, like that.”

“Huh? Why?”

Lane pointed at the audience and then at the disappointed look on Hank’s face on the end of the first row. It was Hank’s first year directing the closing ceremonies, and it was failing rapidly. They saw him rise and stride onto the stage to announce them. “I’d hate to disappoint him. He’s so embarrassed.”

The announcement came, and Lane pushed Tad onto the stage making him stumble over his feet. He took the guitar from Hank. “Well I guess I’m glad I wasn’t carrying this. Lane sent me flying.”

“Where is she?” Hank looked dismayed.

Before Tad could respond, a loud voice called from behind the curtain. “I’m fixing my hair! Tad has to tune that thing anyway! Why don’t you take a request, Mr. Miner?”

A voice from the audience shouted, “‘Red River Valley!’”

Lane strode onto the stage wielding a brush and sending her hair flying. Matt watched in fascinated horror as she gave it one final yank and tossed the brush across the floor like skipping a rock on a pond. He couldn’t figure out what she was doing, but Tad seemed to take it in stride.

“Lane never did learn how to put her things away properly. Mom’d take that brush to her backside if we were at home.”

“Yeah, well Mom isn’t here, and if you know what’s good for you, you won’t tell her. I’d hate to have to tell these good people about the time you landed astride the—”

“That’s enough,” Tad cried in a mock panicked voice. “I didn’t say I
would
tell!”

The opening strains of “Red River Valley” poured from the six-string acoustic guitar, sending plaintive notes to pluck the heartstrings of every person present. Lane hopped up on the barstool provided for her with a perky bounce. “Isn’t that like a guy? Kill a perfectly good argument with music. Like Tad could sing his way into any girl’s heart!”

A voice a few rows from them called out, “He could sing his way into mine any day.”

Tad smiled and waved. “Finally someone appreciates me for who I am. ‘Red River Valley,’ ladies and gentlemen!”

Lane scooted from the stool as though offended, but Tad’s opening words, “Come, and sit by my side if you love me…” spun her around again. She shrugged comically to the audience and sat back on the stool, joining in the second line of the song.

They were an instant sensation. Their sibling banter kept the audience entertained, while their harmony captured the hearts of all those present as they sang the ballads loved by cowboys and ranchers decades before they were born. Matt had never heard music like it. Tad’s baritone blended perfectly with Lane’s alto into a tight harmony that left few dry eyes in the auditorium.

BOOK: Argosy Junction
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