Tate (4 page)

I started to lean in to kiss her, but stopped myself.

“Thank you,” she said in a shy, quiet voice. “Right now, my only idea of a kiss is to ‘keep it simple silly’.”

“Before I go, I need to confess.” She looked up, those blue eyes looking at me in wonder. “You intrigued me. I wanted to know you. No, I had to know you, and you weren’t giving me a chance. I had my security people get some info on you. I’m sorry for your loss. I know it’s deep, and it’s personal, and probably something that I had no business knowing, but I
am
sorry.”

I watched her, afraid that she’d yell or something. I’d seen that temper and I didn’t want her to unleash it now. This moment was too special, but I had to be honest with her. She looked up through thick eyelashes that I noticed were wet with tears. “Thank you,” she said.

I hesitated, and she started to cry. “I really need to go now,” she mumbled.

“No, Maisie. I want you to talk to me, because it feels like you haven’t, and you need to. You need to talk about it.”

“I can’t.”

“Please call me,” I said, and regretfully turned to go to my truck.

Chapter Two

Tate

Sadly, as I got in my truck, she drove away. Once again, I followed her home. I watched as she went inside. I saw lights throughout the house come on. She must have backtracked, because she left a light on at one end of the house and I watched as all went off again, except the one in what I guessed to be the living room. I sat watching, wondering what she was doing, what she was thinking. Fifteen minutes or so passed, when my phone rang. It was a number I didn’t recognize.

“Hey, this is Tate.”

“If you’re going to sit outside my house, you may as well come inside.”

“You knew I was here?” I asked, surprised.

“I knew you followed me the last time. I’ve become keenly aware of my surroundings since the accident. I never want to miss a detail.”

“I’m not a stalker,” I laughed. “I just wanted to make sure you got home safely.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she said with a playful snicker.

I pulled in the driveway. She turned on the porch light and met me at the door.

I followed her to the kitchen, taking note of the neat, homey place. She made coffee and pulled out a package of cookies from the pantry. She put the cookies and a container of cream, along with basket of sugar packets, on the table.

“I drink mine black.” She handed me a cup of coffee and joined me at the table. I ate three cookies before she started talking.

“You’re a dunker,” she observed.

“Don’t you dunk?” I smiled. “I like milk, too. These are good.”

She sat quietly for a moment, and then said, “His name was Blake. Blake Bolden.”

“Was he from Nashville?” I asked.

“He was a city boy from Philadelphia. Carlene was getting ready to go on tour and he was working with her on all the details. One day she brought him by my shop when she came to pick up some vests one day. I was only twenty-one, but I was on my way, making a name for myself as a seamstress - thanks to Carlene. She kept me busy making the vests that became her trademark. By that time, I’d begun making her dresses, and I’d made a dress or two for some other celebrities. I wasn’t ready for a man. I wanted to soar. But one look at him and I felt my wings being clipped. He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. No offense,” she said, and offered a smile.

“Tell me about him,” I said, and dunked another cookie.

“He was twelve years older than me, experienced in ways I hadn’t really even dreamed about. He’d been married before. We married two and a half years after he came into my life. He was a social butterfly. I was a turtle.”

“Turtle?” I asked. “What does that mean?”

She laughed, and I looked up, pausing with another cookie in my mouth. “You sure ask a lot of questions.”

“Sorry. Tell me about the turtle.” I stuffed the cookie in my mouth.

“I was content to stay in my shell and do my own thing. He never pushed me to do anything I didn’t want to. Just the idea of those big concerts and award shows made me a nervous wreck.”

“Why?”

“I’m just not that person,” she replied.

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t like a lot of attention and you can’t go to those kind of events without it. Blake’s job made him command attention. He usually went with Carlene and I watched on TV to hear her proudly say that her dress was a ‘Maisie Bolden Original’.”

That comment brought the first, most radiant, genuine smile I’d seen since I walked in her shop almost a month ago.

“Finally, I agreed to go to one with him. Carlene was up for Entertainer of the Year. The grand dame of country music was a shoo-in, how could I not go? When it was finally time, I felt like a princess, all dressed up for the big evening. Blake came home to get ready and surprised me with a beautiful diamond pendant.” She reached inside her shirt and pulled it out. “Ironic that it was a tear drop,” she said in a quiet, almost inaudible voice.

She paused a moment, and finally finished her thought. “Carlene won, and there were celebrations all over town. It was almost two in the morning and we were driving home when the truck ran the light. We were talking about the excitement of the evening. I had a good time because Blake was beside me. We’d gotten off the interstate and were on the four-lane headed for home – six miles from the house…”

I saw her struggle. It seemed as though she was looking for the courage to continue. I could see her breathing change as she tried to calm herself.

“The light changed and Blake started through the intersection. He liked sports cars, and we were riding in a brand new white Corvette. I saw the truck and screamed, but it was too late. It felt like we were on the ground, and the truck seemed to drive over top of us. It dragged us two lanes and then across the median.”

“The next thing I knew, Granny and Carlene were beside my bed in the ER. I knew as soon as I saw their faces. I told them, ‘he’s a beautiful angel,’ and they both started to cry. The doctor came in a short time later and told me I had a grade three concussion. They said my head hit the dash. I’d been unconscious for ‘several minutes.’ Finally, he asked Granny and Carlene to leave a moment. I told him they could stay and hear whatever he had to say.

“The doctor asked if I’d known that I was pregnant. ‘About six weeks,‘ I told him. I was going to tell Blake when we got home. I had the pregnancy test stick in a gift box to give him. Everyone got quiet. Finally, I said, ‘I lost the baby, didn’t I?’ That’s when I lost it. I ended up having to stay for a week. My head
and
my heart were broken. I wanted to die. They had me on suicide watch. I didn’t want to kill myself - I just didn’t want to live without Blake. I couldn’t eat and I didn’t have the energy to get up from that bed.

“When others come to an intersection and see skid marks on the road, they wonder why, wonder how, and what happened... I know. I avoided that intersection for a very long time, but then it got to where avoiding it was a hassle. The first time I drove that way there was a red light. I had to stop. I didn’t have a choice. I could still see the tire marks from the middle of the intersection all the way across the median. It still breaks me and the marks are long gone.”

I just sat there listening as she talked. It had been almost an hour, and my heart broke for her – for her loss, for having to move forward with that tragedy behind her. I was thinking about the thoughts I’d had when Daniel told me what had happened. I couldn’t imagine the feelings she must have had – how incredible the pain of that kind of loss would feel. She was so sad and so tiny that I just wanted to scoop her up in my arms and let her feel the warmth of someone who cared.

“Thank you. I haven’t talked about all of that in a long time, not with anyone, not even Carlene. Everyone acts like they have to walk on eggshells to talk about it, so I keep it to myself. I don’t know why I felt as though you were the poor soul to share it with. It was comforting. Thank you for listening.”

“I was happy for you to share this with me. ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t seem like enough, but I am truly very sorry. The trucker?” I asked.

“Is in prison for vehicular homicide, excessive speed, running a red light, and driving under the influence of an illegal substance. He has his hell. I have mine.”

I thought a moment, worried that I was overstepping what Maisie was ready for. We sat quietly for a few minutes. “I should go,” I said finally.

“Unless you have someplace you need to go, or you’re gonna turn back into Cinderella, or something, don’t go. Not yet.”

I looked at her, and slowly, she continued. “I don’t ask because I want you to stay. I ask because I just emptied my heart to you, and I’m not ready to be alone. Please don’t go.”

Her face showed the pain and melancholy of the story she just shared with me. We went to the living room and she turned the TV on. Jimmy Fallon was doing a monologue quietly in the background as we sat on the sofa and talked a bit longer.

“How long have you been singing?” she asked.

“Do you like country music?” I asked.

“I do. How long have you been at it?”

“Probably a dozen years or so.”

“So you’re about thirty?”

“Thirty-one. You’re twenty-nine, right?”

“Yes. How did you get started singing?” she questioned.

“Do you play any instruments?”

“Every time I ask you a question, you answer with another question,” she laughed.

“I’m nervous.”

“Wait. All that cowboy persistence and now you’re all nervous?” she said shyly.

“I don’t want to do anything to screw up,” I replied honestly.

I started to tell her about Mama teaching me piano and then about Wet Willie’s. I must have been rambling, because after a while I noticed that she was quiet. She’d fallen asleep. I waited a while, watching her, thinking about the woman Maisie Bolden was. I thought she was broken, but I realized that she seemed more like an observer of the world who’d been dealt a sad hand.  Finally, I tried to stir her, but she was out, off in heavy sleep. I covered her with a blanket that had been tossed across the back of the sofa. I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay there and comfort her - hold her. There was a pad and pen on the table at the end of the sofa, and I left her a note.

Goodnight, sweet lady. I hope we talk again real soon - Tate.

I fell asleep thinking about Maisie Bolden. Early the next morning, the ringing of my phone woke me. Rolling over to answer it, the phone number immediately alerted me that it was her calling. It made me ridiculously happy.

“Good morning,” I said, and I felt a happy face come over me.

“Thank you for last night - all of it. Thanks for dinner, the talk, letting me unload on you, and then covering me up after I fell asleep.”

“It was my pleasure. I told you, I’m a good guy. I’d really like to do it again. “

“Sometime,” she replied. “I gotta go.”

***

I made it a point to call or text Maisie often. I just wanted her to know she was on my mind. I had to work hard to keep from just popping in the shop. The holidays passed and I was about to embark on a busy time. The GRAMMY Awards were fast approaching and
I’m A Guy
had been nominated for Best Country Song. I was on the list to perform, and I wanted to ask Maisie to go in a bad way, but I knew it was too soon. I could tell by our conversations that she saw us as a casual kinship.

“I always enjoy our conversations,” she would say when a phone call ended.

And I’d say aloud, and pray to myself, “Me too. I hope I can see you soon.” She never took the bite. I often thought that I should just give up, but my gut kept telling me – NO!

Audra kept suggesting that Ami Woodson be my date for the festivities. “It’s a good PR move,” she insisted. I wasn’t sure if I liked this idea. She was pretty and all, but from what I’d heard about her, she wasn’t my type. I like more down to earth girls, and right now, Maisie Bolden was at the top of my like list.

I didn’t know how much longer I could stay away. I didn’t want to rush her, but I wanted some kind of relationship with Maisie Bolden. Friendship would work - any opportunity to get to know her would work - but I hoped for more. I couldn’t get her off my mind, and each time we talked she burrowed deeper in my heart.

I asked her out to dinner a few times, but she told me she wasn’t ready to step out. So I waited, and I absorbed whatever she would share about herself with me. I discovered that Maisie Bolden was a wallflower – someone who others talked in front of, but didn’t really talk to. Our conversations revealed a quiet, intuitive listener. It seemed as though I did most of the talking when we chatted. She was never in a rush to get off the phone, but revealed very little of herself, so I talked and talked. I told her about anything that wasn’t really personal. I didn’t feel like she was ready to go there just yet.

One evening our conversation steered from the normal talk of my music and whatever fabric and dresses she was working on. She would always sneak in tidbits about the ladies she’d worked with, just her personal observations. This night, she was curious.

“Tell me about Oklahoma in one word. I’ve never been further west than St. Louis,” she said one evening.

“Strong.” I didn’t even think about it. I just knew that was the word.

“That was fast. I thought you’d have to think about it a minute…”

“The other word I thought of was ‘ready’. We have to be strong and ready for the next twister that might come through, but strong because even though it wasn’t the magnitude of September 11
th
, we have the Oklahoma City bombing in our past and it scarred us all.”

“Do you remember it?”

“I do. I was fourteen, and the thing I remember so vividly was that even though we weren’t close to the Federal Building, parents came running to the school to find their children. In all that chaos, I remember seeing Mama come through the crowd to wrap me in her love. She did the same in 2001. She called me and then, drove all the way to the college just to hug me.”

We were quiet a moment, and finally I added, “You should see the memorial.”