by Rayne Lacko
When the guitar was shining, and the strings adjusted, Carter put the strap over his shoulder. He’d been stuck. Halfway between two places and neither one could he call home. So he just stayed put and learned. And practiced and cooked and cleaned up after himself. In the short time he’d been at The Yucca, he’d learned enough to find out he wasn’t through learning.
“You may not have women troubles, but you’re out in the middle of nowhere on your own, with a daddy who doesn’t even know you’re on your way.” Ledbetter held his gaze on Carter’s, flat and square. “Play that.”
Carter looked away. He’d been trying to follow Ledbetter’s instructions, and he’d been trying to copy the familiar melodies of the old songs he taught him. But now Ledbetter was asking him to improvise.
He’d tried that once, too. On The Little Yucca’s own stage, when he’d attempted to capture a vision of Kaia. Maybe he wouldn’t be good enough to improvise until he faced the sharp pains of stealing from his mother, and leaving her to find his father. In his heart, he was doing it to help her. But he wasn’t sure how much help he was giving when it hurt as much as it did to be away when she needed him. Or, maybe he did have a case of the blues from a lost love? The love he longed for was miles away in LA. If he ever managed to get there, Carter couldn’t even be sure that love was his anymore. The least he could do was look his pain in the eye instead of running from it. Ledbetter said the blues could free him. Or they were freedom. He wasn’t sure which, but there was only one way to find out.
Carter shut his eyes. He tried to strum the form of his father this time, but he couldn’t remember exactly how he looked. It had been six years since his dad left, and Carter was only a kid at the time. Instead, Carter remembered what it was like to hold his guitar while his father held him. In his mind, he let himself return to the unshakable belief in his own family, back when he had no idea in the world his daddy would ever leave his mom and him. He played the memory. Not as the child he once was, but with the years that stood empty between those days and these. He strummed it out, found its shape, and once he had it, he discovered it had been with him all the time. He heard it on the patio at sunrise at the Shoretown Inn back in Albuquerque.
“You found them. The blues, son,” Ledbetter told him.
It was time to come clean, if only to make room for the music growing inside him.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
CARTER COUNTED HIS MONEY. HE’D EARNED almost seven hundred bucks working in The Little Yucca’s kitchen. He could finally buy a plane ticket to Los Angeles. All he had to do was figure a way north to ABQ airport. And say good-bye to Mr. Ledbetter.
It was just coming on dinner time and The Yucca started to get noisy with hungry patrons. Mr. Ledbetter tied his apron and adjusted the temperature on the fryers.
“It’s time I move on,” Carter said. He pulled Kaia’s pen from his pocket and leaned against the counter to write down every phone number and email he could think of: his own, his mother’s, his father’s, and even Kaia Liu’s. He looked at Ledbetter and admitted, “Riding shotgun next to a random and shifty Darren Bartles put me off hitchhiking for good. But I don’t see any other way of getting back to ABQ airport.” Carter swore he’d never get in the car with anyone. No way. “But more important, I don’t know how you thank you properly, Mr. Ledbetter. You’ve been a great teacher. And an even better friend.” Carter bit his lip, crossing his arms over his chest. He wanted to give the old man a hug, but Ledbetter was already busying himself wrapping napkins around sets of cutlery.
“You want to thank me?” Ledbetter asked without looking up from his work. “I suppose there is one thing you could do for me. Make peace between Mitch and his daughter Piper. I’ve been trying to help those two see eye to eye for years. You’re young, maybe Piper will like you better than she likes me.”
Piper was living with a man she hoped to marry out in Tucson. Ledbetter said Mitch had his doubts about the guy and made it a habit to drop by to check up on her, a habit she didn’t appreciate. “The passenger seat in Mitch’s truck is yours if you want it,” Ledbetter assured him. “Besides, a plane ticket to LA is a whole lot cheaper from Arizona.”
“I’d do anything to show you my gratitude, but I wager it’d be safer hitching a ride with some transient wanderer than asking a favor of Mitch.” Carter started wrapping cutlery by Mr. Ledbetter’s side. “You know I had to pay him to use his phone?”
“That was your idea, not his. All he asked you to do was practice and write letters,” Ledbetter pointed out. “Son, I trust Mitch Keller with my life.” He put his hand on Carter’s shoulder and Carter turned to meet his gaze. “You had a bad scare with that Bartles good-for-nothing, and I can’t blame you for thinking twice before accepting a ride. But Mitch’ll do right by you, I swear it.”
Carter nodded. He didn’t like the idea, but he didn’t want to let Mr. Ledbetter down. He’d let down too many people he cared about and it was time he learned to fight for what was right. “If it means that much to you, sir, I’ll do my best,” he promised. How hard could it be to bring a little peace between a man and his daughter anyway, Carter wondered. That’s all he wanted with his own father.
“I’m gonna miss you, son. You’ll always be welcome at the Yucca.”
Carter couldn’t hold back another minute. He gave his old friend a hug.
MITCH wasn’t so easy-going about Carter’s plans. He wanted to know the logistics of how Carter expected to land at his father’s doorstep once he made it as far as Piper’s restaurant. They searched for flights out of Tucson International Airport, and Carter found a great deal for just under two hundred bucks leaving the next evening. After years of saving and never feeling like he had enough, he was suddenly flush with cash. He bought himself the ticket and did something he hoped would set right all his mistakes back home. He sent four hundred dollars addressed to his mother to Lola May’s house. He kept the remaining one hundred bucks for incidentals along the way to his father’s.
IT was a good four hours to Tucson and Mitch didn’t offer many words on the drive. Carter didn’t mind. He kept one eye on the highway’s marker signs and the other on Mitch. Mitch’s truck was clean and comfortable, but brought to mind too many bad memories of riding with Darren. Shifting in his seat, Carter kept reminding himself that old Ledbetter asked him to do one thing, that was all. Getting Mitch reunited with his daughter was the only way Carter could show his thanks. Mr. Ledbetter changed his life, and this trip would also get him one step closer to his dad.
Packing for the trip had been easy. The only possessions Carter had to his name were his guitar and his backpack, Kaia’s sparkly pen, a Poly Virus tee, and his last haul of yucca petals.
After a while, Mitch requested a song to pass the time. This small gesture assured Carter he’d made some decent progress over the three weeks he’d spent at the tavern. Carter pulled out his guitar and threw the strap over his shoulder. He knew Mitch had a taste for the classics, so he started with Bob Dylan’s “Like a Rolling Stone,” which gave him the idea to move on to The Rolling Stones.
“Maybe once you learn your way around that thing, I’ll let you try The Yucca stage again,” Mitch said with a wink.
He was still a long way from impressing the barkeep, but Carter couldn’t help but smile. “I wouldn’t take a gamble until I’ve got the chops to open for Mr. Ledbetter.”
Mitch laughed. Carter could tell he appreciated his respect for Mitch’s old friend.
“You’re a smart kid, but you don’t know your fists from your feet. Remember how I made your acquaintance? You were about to get your butt whupped,” Mitch said, adjusting his cowboy hat. “Even if I play chaperone all the way to the Pacific Ocean, you ought to learn to protect yourself.”
Carter put his guitar away, remembering how Mitch had handled Darren. He’d like to have skills like that.
“Size doesn’t equal strength. My daughter, Piper? I taught her how to look out for herself.”
“You
taught her to throw a punch, sir?” Carter curled his hands into fists and punched the air in front of him.
“I did indeed. And how to run a restaurant, too.”
“So you bought her a deep fryer and some frozen burger patties?” Carter dared to tease the man the way Mr. Ledbetter might. Mitch shot a glance at him, cocking one brow. He wasn’t one for jokes and Carter wished he hadn’t tried to pull one on him.
“Those jabs are about as lethal as a butterfly in pollen season,” Mitch said. Carter dropped his hands into his lap. “Eyes, groin, neck, and knees,” Mitch added, staring at the long stretch of freeway ahead of his late-model truck.
Carter bolted up in his seat, alarmed. He knew hitch-hiking brought nothing but trouble, but Ledbetter had said Mitch could be trusted. “Excuse me?” The man never mentioned anything about groins back at The Yucca, and Carter wasn’t interested in the topic now that they were alone.
“Try this,” Mitch told him, taking his right hand off the wheel. “Imagine an attacker is in front of you. As fast as you can, flick at his eyeballs with your fingers, like you’re trying to get water off ’em. It’s effective and it’s painful.”
Carter practiced flicking his fingers in the direction of Mitch’s face.
“Good. Next, bring your knee up as hard as you can. A blunt shot square in the groin will take out any man.”
Carter flinched. He’d once accidentally smashed the center bar of his bike into his crotch and the memory of that pain hadn’t faded.
“You want to throw a punch? Aim for the neck. Knock the wind out of that sucker.”
Carter nodded. Mitch wasn’t trying to hurt him; he was trying to help.
“Now listen, if an attacker gets you to the ground, kick at his knees. Knock him down and run for your life,” Mitch continued. “You’re young, you’re agile, you can move fast. Get out while you can.” He took a good long look at Carter. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I get it. Eyes, groin, neck, and knees.” Carter repeated the pattern a few more times to himself, committing it to memory. “Thanks, Mr. Keller.”
When they reached Tucson, Mitch pulled his truck into the parking lot of a restaurant. Over the front entrance, a simple painted sign read “The Desert Willow.”
Mitch stepped inside and glanced around the place, pressing a finger to his lips while searching for the words to describe it. “What in the—? She must have redecorated.”
Wooden tables no more than a foot tall were scattered around the restaurant. There wasn’t a chair in sight, only cushions, each and every one made with a different material, like a caravan of gypsies had crashed a quilting bee. The place in no way resembled The Little Yucca. A handful of customers lounged around a few tables, grazing from heaping plates, a low-key murmur blending with soft acoustic guitar music. There was no sign of Mitch’s daughter, Piper.
Mitch directed Carter to a table and lowered himself to a cushion with a grunt. His legs, unaccustomed to bowing the distance, quavered as he neared the floor. His scuffed and worn cowboy boots wouldn’t fit under the low table. Mitch wasn’t doing a good job of hiding his irritation with the restaurant’s new décor.
Carter plopped down in one motion onto a pillow covered in a reclaimed blanket with a woven Navajo motif. He set his guitar on the floor next to him, the top of the case laid over his thigh like the chin of a loyal pup.
Waiting for Mitch’s daughter to show, Carter had a look at the menu. Where meat dominated at The Little Yucca, The Desert Willow was plant-based. The words organic, locally sourced, and vegan laced the strange menu. While The Little Yucca attracted the night crowd, the Willow served only breakfast and lunch.
“How’s my baby girl?” Mitch said, beaming, when a young woman appeared at their table. Mitch got to his feet a lot easier than he had to his bottom. Carter tried not to stare. Piper didn’t look anything like him. It wasn’t just her piercings, olive skin, and chopped, lavender-streaked hair. It was her slumped shoulders and the way she held her chin like she was about to spit.
Mitch opened his arms to her but she ducked away, busying herself with stacking three or four cushions in a high tower. She took Mitch by the arm and helped her father to sit. Carter got off his cushion and scurried over to assist. Mitch made a fuss; he didn’t like being treated like an old man. Squatting over the cushions, the back of Piper’s T-shirt pulled up around her apron strings. Across her lower back, he spotted a storm cloud of bruises, black and blue and in some parts pea-soup green. A sourness caught in his throat. He pushed it down, but it refused. How did she get bruised so badly?
“Carter Danforth, this is my favorite restaurateur, Piper.” Carter leaned back a bit on his cushion, trying not to stare. Mitch squeezed Piper’s hand lovingly, but nothing changed in her empty, faraway look. It was strange for Carter to see this side of Mitch, the gruff and stern man going soft over his kin.
“Did you marry another woman with a kid or something?” she asked.
“Your mother will always have my heart, rest her soul,” Mitch replied, the phrase like the familiar refrain of an often-repeated song. “Carter’s just passing through on his way to his pa’s in California. I was due for a visit to The Willow and he joined me for the ride. You know I can’t go long without seeing your beautiful smile.”
“You don’t need to come all this way, Mitch. I don’t know why you put yourself out on my account,” she said without a hint of a smile, beautiful or otherwise. Carter glanced back and forth between the two of them. Why did Piper call her father Mitch?
“I’ll bet Carter here would love to try your vegan chocolate brownie with walnuts,” Mitch said, brushing off her remark. Was he going to ignore her bruises, too?
“What if he has a nut allergy?” Piper asked, without making it sound as though she cared either way. “He might eat it and die,” she added, as an afterthought.
“As a matter of fact, I came about a bit of business.” Mitch might have ignored her nasty comment, but Carter didn’t let it go so easily. “Mr. Danforth here has crafted a recipe that’s right up The Desert Willow’s alley. I’m going to buy it from him and give it to you as an early birthday present, sweetheart.”
Carter’s eyes shot open to twice their normal size. Mitch hadn’t said anything about selling his recipe. What did yucca flowers have to do with Piper’s restaurant?
Piper stood over him, her hand on her hip. “Well, what have you got to say for yourself, little man?” Carter bit his lip. He didn’t like the crack. It reminded him of Darren Bartles.
“Deep-fried mesquite yucca flowers?” Carter responded with a question, half-expecting her to cuff him on the head.
Piper did nothing and said nothing. So Carter rambled on, explaining his recipe and technique. “The customers at The Little Yucca said my deep-fried mesquite yucca flowers were so good, ’They make your tongue slap your brains out.’” She stared blankly through him, or perhaps past him.
Finally, she said, “Let’s get some lunch into you and then you can show me in the kitchen.”
Did Mitch really expect him to go into the kitchen with Piper? Where there’d be sharp knives and oil boiling in the fryer? Far as he could tell, the woman seemed to feel nothing. What did crime shows always say? The killer lacked remorse. He’d already earned enough money to get to LA. No reason to hang around. Getting her to warm to Mitch was too tall an order.
“Uh, I’ll have whatever your dad is having. Thank you, ma’am,” Carter stammered, looking pointedly away.
“He isn’t my father. My last name’s Piedra. It’s not Keller and it never will be,” she replied, her words drier than cracked cement. “And don’t call me ’ma’am.’ Were you raised by an army sergeant or something?”
“No, ma’am,” Carter dared to reply, then wished he hadn’t. He ought to shut his mouth before she dished up a whupping. Whoever put those bruises on Piper was probably in far worse shape for having crossed her. He pictured her the ring leader of some Southwest all-girl Fight Club.
It made sense that Piper wasn’t Mitch’s own flesh and blood. Carter couldn’t help but smirk that Piedra was her last name. It meant rock in Spanish and Piper was, he reckoned, a stone.
Another server brought their meals. Piper ignored them while Carter and Mitch ate. “I married her mother when Piper was just about twelve,” he explained in a low whisper between bites of a grilled veggie sandwich. “Her father was a drunk. Unemployed and violent. Couldn’t keep his fists to himself. I’m just glad he up and left them before he—”
A flush of anger rose around Mitch’s shirt collar. “What the women I love have been through—” He exhaled a deep breath and took a long sip of his iced tea. If Mr. Ledbetter were here, he’d show Mitch a way to tell his own blues, Carter thought. He wished right then he knew how to do that, use music to help a friend.
Mitch wiped his mouth with a napkin and readjusted his sprawling legs. “You can see for yourself, Piper’s doing fine now. But she never shook that hurt.”
Carter chewed his sandwich in silence. He couldn’t see that at all.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
AFTER THEY FINISHED LUNCH, MITCH PULLED his cowboy hat down over his brow and looked directly in Carter’s eyes. “I don’t suppose I told you how much I appreciated your help around The Yucca.”
“It was nothing, sir,” Carter said, surprised. He busied himself with folding his napkin, realizing he didn’t want to be left alone. He was short on time for getting Mitch and Piper back together, and he could tell the road to a father-daughter reunion was one-way only. Mitch wasn’t the problem, Piper was.
Mitch walked Carter out front and pointed north toward the I-10. “You can take the city bus from the stop on the corner to Tucson International Airport. It’s not far from here, maybe seven, eight miles.”