One More Summer

by Burke, Dez

We played mischievous pranks on her, which made her hate us even more. She had called the cops to report us more than once.

  “We had fun, didn’t we?” I ask.

  Cole glances over at me. “Yes. We sure did. Always.”

  I settle back into the passenger seat and start to enjoy the view, letting all the stress and pressure of my latest tour fade to the back of my mind.

  “It feels good to be back home,” I say.

  Cole’s face grows serious. “I need to warn you about Dad. He’s a lot worse than when you saw him at Easter.”

  “What do you mean? Worse how?”

  “The Alzheimer’s has sank its nasty claws in. He’s showing more of the typical symptoms.” Cole’s grip tightens on the steering wheel, hinting at the stress and pressure that he’s dealing with. “He often struggles to find the right words. He gets angry and frustrated. Some of the time he’s completely confused and doesn’t know who’s who or what’s what. The latest new thing we’re dealing with is the wandering. It’s worse at night.”

  “Where’s he going?”

  “Nowhere in particular. I watch him closely all the time. If I turn my back for a second, he’s likely to go off missing. Whenever I catch up with him, he doesn’t even know where he’s going, or else he’ll say he’s off to do something that makes no sense at all.”

  “Doing what?”

  “The last time he said he was going to buy some sugar and flour for Mom because she wanted to bake a cake.”

  The sadness of that sentence hits me hard. Our mother has been gone for over two years.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it had gotten that bad. I should’ve been home before now.”

  “Once it started progressing, the disease steamrolled. Every day I dread getting up to see how bad he’s gotten overnight. At least you’re here with us now.”

  Hearing about how my dad has deteriorated makes me nervous about seeing him. I only hope that I’m not too late. There are things I need to say to him. To tell him how much he’s meant to me.

  A few minutes later, and we’re pulling up on the long dirt road leading up to the farmhouse. In the truck’s side mirror, I can see the cloud of dust billowing up behind us.

  I look out over my childhood home with mixed emotions. I both miss it and am grateful that I left.

  I always knew I could never be happy here as a farmer.

  “Home sweet home,” Cole says.

  The farmhouse is a large, two-story white building with a wide front porch lined with old, wooden rocking chairs. Four thick white columns hold up the sloping blue roof.

  To our right is a huge cattle barn with a bright red roof. A metal weather vane of a giant rooster sits on the highest point.

  A few black and white cows are patiently standing around the barn, waiting to be fed. A mama hen with a line of baby chicks following behind her suddenly darts in front of the truck when we drive closer to the house.

  “Damn!” Cole yells, slamming on his brakes. “I swear! That Mama Hen acts as if she owns the whole place. I don’t know how the babies stay alive sometimes because she doesn’t have a lick of sense.”

  “Is that old rooster, Jeb, still alive?” I ask.

  “Oh yeah,” Cole replies. “Don’t worry, he’ll wake you up bright and early.”

  “Is he immortal? I swear he used to wander around when I was just a kid.”

  “Either him or another rooster just like him. Daddy named them all Jeb, so I don’t know how many there were.”

  When we pull to a stop in front of the house, I step out of the truck and breathe in deeply. The smell of dirt, grass, and hay fills my lungs. I look around slowly, squinting against the sunlight, trying to take it all in.

  “This place never changes,” I say. “It still smells like home.”

  “Uncle Levi! Uncle Levi!”

  I hear my niece’s delighted squeal before she comes tumbling out of the farmhouse wearing a denim dress with white frills and a little pair of cowboy boots almost up to her knees. Her brown hair is loose and curly. When she grins at me, she shows off a full set of teeth.

  Did she have all her teeth last time I saw her? I can’t remember.

  I crouch down and hold out my arms to her. She rushes into them and I give her a big hug.

  “Hey, Princess! I can’t believe how big you’ve grown! Are you sixteen years old now?”

  Lily giggles and squirms in my arms.

  “I’m four,” she says, holding up three fingers then adding one more.

  I’m relieved Lily still remembers me since we only spent a few hours together when I was last here. Releasing her, I rise to my feet. As I glance up, I catch sight of someone I haven’t seen in the longest time.

  Someone I never expected to see here.

  Annie.

  I’m completely caught off guard. The unexpected sight of her gut punches me and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.

  After all these years and time apart, there she is.

  She’s even more gorgeous than I remember.

  She’s standing on the porch with her arms folded across her chest and a small smile playing on her face as if I never left. She’s wearing a mid-length yellow summer dress with sandals. Her thick, blonde hair is loose around her shoulders, shining in the glow of the setting sunlight.

  My heart is pounding so fast and I’m frozen, unable to speak.

  Cole follows my gaze and grins. He slaps me on the back to jerk me back into reality, and I clear my throat before walking towards her.

  “Well if it isn’t Miss Annie Phillips,” I say, trying to pretend that seeing her hasn’t rocked my world upside down.

  “If it isn’t Levi Hamby,” she replies.

  Her smile is slightly teasing, if a little shy. I can almost see the same memories that are dancing through my mind playing out behind her eyes.

  “It’s been a long time,” she says.

  “Yes, it certainly has. I’m surprised to see you. What are you doing here?”

  “She stopped by to stay with Dad and Lily while I ran to the airport to pick you up,” Cole explains. “It’s hard to find dependable help these days. And impossible at the last minute.”

  “It sounds as if I owe you,” I say to her.

  I can’t turn away from the sight of her. I’m drinking her in like a man who has been dying of thirst for the past seven years.

  Annie’s eyes are still the deepest sky blue I’ve ever seen. The kind of eyes songs are written about. Eyes I’ve gotten lost in so many times before. Eyes that I see still every night in my dreams.

  Her face hasn’t changed much either, neither have her full, soft lips lightly tinted with pink lip gloss.

  There’s a hint of a hot summer breeze blowing. It catches the light material of her dress and draws it against her hips, lifting the skirt of the dress slightly. Her lush figure hasn’t changed since she was eighteen years old.

  The legs underneath the skirt are tanned from the hot Georgia sun. I know every curve on her body, having spent countless hours touching and kissing every sensitive spot. I remember how she loves to be touched and how her breath catches when I do it just right.

  Our eyes meet, and I wonder if she remembers it all too?

  Over the last seven years, I’ve been idolized by countless women screaming my name, and I’ve never felt self-conscious or ill at ease around any of them. Yet, standing here in front of my childhood sweetheart now, I feel awkward and nervous. I can’t seem to find the right words to say.

  “You look incredible,” I tell her. “Every bit as pretty as I remember.”

  She glances out toward the barn. When she twists a strand of hair around her finger, I hide a smile at her unconscious gesture. A habit she never could break. Even now, I can still read her body language.

  “Thank you,” she says. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

  The air is thick with chemistry and unspoken words. So many things have been left unsaid between us.

  Cole steps in to h
elp us over the awkward hump in conversation. “Annie works in the drugstore these days. She’s a pharmacist. Aren’t you the head of the pharmacy now too?”

  “Only for the past week,” she says with a nod.

  “That’s fantastic, Annie,” I say, genuinely proud of her. “You always said that’s what you wanted to do. You loaded up on Science classes in school.”

  “And you always said you wanted to be the biggest thing that ever happened to country music. Now look at you. The next thing you know, you’ll be in the Country Music Hall of Fame.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” I say with a self-conscious chuckle. “It’s still too early in my music career to be calling anything like that. I’m just a working man trying to make a living.”

  For some reason, I’m trying to downplay my success in front of Annie. I don’t want her feeling uncomfortable around me.

  More importantly, I don’t want her to think I’ve changed.

  Deep down inside, I’m still Levi.

  The guy she used to love a long time ago.

  “Not too early in his career to have just dropped a couple of million on a mansion in Tennessee,” Cole tells her. “You ought to see the photos he sent me of the place. Unbelievable! His new house has five bathrooms. One to shower in, one to shave in, one to…”

  “Cole! That’s enough!”

  I shoot him a dirty look. I don’t want Annie to know about the money I’ve made or how I’ve spent it. I don’t want her thinking about my fame, fortune, or the adoring fans that mob me wherever I go.

  All of those things are just distractions from the fact that no matter how far I’ve come, right now, I’m the same Levi Hamby she knew when we were kids.

  At this moment, I feel exactly the same as I did the first time I saw her in fifth grade.

  “I can’t believe how huge you’ve become,” she says. Her eyes are full of genuine warmth and pride in me. “You’re about all anyone in this town can ever talk about since your first album came out. Who else from Monroe has ever made it this big? You’re the local star.”

  “That’s right,” Cole says. “Any day now they’ll be naming a highway or at least a bridge after you,” he jokes. “Or is that only after you’re dead? I need to check on that. Maybe call the county commissioner and ask. How does the Levi Hamby Highway sound to you? It has a certain ring to it, don’t you think?”

  “Cut it out, Cole,” I say. “That’s nuts. When I’m here in town, showbiz is going to stay behind me back in Nashville. While I’m in Monroe, I’m still plain old Levi, a country boy from a little old farm town in Georgia. Nothing has changed.”

  Cole lifts his eyebrows at me. “Okay, whatever you say.”

  “We’re all glad you’re back,” Annie says. “Lily is very excited. She said you give good piggyback rides around the farm.” She glances over at Cole, who has settled down in one of the rocking chairs beside her. “Edward’s inside in the living room. He’s been so sweet. We’ve been watching a game show on television. He got a few of the answers right, believe it or not. And Lily’s been good too. She was sitting with us on the floor with a coloring book and crayons.”

  “Thanks again for staying with them,” Cole says.

  “You’re welcome,” she says. “Anyway, I better get going. I’ve got a few errands left to do this afternoon.” She shoots a glance my way and seems reluctant to go. “It was nice seeing you again, Levi.”

  She’s leaving?

  “You too. I hope we get the chance to catch up properly before I go back to Nashville.”

  “I’d like that.”

  She smiles at the pair of us one last time, then skips down the porch steps towards her car. I watch her drive away until her car is out of sight.

  When I turn back around, Cole starts chuckling. “Well, damn! Who’d have thought? There is someone in Monroe who can still grab the attention of the great Levi Hamby after all.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “Boy, are you in big trouble now,” he says, grinning and shaking his head.

  8

  Annie

  I drive home almost in a daze, with my heart beating ninety miles a minute like it’s about to fly out of my chest.

  Levi Hamby is home.

  I pull up the driveway to my house and sit for a second in the driver’s seat. The scorching June sun has turned my flower beds lining the front of the blue cottage into wilted, sad blooms. The first thing I need to do when I go inside is bring a pitcher of water out to dump on them. With any luck, they might perk right up again.

  Or not.

  Sometimes I wonder why I plant flowers in the brutal, intense Georgia heat. It’s an everyday battle against nature to keep them alive. Well worth it though, for the joy the colorful blossoms bring me when they’re not constantly trying to die.

  As I jog up the front steps and unlock the door, I wonder what Levi would think of my simple cottage. It suits me just fine, but I can’t help remembering Cole’s remark about Levi’s multi-million-dollar mansion in Nashville.

  It’s not as if I’ll be entertaining him here anyway, I remind myself. And even if he did drop by, there’s no point in putting on airs for him or pretending I’m something I’m not. He’s known me almost my entire life.

  I drop my purse on the floor by the front door, kick off my shoes, and head straight into my kitchen, which is by far my favorite room of the house. It’s a bright, airy space with a handmade wooden island my father made for me. Wide French doors overlook a small, neatly-trimmed back yard.

  I push open one of the doors to let in the breeze. After pouring myself an ice-cold lemonade from the fridge, I go outside on the back deck and sink down into a lounge chair. Closing my eyes, I lean my head back and listen to the cardinals sing in a tree branch hanging over me.

  My mind is a million miles away.

  Or seven years in the past.

  Unable to shake Levi from my mind, I decide to indulge in a walk down memory lane and go to retrieve an old photo album from the bookcase in my living room.

  It’s a scuffed-up old thing covered in a faded floral design. I haven’t opened it in years. My fingers rest on the edge of the album, then I pull it open. The pages are fading and beginning to turn yellow. I regret not doing something before now to better protect the photographs from time.

  I gaze at the first photo of Levi and me, taken not long before he left town.

  There’s me, in my checkered red-and-white shirt tied in a knot at my waist and my long blonde hair in two pigtails over my shoulders. I’m a farm girl for sure. Next to me is a teenage Levi Hamby, wearing a black Willie Nelson t-shirt and denim jeans, his arm thrown comfortably around my shoulders.

  We’re both leaning against his pick-up truck and grinning like silly fools at the camera.

  Back then when we were teenagers, I always thought he was so manly and grown-up. Compared to the Levi I saw today, the kid in the photo is a shaggy-haired baby face, barely old enough to shave.

  I trace my finger down his teenage face, unable to keep a wistful smile from my lips. The memories are still as clear as they ever were in my mind.

  In all these years, I haven’t been able to forget the way Levi made me feel.

  Something tells me nothing has changed.

  9

  Levi

  Undeniable signs of wear and tear on the farmhouse are beginning to show. The white paneled walls are scuffed in places, and there’s an odd gouge in the old oak kitchen cabinets.

  I don’t know if the issues are the result of a lack of money or a lack of time. Maybe both.

  The two matching sofas in the living room are sagging slightly. They’re still decorated with the colorful afghans that Mom crocheted by hand. There are a few other reminders of her scattered around the house, the collection of salt and pepper shakers in a cabinet on the wall and the cross-stitched Bible verse quote hanging in the hallway.

  Reminders of my childhood are dotted around, too.

  On the wall
leading upstairs are dozens of framed photographs of the family, a reminder of a great childhood on the farm. Every time I walk up the stairs, I can’t help smiling at the pictures of Cole and I when we were young, standing in a cornfield with the sunlight catching our hair.

  There’s another photo of me at five or six holding a Beagle puppy in a tight squeeze with a huge grin on my face. My two front teeth are missing.

  I feel a tug at my heart when I see the picture of our family standing together in front of the farmhouse. There’s Mom and Dad with their arms around each other, and me and Cole lined up in front of them.

  When I see the pictures, I remember a life that was happy and full of love.

  I don’t know the exact moment in my life when I decided the farming life wasn’t enough for me. That I needed more and something different from my life.

  Maybe I always felt that way.

  “Dinner’s ready!” Cole calls out from the kitchen, sounding just like Mom. “Come and eat before it gets cold.”

  For meals, we eat at a large, rectangular oak dining table with long benches instead of chairs. I go downstairs after unpacking and watch Cole move quickly around the kitchen.

  He reminds me of a robot on auto-pilot, simultaneously preparing an evening meal for the adults, a second child-friendly dinner for Lily, and sorting through Dad’s prescriptions to make sure he takes his meds before he eats.

  “Do you need help?” I ask. “Damn, Cole! How do you keep up with all this?”

  “I got it,” he answers without glancing up.

  Lily is sitting at the table drawing pictures while Cole cooks. Somehow, he manages to keep an eye on her too. When her felt marker almost goes off the paper and onto the oak table, he runs over to move her hand.

  “Use your placemat, honey,” he says.

  Dad wanders into the kitchen a second later and starts randomly opening the kitchen cabinets one by one.

  Cole glances over his shoulder at him. “What are you hunting for, Dad? Can I get you something?”

  “I don’t know,” Dad says. “Where’s my peanuts?”