One for the Road

by Lynne Marshall

  Tyler made a victorious nod to D’Anne. “There you go. I’ll get the first week’s rent to you after our gig tonight at the Tennessee State fairgrounds.”

  ****

  Someone tapped on the door around five o’clock. D’Anne flipped her cheese sandwich on the grill and went to open up.

  “How’d everything go?” The platinum-haired campground host stood on the porch in full regalia. Western shirt, large turquoise belt buckle, tight jeans, boots and cowgirl hat.

  “Hey, Marlene. Great. We’ll be heading out next week.” D’Anne let her guest in.

  “Thought mebbe you’d like to catch Tyler and the band’s act with me tonight.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t planning on going out or anything.”

  “Sometimes, darlin’, it’s best not to plan.”

  D’Anne considered the words and decided they had some merit. “What time are you leaving?”

  “’Bout half an hour. Come on, it’ll be fun. I’ll buy ya a beer.”

  D’Anne scooped her grilled cheese up with a spatula and tossed it on a plate.

  “Give me fifteen minutes, I’ll meet you out front.”

  “I’ll drive, Ms. Alkymom,” Marlene called over her shoulder on her way out.

  ****

  The fairgrounds were hot and crowded and stunk of stale beer. Rowdy youngsters and inebriated twenty-somethings in tee shirts and halter-tops cluttered every path. Marlene bought D’Anne a beer in a plastic cup for twice its worth. She was on the verge of telling Marlene she wanted to leave when the emcee announced the Tyler White Band.

  Modest applause greeted the four musicians. D’Anne felt compelled to join Marlene in a cheer and whoop for the guys she’d just met that day, spilling beer on her top in the process. Tyler stood at the center of the stage in a blinding white button down shirt, black hat and Wranglers, looking stately.

  With a guitar strapped on, his impressive figure caught D’Anne’s eye and kept it.

  Bear perched himself next to Tyler on a stool, steel guitar in front with weird metal gizmos on his fingers. Ricky-Bob stood on the other side wearing shades, a black leather vest over a button down denim shirt and holding a shiny red bass guitar low at his hip. J.T. sat tattooed and topless, ready and waiting behind the massive display of drums, his black hair streaming and shining over his shoulders.

  Tyler swept his hat at the audience in greeting and strummed the guitar with an opening chord and catchy riff. J.T. jumped in and set the beat, updating the Hank Williams classic, “Hey, Good Lookin.’ ”

  The beer marinated crowd jumped with the rhythm, and sang along when the spirit moved them. D’Anne tapped a toe and watched Marlene undulate an over-fifty country line dance, which was more booty shaking than D’Anne could take from an AARP member.

  She focused back on the stage. Damn, Tyler knew how to work a crowd. By song’s end he managed a country singer’s version of the Tarzan jungle call. The audience whooped back with approval.

  On the fourth song, Ricky-Bob surprised her by playing the violin, adding a melancholy, yearning-for-love touch. And Tyler sang a barroom anthem, a tear-in-his-beer, lost love waltz, with Ricky-Bob harmonizing. And for some damn reason, it made her feel like a schoolgirl.

  “I quit smokin’, I quit eatin’, I quit lovin’, I quit breathin’. The day you left me…I quit livin’, and started drinkin’.”

  D’Anne chuckled at the lyrics but noticed the audience seemed to take the song seriously. Next to her, an older woman on portable oxygen looked like she related to every word as she shook out another cigarette from her pack and gave a congested cough.

  “I’m just a dope, without hope, now that she’s gone, I can’t cope. So line ’em up on the bar…’cause she’s left me,” he sang.

  An older couple danced a smooth-as-glass country version of the waltz, ending up cheek-to- cheek, eyes drifting off somewhere back in time. Perhaps recalling someone’s long lost face or a special love from their youth.

  After several more songs, the band closed with Tyler’s one hit, ““Your High Class Love Broke My Honky-Tonk Heart.” Much to D’Anne’s relief, the crowd remembered the upbeat, campy song, by singing and dancing along. She joined them, even shook her hips a time or two while fumbling through the line dance steps stomped out by Marlene.

  The campground hostess quit gyrating long enough to drag D’Anne, by the arm, toward the stage just before the end of the song.

  “Let’s go tell the boys how good they were. Musicians never get tired of that.” Marlene’s eyes lit with excitement. “Come on.”

  D’Anne blinked. Evidently, the lady knew the groupie routine well.

  “Tyler, hey, Tyler!” Marlene cupped her mouth and yelled backstage. She snaked her way through a crowd, pulling D’Anne along. Embarrassed, D’Anne felt her cheeks flush.

  The four musicians were surrounded by other bands, backstage help, technicians, and assorted other hangers on, but Marlene managed to deliver them both smack in the middle. “I’m still your number one fan, you handsome cowboy.”

  Tyler smiled and returned a quick hug from Marlene. His eyes drifted D’Anne’s way. The flush on her cheeks upgraded to enflamed. It annoyed her.

  D’Anne heard J.T. say to Ricky-Bob, “Great music means great sex. Where’re the women?”

  “Don’t look at me,” Ricky-Bob said. “I’ve got my blinders on tonight. The little lady and kids are in the audience. Should be coming back any time now.”

  Bear hoisted a six-pack from a nearby cooler, yanked a can free for each man, saw Marlene and D’Anne, tossed one to her and personally delivered the other to Marlene with his semi-toothless, dimpled smile. Maybe it was the music, but she detected eye contact with sizzle between them. She raised a brow and checked out her latest girlfriend in a new light.

  Tyler continued to look at D’Anne, lifting half a lip in a smile. “Sloppy drunk already, huh?” He glanced at her chest.

  She saw that her tank top had a big stain from the earlier spill, just above her cleavage. “Pretty rowdy crowd,” she said, trying to divert his attention.

  “I count on it,” he said.

  Tyler looked handsome up close and she wished he’d take off his hat so she could see him better. He took a drink of beer, swallowed and smiled more. Obviously a man pleased with himself on a job well done.

  “You sounded great.” D’Anne meant it. “I mean, I knew you’d have a good voice just from hearing you speak.”

  He lifted a brow.

  Marlene sidled up to him and pushed herself under his arm again. “Darlin’, it was just as good as the old days. You’ve still got it.” She bumped him with her hip.

  D’Anne flushed while she popped the lid on her beer. It sprayed and spilled down her front. She wiped it away.

  His distracted stare followed her hand. “If you came for the rent, I haven’t got paid yet.”

  She took a sip and dripped some over her chin. “Oh, that’s not why I came.” She swiped her face, withheld the part about being dragged there by Marlene and wondered why she was being so sloppy. “I came to hear the band. You’re good…really.”

  His expression changed from curious to pleased.

  Damn. What was there about this man that rattled her so much?

  A pretty teenage girl appeared out of nowhere. “My momma says you used to be famous. Can I have your autograph?”

  Tyler handled the humiliating statement like a gentleman. “Why sure, darlin’.” He took her book and signed it.

  J.T. showed up with a beer in his hand and a towel around his neck. Still topless and rich with perspiration and testosterone, he showed off his six-pack abs and tattoos. “I played drums for Alan Jackson once. Ya want my autograph, too?” He took her by the arm and led her away. “Let me buy you a soda.”

  Off to the side, D’Anne saw a pudgy, younger woman with auburn hair and two little kids circle around Ricky-Bob. He kissed her on the cheek and scooped up the youngest child into his arms. She smiled at the family portrait o
f Tyler’s talented bass, violin and mandolin player and wondered what it must be like to have a musician as a husband.

  When she looked back, she caught Tyler watching her. It made her feel warm all over, like she’d been coming back to life after a long hibernation. Just as quickly, his gaze retreated to his feet.

  D’Anne took another drink of beer. What the hell, she wasn’t driving.

  ****

  Something didn’t look right. D’Anne approached the RV as a wild, unnerving wave of chills spread from head to toe. The cabin door was ajar. She stood perfectly still and strained to listen, but heard nothing. She ran back to Marlene’s to pick up a flashlight and some moral support.

  “I can’t believe I forgot to lock it. I know I was in a hurry, but that’s not like me.” She racked her brain to recall each step before they left that night. No, no, she distinctly remembered closing and locking the door.

  Marlene flipped open her cell phone and made a call while getting the largest flashlight she could find. “Well, what the hell happened to campground security?”

  If it was the security cop D’Anne had seen around, the million-year old Earl, she figured he was hibernating in his trailer. After all, it was after dark.

  The two women headed out for the motor home joined at the hip. Marlene insisted on yakking about how this had never happened before in the ten years she’d run the place. D’Anne helped her point the flashlight and followed sheepishly beside her. They approached the door, stopped to listen again and trudged on.

  D’Anne took the flashlight, stepped ahead of Marlene, flung the door open and panned the light across her home.

  Ransacked.

  Every drawer, cupboard, and closet had been emptied of its contents and flung across the floor. Even Reese’s jar had been upturned. The blood drained from her face. She dropped to a sitting position and pushed her head between her knees, trying to breathe instead of scream. Invaded. She gulped for air as every fiber of flesh trembled with rage.

  Who had done this to her? She grabbed her hair, fisted it, and whimpered in frustration. What could they have wanted?

  She bawled for ten minutes straight, until she got tired of hearing Marlene say, “There, there.”

  She wiped her eyes and nose on her sleeve, then stood when she heard footsteps. She turned to find Tyler.

  “I brought your money.” He glanced at the mess. An expression of anger and outrage that couldn’t be faked crossed his face. He gaped at her, then surveyed the RV and made one disgusted sound after another. The noise of his curses somehow comforted her.

  “What the devil happened here?”

  D’Anne swiped her face with the back of her hand. “Don’t know. We just found it like this when we got home.”

  “Did you call the police?” he asked Marlene.

  “Earl’s takin’ care of that.”

  D’Anne put her hands on her hips and sighed. She walked to the bedroom and found all of her husband’s clothes, the very ones she couldn’t quite get around to parting with, strewn across the bed. What the hell is going on? She turned to find Tyler standing in the doorway and she flinched in surprise.

  “Those your husband’s?” She nodded.

  “We probably shouldn’t touch anything until the police get here.”

  She nodded again and he put a light hand on her shoulder to guide her away.

  Two hours later the police had come, taken a report, and left. Faced with the mess, D’Anne didn’t know where to start.

  Tyler and Marlene pitched in without being asked, buoying her spirit.

  “We’ll take the kitchen,” he said, setting the urn upright and replacing a dustpan full of ashes before re-sealing it. “Why don’t you tend to the bedroom?”

  Stupefied and speechless, but grateful for Tyler and Marlene, D’Anne cupped her chin to hold her mouth closed, and walked trancelike to the back of the RV.

  Picking through the clothes, one by one she started hanging them back up, until she came to a loud Hawaiian shirt. She rubbed it on her cheek and sniffed it, remembering Reese’s scent. She missed him. What’s happening, Reese? She recalled him wearing the same shirt on the last day she saw him, when he’d left to meet someone. Why would anyone do this to our stuff? Her hands glided across the silky fabric trying to sense what was left of him. She heard a crinkle and felt a stiff spot in the pocket. Curious, her fingers slipped inside and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. Her heart palpitated when she opened it.

  “Dear D’Anne,” it said.

  My God. She covered her mouth. Reese did leave a note.

  Chapter Three

  Tyler’s heavy footsteps approached. D’Anne folded the note and shoved it into her bra, then bolted to standing.

  “Hey,” he said softly. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. Just thought I’d get a drink.” She swiped at blurry eyes and cleared her throat. As she headed for the refrigerator she felt his gaze follow her.

  She reached for a bottle of water, and with shaky hands filled a glass on the counter.

  Tyler lightly touched her shoulder. She jumped, slopping liquid over the rim.

  “Whoa. It’s just me. I’m goin’ to run home, get my cot and sleeping bag. I’ll be outside, if you need anything.”

  D’Anne glanced at Tyler, moved by his offer to keep guard. She was about to tell him he didn’t have to come back, but changed her mind, deciding she wanted someone to watch out for her tonight.

  “That’s very kind of you. I appreciate it.”

  He cleared his throat. “By the way.” He reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a wad of cash and handed it to her.

  “Here’s the first week’s rent,” he said. “Should buy some groceries and fill up the diesel tank with plenty left over to fix the busted lock on the door.”

  She nodded, and took it.

  “Marlene, stay with Dee ’til I get back.”

  An odd sense of security snuck up and forced D’Anne to sigh. Two thousand miles from home, widowed, broke, desperate even, but somehow safe with a has-been musician and an over-fifty groupie.

  ****

  D’Anne stared at the ceiling in the dark, clutching Reese’s note. Three in the morning and she hadn’t slept a wink. She heard Tyler make one quick snort and rustle in his sleeping bag outside, then she flipped on the bedside lamp and read the words one more time.

  Dearest D’Anne,

  I guess you could say I’d rather die smiling in your arms than consider the alternative. It seems I’ve pissed a few people off. Call me a coward but…

  There are many things in my life I’m not proud of, however you and the boys are the shining light of my existence. Thank you for that. The three of you will be my legacy.

  I’ve left some cold cash in the RV to help you get by. They may think it belongs to them, but they’re wrong. I earned it.

  So once again, I have disappointed you. I guess some things never change. I know this is a hell of a way to show it, but I do love you and want the best for you.

  Forever Yours, Reese

  P.S. Keep this note a secret.

  D’Anne read through blurred vision, confused, saddened and still seething. You shit! Who the hell are “they?”

  She’d gone through every single pocket in the rest of Reese’s clothes, every shoe and sock, but had found nothing. Now, his distinct scent lingered in her nostrils. Grief whispered behind her eyes and threatened to make her cry, again.

  The last communication with her husband had been as cryptic and aloof as he’d always been. What is he trying to tell me? Where is the money? God only knew she needed it, otherwise she was stuck being dorm mom for Tyler’s band.

  She thought about the ransacked RV, feeling violated. Had the money already been stolen? Tyler seemed to have a big wad of cash earlier. She shook her head on the pillow. Instinct told her not to go down that path. I’m grasping at straws.

  In their last moments together Reese had clung to her, asked for her forgiveness for all the
crap he’d put her through over the years and told her over and over how much he loved her. The memory made her throat tighten. She strained to swallow what felt like shards of glass.

  Typical of Reese. He’d get them into some mess and D’Anne would come up with a way to get them out. After twenty-five years, she had gotten quite good at it. And how in the world had an educated man like her husband managed to come up with so many hare-brained financial ideas over the years? Though he never wanted D’Anne to work outside of the home, she had enough sense to understand there was no easy way to turn a dollar into ten. Always chasing a dream, weren’t you, Reese? Well, look where it got you, ashes in a jar.

  Her oldest son and economics apprentice extraordinaire, Dean, had said they’d lost their shirts in the stock market. D’Anne wondered where Reese’s cold cash had come from, and more importantly, where was it now?

  “Dear God. Reese, was it worth it?” she murmured in the dark.

  Tormented by her thoughts, D’Anne rolled onto her stomach. She knew her circumstances wouldn’t change no matter how much ruminating she did. No sense in losing any more rest over it. She fluffed her pillow and snuggled her head in just right, making one last attempt to forgive and forget, but failing miserably at both.

  ****

  Tyler rolled up his sleeping bag at dawn and went home.

  Nothing suspicious had happened the rest of the night at Dee’s. From underneath his cattleman hat, he’d watched a couple guys pack up their tent trailer and leave in the wee hours. He fell in and out of sleep and managed to get a crick in his neck by morning.

  Tyler walked into his house to an anxious mutt. Dexter whisked past him and out the door. He watched as the dog headed for the grass.

  There was still packing to do and last minute confirmations to make. The owner of the club on Lamar Ave in Memphis had promised a Friday and Saturday night gig, but only came through with Friday night. He needed to change their RV camp reservations to one night. The Four States Fairgrounds in Texarkana had overnight RV parking, but he wanted to be sequestered from the general public after performing there on Sunday. If the fairgrounds management didn’t comp a secluded overnight spot, they’d just have to drive all night. He wasn’t sure Dee would like that, but so be it. She worked for him.