by Marsha Moyer
He walked up, taking a swig from a bottle of Gatorade. His face and forearms were baked bronze by the sun, his T-shirt soaked through, hair tied back off his forehead with an old blue bandanna. Even though I'd had months to get used to it, the beard still threw me. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, extended the bottle to me. I shook my head.
"To what do I owe the honor of this visit?"
"Oh, you know—just wanted to see for myself if the stories were true."
"So, what do you think of my log cabin?"
"I don't know what to say."
"Well, you know me. No sense doing things half-assed and then wishing you'd gone all the way."
"Where's Jude?"
He jerked a thumb toward the handyman's cottage. "Just between you and me, I don't think the kid has much future as a carpenter. He'd rather be hanging out with Hardy, learning chord progressions, than how to use a staple gun." Ash shrugged. "Just as well. He's happy, and I don't have to watch him every minute of the day."
"Heaven forbid," I said.
"I only meant it isn't safe to have him underfoot all the time. I thought you'd appreciate that."
"Yes. I do."
"So, come on." He drained his Gatorade and tossed the empty bottle into the back of one of the pickups. "Let me give you the grand tour."
I followed Ash through the bones of the house as he showed me the two-sided wraparound porch, sketched with his hands the kitchen's layout, pointed to where the ceiling of the great room would soar all the way to the second-story roof, explaining the way the furniture would be grouped around the fireplace, the full-length windows on either side that would look out over the deck and the woods beyond. Two Hispanic men came clomping down the stairs, and Ash introduced them to me as Ramon and Jorge. "Lucy," he said, inclining his chin toward me. "My—"
"Ah," one man said, looking at the other meaningfully. "SenoraFarrell. Hola"
"Hola."
"You guys can knock off now, okay? See you in the morning."
"Okay, boss. Manana."
"Where'dyou find them?" I asked.
"Come on up," Ash said, ignoring my question, and motioned that I should follow him up the stairs. "Careful. It's just subfiooring up here, and there's a lot of junk lying around."
We stepped out onto a wooden platform that extended half the length of the house and would eventually overlook the living area below. "The original plans called for the master suite on the ground floor, but I moved it up here," Ash said. "I'm gonna do this whole wall in windows. I want to be able to sit up in bed first thing in the morning and see nothing but sky and water."
Although the only thing in place was framing, I could see it exactly, the sun coming up behind the pines on the far side of the pond, slanting across the water and into the room as the sky turned from violet to blush to gold. In my mind's eye, a crane soared out of the trees and skimmed across the water, its wings dappled by the early light.
I bit down on my lip to break the spell. As long as I'd known him, Ash had been able to do this to me—weave pictures out of thin air, make something out of nothing but thoughts and words. The last of the day's light filtered in through the rafters, striping his face with broken bars of dark and light. For a moment I felt that old yearning toward him, a pull of something big and mysterious, deep and old. I held on to it for a second or two, the way you might hold to your face the garment of someone you'd lost, breathing in their scent as a reminder that they'd once been here, and real. Then I let it go, watched it sail out through the open rafters and over the pond on wings as wide as an imaginary bird's.
"Listen, I've been thinking." I drew in a breath, let it slowly out again. "I want Jude to stay with you. I don't mean permanently," I added quickly. "I mean he can sleep over with you sometimes. Every few nights or so."
Ash swiveled his chin and looked out over the water. We were quiet, listening to the men loading up their trucks down below, shouting back and forth good-naturedly in Spanish. "What made you change your mind?" he asked as their engines fired up and they drove away.
"He just—he seems so different lately. I don't think I can give him what he needs anymore. Not all of it, anyway."
"You're a great mom, Luce."
"I don't know. Ask me in twenty years. The point is, I think it's time we started getting equal shares."
When Ash finally said, "Thanks," his voice was thick. "Don't think I don't know what this means, because I do."
But he didn't. He thought what I was doing was a fair and generous thing, when it felt to me like surrender, pure and simple. I shut my eyes briefly, but behind my closed lids the images were as vivid as ever. I saw the sun come up over the water, slanting across the bed as Ash sat up, yawned, stretched, blinked into the golden light of a new day. Beside him, a woman slept on her stomach, her face hidden by the pillow. He reached over and slid his hand under the sheet, into the soft, warm hollow of her back.
"Lucy?"
I opened my eyes, laughed a little. "Sorry. Long day."
"So, would it be good if I kept him tonight?"
"Tonight?" Now that it was real and happening, the notion filled me with an upwelling of panic. "Well, all right. But at the trailer. It's still too dangerous out here. I mean, you haven't even got walls or a roof."
"Have you talked to him about this?"
"Not yet."
"Let's go tell him."
We picked our way carefully down the unfinished stairs and through the skeleton of the house. As Ash and I approached the handyman's cottage, we could hear the sound of a stereo tuned low: When I stop dreaming, that's when I'll stop wanting you, the same song that had been playing in his truck the morning we signed the Nashville house away.
Stepping onto the front porch, Ash turned to me and touched his index ringer to his lips, then eased the screen door open and motioned me inside. The little house was as hot as a stovepipe, despite all the windows open wide and a rickety box fan working hard on the living room sill, stirring up dust. The only furniture was an unmade futon and a particle-board coffee table with three legs, the fourth corner propped up by a stack of books several inches too short, making it hard to tell if it was just the table or the whole foundation that was tilting south.
In contrast, the voices coming from the next room floated cool and sweet, a stream tumbling down through icy mountain peaks, prickling the hair on the back of my neck. Ash stepped aside to usher me ahead of him into the kitchen doorway. They didn't see us at first, Jude sitting on the Formica-topped table, brown legs and bare feet dangling, Hardy facing him in a straight-backed chair with a guitar across his knee, shirtless in faded Levi's, his glasses sliding down his nose, his bare white chest sheened with sweat, their voices twining up and around each other's like morning glory vines, reaching for the heavens. When I stop dreaming...
"Mama!" For the first time in I didn't know how long, Jude's face lit up to see me.
"Hi, baby."
"Did you hear us? Hardy's been teaching me. It's harmony!"
"It was beautiful. Both of you. I thought you were the stereo."
Hardy stood up, laying the guitar across the seat of the chair, and fumbled a blue cotton shirt off the chair back, jamming an arm into a sleeve.
"Hardy says I could be on the Grand Ole Opry someday," Jude said.
"Yeah, well, that's not really Hardy's call to make," Ash said. All of a sudden the heat seemed to rise in waves from the scuffed linoleum, and the room smelled like sweat and overripe fruit—a reminder of how quickly things could turn. "Hey, buddy," he said to Jude. "How'd you like to spend the night at my place?"
"Really?" Jude looked from Ash to me and then over at Hardy struggling with the buttons on his shirt.
"If you want to," I said. Already I was having second thoughts. What was that old saying that if you loved something you had to set it free? Someone had written a song about it in the eighties that had been a big hit, which just proved how eager folks were to believe the most moronic things. If you loved somethi
ng you were supposed to keep it tucked up safe by your side, to guard it with your heart and your life. But Jude had jumped off the table and started running around the kitchen, bumping off the counters and the table like a pinball machine on tilt. I was too far out on a limb to go back now.
Finally Ash caught him and swept him off his feet, dangling him giggling and squirming by the shoulders. I had a sudden memory of the morning he was born, lying back on the table with my feet still in the stirrups, stunned by effort and pain, as a nurse handed Ash a swaddled bundle that he cradled to his chest. As he tucked his face close to the blanket, I could hear his voice, soft and murmuring, walking our son across the room, Jude's very first human conversation on planet Earth.
Ash set Jude on his feet. "So, what do you say? Hot dogs for supper?"
"Yay!" Jude said. "Can Hardy come, too?"
"Maybe some other time, dude," Hardy said. "You go on, have a good time with your daddy. Besides, I've got stuff to do."
"But you'll be here tomorrow, right?" Jude asked.
"Same time, same station." Hardy looked at me, flashed a brief, cheerless smile. He turned and started washing his hands at the sink.
"Go get your shoes on," I said to Jude, who dashed off toward the front of the house. "He shouldn't be running around out here barefoot," I said to Ash as the screen door slammed. "When was the last time he had a tetanus shot? I can't remember. Maybe he needs a booster."
"Calm down, mama hen," Ash said. But what did he know? He was the TV daddy who came and went like Santa Claus, bringing presents and good times, while I was the boring, everyday drudge who worried about vitamins and fluoride and fatal diseases.
"Good night, Hardy," I said. "Thanks for the music lesson. I know it's not what you signed on for." He raised his right hand, not bothering to turn around.
I followed Ash back through the living room to the porch. "What did he sign on for is what I'd like to know," I said as we watched Jude clamber onto the tailgate of Ash's truck, stuffing his feet into his sneakers. "I thought you couldn't stand the guy, and now he's living on your property, teaching your son to sing harmony?"
"I needed a caretaker," Ash said. "Hardy was handy."
"A caretaker?"
"Somebody to watch the place. Make sure nobody sneaks in at night and makes off with stuff." I laughed out loud. Ash looked at me sharply. "It's no joke, Lucy. Do you have any idea how much all these materials are worth?"
"Sorry. It's just that Hardy Knox isn't exactly my idea of a security guard. What would he do if the bad guys did show up? Knock them over the head with his guitar?"
"Don't let him fool you. Hardy's got a lot more on the ball than he acts like."
"Oh, right," I said. "I bet he shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die."
Ash broke into a slow, smoldering smile, then shook his head and laughed. "Lucy, Lucy," he said.
"What?" I was trying not to smile myself, my insides pinging like mandolin strings. Don't, I told myself. Don't even start.
"Why don't you come over and have supper with Jude and me?"
"Oh, I—"
"How'd you like that, buddy?" he called. "Want to fix hot dogs with your mama and me?"
"No!" Jude shouted back. "Boys only! That's the rule!"
"It's okay," I said. "I've got a ton of chores to do tonight anyway. You guys have a good time. Stop by and I'll give you his bedroll and his PJs."
Ash walked me over to the Blazer and opened the door for me. I got in and turned the key, sent all the windows sliding down. The skin of his forearm on the windowsill glowed golden in the waning light, and I wanted to take it between my teeth, wanted to see if it tasted the way I remembered, of salt and suede, wanted to see if my bite would leave a mark or if it would vanish instantly, like it had never been there.
"I wouldn't take it too hard, Luce," he said.
"What?" I said, switching on the AC. "Take what?"
"It's just a stage he's going through. He'll grow out of it before you know it."
Sure, I thought, right about the time he's eligible for parole. Maybe having only one child had been a mistake. Maybe I should have had a spare, so that I'd have at least a fifty-fifty chance of breaking even.
I smiled, sending the windows buzzing up. Ash stepped back and raised his hand in a friendly wave. I turned the Blazer around and headed out the way I came, alone, the only way I knew how to go.
chapter twenty
One day the following week, I came back from picking up lunch at the cafe to find Ash's truck parked out front of the shop in the fire lane. I'd left Audrey in charge, but when I pushed through the door, the showroom was empty, I set my white takeout bag on the counter and peeked into the office, but it, too, was deserted. The cooler door was open a crack, and I put my ear to it. A stream of cold air leaked out, along with whispers and giggles.
I gave the handle a tug, the heavy door screeching slowly back on its hinges. Audrey and Hardy Knox stood locked in each other's arms like a pair of Shakespearean lovers amid a maze of fragrant blossoms, eyes bleary and mouths bruised from kissing.
Audrey blinked several times, bringing her gaze into focus.
"Hey," she said. "Did you get my tuna melt?"
"What's going on here?"
"Well, duh," she answered. "What does it look like?"
"Not here, not now, no way," I said. "Hardy, would you leave, please? I need to speak with Audrey in private."
"But he hasn't had his lunch yet," Audrey said as they leisurely untangled their limbs.
"He knows where the cafe and the DQ are," I said.
"I was gonna share my tuna melt. Jeez, you act like we're breaking the law or something."
"Hardy, please." I stepped aside and made a sweeping exit gesture with my arm. Audrey lifted her face to his—not much of a stretch, he couldn't have been more than an inch taller than she was—and gave him a quick peck on the mouth.
"See you later," she said.
"Yep. See ya, Lucy." He sauntered past me and out the door, started up Ash's truck, and peeled away.
Audrey started riffling through the takeout bag on the counter, extracting the sandwiches, lifting the corners of the paper they were wrapped in to see what was inside.
"I don't know why I keep on ordering this," she said as she opened her tuna melt. "I swear Burton could fry up a cow patty and it would taste about the same."
I unwrapped my turkey-on-wheat. "So, are you going to tell me what that was all about?"
"Hardy, you mean?"
"What about Joe? Remember, your boyfriend?"
"Joe and I broke up."
"Just like that?"
"Well, it wasn't pretty, if that's what you mean. He broke a chair. Then he sat down on the floor and cried. It was pitiful, actually. He only had one."
"One?"
"Chair."
I didn't see any point in saying that I didn't think he'd been crying about the chair. "When did this happen?"
Audrey looked at the ceiling. "Let me think. A week ago?"
"How come I didn't know about it?"
She shrugged. "Haven't been paying attention, I guess. It's not like a state secret or anything."
"Isn't Hardy a little old for you?"
"Who're you supposed to be, my mom? Actually, my mom's cool with it," she said around a mouthful of bread. "Hardy met my mom. He liked her. I know," she said when I arched my eyebrows. I'd been in school with Audrey's mother, Johnelle, a sullen, overweight, many-times-married woman who worked as a finisher at the dry cleaner's. It was hard to imagine anybody willingly tolerating her company, much less enjoying it.
"Did you ever stop and think that he might just be after you for—for your body?" I asked.
Audrey reached into the bag for an onion ring. "Sure. Did you ever stop and think I might be after him for his?"
"Well, find someplace to carry on besides work, please. If Peggy catches you, we're all dead meat."
"That shows what you know. Peggy knows about Hardy, and she's co
ol with it, too."
"She does? She is?"
"Oh, you know Peggy. She's just a big old sop. She thinks it's romantic, Hardy being a songwriter from Nashville and all."
Come to think of it, Peggy did have a weakness—or a blind spot was more like it—for that very thing, which had once been rare in Mooney but now seemed to be proliferating like fruit flies.
I opened my mouth, but Audrey cut me off. "Look, save the speech, okay? I know you think you know it all, because of what happened to you. But Hardy's different. He's going straight to the top, and he's gonna stay there. Ash is helping him."
I started laughing and had to set down my sandwich. "Oh, that's rich. If you want to know how to get to the top and stay there, Ash is for sure the man to ask."
Audrey stared at me with righteous indignation, the kind that comes with the territory when you're seventeen. "As a matter of fact, he is the man to ask. He knows all about what not to do, and he's showing Hardy how not to do it."
I coughed a time or two into a paper napkin, then composed myself. "I get it. Like how to win friends and influence people, only in reverse."
"No offense, Lucy, but you don't know Hardy. Anyway, Ash didn't disappear. He's right here in Mooney, building a house and writing songs."
"He— What did you say?"
Audrey was busy rooting around in the bag for more rings. "Him and Hardy are writing songs. Good ones, too. I've heard 'em."
I thought about the scribbles in the notebook at Ash's bedside, the lights in his trailer burning into the night. Hope rose up in my chest like a bird, beating its wings against my ribs, wanting out, wanting to fly. I drew in a breath, feeling a sharp pain in my sternum. There was no bird, I told myself sternly. Hope was a trick, one of those lies in that pot at the end of the rainbow.
"I just hate to see you throw yourself into this and then get hurt."
"But that's what it's all about, isn't it?"
"What are you talking about?"
"It's part of the deal, if you ask me. Like Joe sitting on the kitchen floor and crying. Man, it was so sad, but it was powerful, too, you know? I just kept watching him and thinking, He's so lucky, even though he doesn't know it yet, because he's hurting, but he's alive."