Small Town Girl

by Rice, Patricia

  The audience erupted in foot-stomping applause before the band played the last note.

  ***

  “Along with the fractured right tibia, Johnnie has multiple contusions, and Adam has a possible concussion and a sprained wrist. I want to keep both boys in the hospital for observation overnight,” the doctor said as Flint paced up and down the narrow floor of the room to which the boys had been brought.

  “Dad, no!” Adam shouted. “We’ve got to get back there! You promised.” He was struggling with the blankets and the sling for his arm and trying to stand up, even though he was whiter than the bandage patching the back of his head.

  At sight of his older brother’s struggle, Johnnie was attempting the same, but he was looking pretty groggy. Flint thought his heart would carve its way straight out of his chest. He squeezed the bridge of his nose and nodded at the doctor’s instructions. He’d never seen so much blood in his life. He’d been pleading with God to take him instead of his boys. He wasn’t taking a damned chance of anything happening to them again now that he knew they would live.

  “You’re not going anywhere, either of you,” he said in his best stern-dad voice, when what he really wanted to do was grab them and never let go. “There’s a whole week of activities ahead. If you don’t stay in those beds, you won’t be able to do any of them.”

  “But Dad,” Johnnie argued, “we got to be there if we win. We’re gonna be rich.”

  Flint ran a litany of every curse he knew through his head, nodded as the doctor raised his eyebrows and politely departed, and waited until the door closed before speaking. “What the f… devil are you talking about?”

  “The contest,” Adam said insistently, sitting on the bed’s edge and looking for his bloodied clothes. “We wrote a song for the contest, and Jo said it was the best thing she’d ever heard outside your stuff. We’re gonna win.”

  They might as well have taken a two-by-four and whopped him upside the head. Flint sat down abruptly in the hard hospital chair and pointed his finger at Adam. “Back in bed, right now, I mean it.”

  He needed time to absorb the news that his sons were writing music, and that Jo knew about it. And didn’t tell him.

  He needed time to come to grips with the knowledge that she’d got his sons all excited about a business he’d sworn to give up for them. And that she’d wormed her way into their hearts—just before she walked out and left them. Like he had. And their mother. They thought she was going to be there for them, but after today, she’d be gone with the Nashville suits. How the hell would he deal with that?

  “But Dad,” Johnnie whined, “we gotta go.”

  Flint rubbed his jaw and wished he knew how to hug them and tell them it would be all right. He might lie to himself occasionally, but he wasn’t too good at lying to his kids.

  “You don’t need to be there if you win.” Were they good enough to win or had Jo just been feeding them bull? He couldn’t believe she’d do anything to hurt them, but she might not understand how easily they could be hurt. “And I’ll work something out so you can hear your song up there some evening, okay?”

  “But they’re recording the songs today,” Adam protested. “And Matt and Sean are waiting for us.”

  Flint had left the boys’ friends with Sally. He had to get back and look after them. He couldn’t leave his kids here alone. He needed to call his parents. He needed to clone himself. How the hell did single parents do it?

  “You just don’t want us to have any fun,” Adam protested in that high-pitched voice kids used when they were just short of tears. “If we get rich, we could all go back to Nashville with Jo. She’s going to go off and leave us and it will be all your fault!”

  Kids sure knew how to hit the nail on the head and pound it in. He was the one who had encouraged Jo. He was the one who had told her about RJ and sent his publisher her song. He was the one who hadn’t told her he loved her and needed her and didn’t want her to leave—because he knew he’d ruin her life if he did.

  Try explaining that to kids groggy with pain pills. At least the boys were wise enough to understand she wasn’t staying. They weren’t helpless toddlers anymore. With a sigh, he got up and gently returned Johnnie’s broken leg to the bed. Sitting down beside his youngest, Flint wrapped him in his arms, while staring sternly across the space between the beds at his eldest. “It’s not your job to make it rich or follow Jo or get us back to Nashville, son. It’s mine. If that’s what you want, we’ll talk about it when you’re out of here. Right now, you just have to get better. Let me be the dad and take care of things, all right?”

  Johnnie sagged against him, and Flint’s heart cracked when he felt a wet spot form on his best shirt from his trying-to-be-tough youngest’s tears.

  Adam searched Flint’s face. “You mean that? If Jo leaves, you’ll go with her?”

  He hadn’t thought that far ahead, but he’d obviously said something his kids wanted to hear. And if he let himself think about it, he’d said what he wanted to do—he wanted to be with Jo. His hand and the music and the café and the lawsuit were all just excuses. She’d been right. He was still walking away from his life, this time dodging something even bigger and scarier than failure.

  He tried to stay honest. “It depends, son. You’re gonna have to trust us.”

  Flint wished with all his might that Jo was here to help him out, but he’d been the one to cut her free. She deserved sunshine and rainbows, and he wouldn’t darken her big day with his woes. But when the day was over… What would he do then?

  Amy popped her head in as the boys were settling into sleep. She glanced at their closed eyes and whispered, “I talked to the doctor. Do you need anything here? I can’t leave Mama with my ruffians much longer.”

  Flint shook his head. Gently laying Johnnie’s head against the pillow, he rose from the bed and crossed the room so he could shake Amy’s hand. “I don’t know what I would have done without you, thank you.”

  Amy was polite and quiet and had driven over here as fast as she could after the ambulance. She’d sat with him in the emergency room and patiently waited as he’d settled the boys in. She was a soothing presence, the kind of mother he’d wanted for his sons.

  But he could never want maternal Amy the way he needed ebullient Jo. He knew now that he could handle his boys without a woman’s help if he had to, but he didn’t know if he could live with himself without Jo. Every fiber of his wicked soul cried for her laughter, her optimism, her hand in his to keep him happy on his new path in life.

  Amy smiled without a trace of any of the doubts he suffered. “You want to come back with me? You can’t do anything else here, and they really need you at the mill. Mama and I can take care of the boys’ friends. Your dad and mom will be here in a few hours. I just called them.”

  Flint shook his head. He might have lots of doubts about the steps that had brought him here, or his right to claim any happiness after he’d mucked everything up, but he didn’t have any doubts about his decision to skip the concert for his boys. “I’ve seen all those acts before,” he said, crooking his mouth up in a half-smile so she’d think he was okay.

  “You’ll have lots of company once I get word around,” she assured him.

  Not after he’d selfishly let everyone down like this, but he didn’t tell her that. He just nodded and let Amy go.

  He longed for his guitar and a lonely place where he could put his blues to good use, even if he had to do it without chords. Now that he knew he had the strength to walk away from music for his sons, maybe he could let it back into his life, a little at a time.

  Maybe if he learned to do it right this time around, he could teach the boys how to prevent the glitter from going to their heads. Telling them to stay away from music was futile, as he’d already proved. So maybe he could share the music with them. He’d like that. He’d like that a lot.

  He’d like it with Jo even better.

  Thirty

  “All right, folks, hold your bre
aths now,” Jo called to the audience.

  She’d managed to get reports on the boys from Dave, who’d talked to Amy. They were telling her all would be well. She was praying they weren’t lying.

  But excitement over the contest had her bouncing up and down, completely in tune with what she was doing and disregarding the bright lights as she waved an envelope around. “The finalists were judged in Nashville by recording company professionals. You’ve heard the names of the runners-up. I am holding the envelope with the winner chosen for our First Annual MusicFest song-writing contest. If the winner is in the audience, they or their representative may come up on stage to sing for us and for the CD we’re recording live.”

  Jo had seen Martin and his suits enter and take seats saved for them at the side of the stage, and she waved at them, hoping they couldn’t see the sweat on her palms. She’d learned last night that one of the suits was from Flint’s publishing company. Flint had apparently told them about her, and they were interested in her songs—once the copyright problem was settled. She’d officially be a songwriter. That didn’t guarantee fame or fortune, but glee rocked her anyway.

  Instead of making promises, Flint had acted on his belief in her. That was the reason she’d made the decision she had last night.

  “The monetary prizes are free tickets to next year’s MusicFest and free rooms at the Northfork Motel Six for the week,” she called to the audience, “but the real prize is letting promising new artists have their material heard by music publishing professionals. So all you poets out there, have your pens ready for next year.”

  Her hands shook as Flint’s friend Travis from the Barn Boys came out on stage to open the envelope. Now that she had half a minute to think, she wanted to hand him the winning envelope and flee, but she didn’t know where to run. With Randy’s departure, she was out here all by herself. The only thing holding her in place was her knowledge that the boys’ song had to be the winner. They hadn’t been one of the four runners-up.

  Travis took the envelope and turned to the audience, giving Jo the opportunity to step back toward Slim and the band and out of the spotlight. Clenching her teeth to keep them from chattering, Jo listened as Travis ran through a speech about Mill-Aid and how the profits from the day’s ticket sales and the sales of the CD being recorded would go to Northfork toward the purchase of the mill to support the town’s economy. Flint was supposed to have given that speech earlier.

  She didn’t know what she should do next. She wasn’t supposed to be out here. She didn’t know the line-up like Flint did. He ought to be standing here when the boys’ names were called out so they could enjoy his shock and pride. They’d worked hard for this moment, and they weren’t here to revel in it.

  “And the winner is…” Travis ripped open the letter to the band’s dramatic drum roll. “Adam and John Clinton!” he shouted.

  At the ecstatic applause and foot stomping from the audience, Travis glanced at the paper again, then back at Jo and the band, who were hooting and clapping. He raised his eyebrows questioningly and stepped back. “Flint’s boys?” he inquired softly.

  Until she started shivering with joy, she hadn’t realized how proud she was of them, how much she wanted to see them out here taking credit for their hard work.

  Or how much she’d wanted Flint to see what good kids he had. He worried so much over being a bad father. She wanted him to see he’d done the right thing coming here where his kids could blossom with the attention of the people who loved them.

  Travis frowned, and Jo’s heart did a nosedive.

  “The judges were from Nashville,” she explained hastily, fearing Travis thought the contest fixed. “The recording had no name on it. They won it, fair and square.”

  “Yeah, but they’re not here to sing it,” Travis explained the obvious.

  “You’ll have to sing their song, Jo,” Slim said from behind her where he’d been preparing to play the tune. “I can’t sing that number right.”

  Travis caught her elbow before her knees buckled at the idea of going out under those spotlights again. She’d done it once out of anger and a sense of justice. Was her accomplishment a one time thing or could she do it again for the boys?

  “You know the song?” he asked.

  “Of course.” She glanced toward the exit and escape. She needed to be at the hospital with Flint. Travis could handle the emcee job. But the boys had worked so hard…

  Travis ignored her hesitation and dragged her toward the fixed microphone.

  “Ladies and gentlemen.” His voice boomed through the speakers and settled the crowd expectantly. “Flynn Clinton is the man who brought us all together for this momentous event. He’s written many of the songs you’ll hear today. He lost his wife about a year ago. He’s been bringing his sons up here in this town where he grew up, and he’s been trying to give back to the community everything he’s got from them.”

  He paused dramatically, in a way Jo could never have done. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she recognized the truth in everything he was saying.

  “His boys had an accident in back just before this event began.”

  A chorus of gasps and murmurs rose from the audience.

  Travis waved them to silence. “They’re a bit battered, but they’ll be all right. The point is, Flint had to give up this opportunity to take credit for all his hard work so that he could be with his sons. For those of you who aren’t from around here, Adam and John Clinton, the winners of the contest, are Flint’s sons.”

  He paused to let the crowd murmur some more before continuing. “Obviously, they can’t be here to sing their song. They’re missing their chance to be on our CD with all the biggest names in the business. But we won’t let their song go unheard. Your own Miss Joella Sanderson is here today to perform it for you. I want you all to give a big hand to this little lady, and in the years to come, when those boys are writing the songs you’ll be hearing on the radio and Miss Jo will be singing them, you’ll remember you heard them here first!”

  The crowd roared. Jo knew Dave and George and Hoss and all her friends were leading the stomping, but she managed a watery smile as she wiped her eyes. Down in their corner, Martin and his suits were smiling proudly. Travis worked for them. He was giving her the opportunity to show them what she could do.

  But this song was for Flint and his sons, not for her.

  Without adding a word to what Travis had said, Jo turned and signaled Slim to begin. Praying with all her might that the boys would hear this someday, she let their words fly with all the power in her.

  When the song ended and the audience was still applauding enthusiastically, she murmured into the microphone to be recorded, “That song was for a man who gave up everything because it was right, a man who is a hero to his sons, an inspiration to all, and the writer I hope I can be someday.”

  She handed the portable mike to Slim to announce the next act, then rushed off the stage in search of the nearest exit.

  She prayed no one knew how scared she’d been, but she’d proved to herself that she could sing on stage if she had to. She was proud that she’d done it, but she didn’t need to do it again. Now that it was over, her only thought was to find Flint and the boys.

  Even as her family and the men in suits came rushing up to congratulate her, Jo knew the decision she’d made not to go to Nashville was the right one. Singing for friends expressed her love, but applause wasn’t sufficient reward for baring her soul to strangers. She never wanted to feel as if she had to sing again.

  Now, all she had to do was explain to these big men wearing bling and designer suits what she did want and try not to get kicked out of their Rolls while she was at it.

  ***

  Carrying a cardboard cup of the black fuel oil the hospital called coffee, Flint wandered the dark corridors back to his sons. He was lucky that both beds in a semi-private room had been available so he could stay with them, but he couldn’t sleep.

  Visitors had wandered in f
rom Northfork all afternoon, bearing gifts and concern and news. He knew about as much of what happened at the concert as if he’d been there.

  He wished he’d seen Jo wow them with her song. And had heard her sing his sons’ song. He was so damned proud of them that it almost hid his heartache.

  A song had been humming in his head ever since the boys fell asleep, but he didn’t have a guitar to pick out the notes on. He’d got desperate enough at one point to look for a piano but couldn’t find one. He’d tried scribbling a few verses, but Jo was better at saying the things he was feeling. He needed the music.

  As if thinking of Jo had conjured her into reality, he heard a soft croon drifting down the hall. Foolishly, his heart skipped and his pace quickened.

  He knew better. He’d heard all about how Jo had left the concert in triumph in a Rolls with the Nashville suits. After the performance she’d put on, they’d be quick to lock her in tight. He couldn’t blame them. He’d like to lock her in as well, but she needed to spread her wings and fly. She’d do it much more sensibly than he had, and she deserved every bit of fame she earned.

  He just didn’t know how he’d live with the emptiness where her laughter belonged.

  He’d avoided thinking about losing her during the day, but it was tough not to at night in empty hallways with nothing else to occupy his mind. He finally had to admit that his life would be damned lonely without her. He could follow her back to Nashville, he supposed. Maybe if he was just there for her, it would be enough…

  Hell, no. A piece of her would never be enough. He might as well slit his throat and remove his head. If he’d loved Melinda half as much as he loved Jo…

  He stopped stock-still in the doorway to his sons’ room.

  A woman sat on Johnnie’s bed, smoothing his forehead with slender fingers. Moonlight filtered through the blinds, haloing golden curls. She sang quietly, as naturally as breathing, settling his son’s restless slumbers.