“Sorry, Harry,” I say. “Things have been crazier than I expected here at the ranch. I haven’t had time to catch up on my calls.”
“Well that’s all fine and dandy,” he says. “Except while you’re trying to be the golden boy rushing in to save the day with your family, I’m working my backside off trying to save your career. The least you could do is take my phone calls to keep me in the loop.”
He’s huffing and puffing on the phone, almost out of breath. I know without seeing him that he’s pacing back and forth across a hotel room, waving one hand in front of him while he talks.
“Your fans are beginning to talk, and the rumors are flying,” he continues. “You haven’t posted on social media in days. They’re saying you might be in rehab for a drug or alcohol problem. Stars don’t disappear off the face of the earth unless they’re locked up somewhere. Get back on social media and see if you can calm things down.”
“I’ll try to put a post up today about something,” I offer.
“How about a photo of you at the ranch or with a horse?” he suggests. “That’ll show the fans you’re not sitting in a white padded room in a clinic trying to dry out. They love the cowboy photos anyway. It might work out in your favor. Do you have a tractor to pose with? Or how about a cow? Those black and white cows always photograph well. Don’t use a brown one. They’re too dull to stand out. Baby chicks are good too, or ducks. Preferably babies.”
I try to ignore his comments about the ranch life. He’s always thrown digs at my country upbringing. “I don’t want the public knowing where I’m at. I’ll post something today though. Maybe an old photo I have stored on my phone. Don’t worry. Anything else important I need to know about?”
“There’s a lot you need to know about,” he says. “Your band members are getting anxious about your disappearing act. They depend on you for their livelihood. If you’re not working, they’re not working. They have bills to pay and they keep calling me asking when you’re coming back. The least you could do is call them yourself and give them some reassurance. Otherwise when you do come back, all of your good musicians and backup singers will be long gone. They won’t wait for you to get your act together. I can’t say I blame them if they split.”
“If they’re running behind on bills, give them some money and take it out of my cut,” I offer. “I don’t want to lose my regular band members and start over with someone new if I can help it.”
“Everything isn’t about money, Luke. Their ticket to fame is rising to the sky with you. Not some other singer or band. Until your disappearing act, you were all headed straight to the top. The band members right along with you. Don’t you understand you’ve let them down too? I thought you cared about them. They’re your friends.”
“I don’t know what you expect me to do,” I say. “Nothing has changed here. I can’t go on a national tour while my dad is losing his mind. This time tomorrow he might not even know who I am. Here’s an idea, Harry. Why don’t you take a deep, long look inside yourself and see if you can find a tiny bit of heart or feeling for another human being in there? Maybe then you’ll understand my situation.”
“Don’t get all huffy at me,” Harry fires back. “I’m the only one who’s got your back and trying to take care of your best interests. The record label was ready to cut you when you left town without notice and headed to Texas. You signed a legal, binding contract, which by the way they can enforce at any time and drag you back to work. I fought for you and convinced them to give you time.”
“I know you did, and I appreciate it,” I say. “We’ve had this conversation before, and nothing has changed. I can’t come back yet. Period. End of discussion.”
Harry lets out a long sigh into the phone while his mind is spinning, trying to think of a different tactic to try with me. I know him well.
“Let me ask you something, Luke. Is your being back in Texas helping anyone or making a difference? Has your daddy suddenly recovered his memory? Is he better now that you’re home? If you turned around right now and came back to Nashville, could you say your time there made one bit of difference to him? Would he even remember you were there at all?”
I take a deep breath. I’m about two seconds away from completely losing my temper on Harry. “You’re being an inconsiderate jerk,” I tell him. “And it’s not about me fixing Dad. I want to spend time with him and just be. That’s it. Time with him is precious. I’m not dragging him around to doctors trying to fool myself that there’s a cure. Because there isn’t.”
“Does he even know you’re there?” he asks. “Or that you’re supposed to be somewhere else working? Because your fans sure know you’re missing. I can tell you that. Have you read their comments? They’re crying their eyes out wondering if something bad has happened to you. They keep posting questions asking if anyone has heard from you or seen you anywhere. It’s sad.”
“I’m not here just for Dad,” I say. “I’m also here for my brother. He needs me. I swear, Harry. If you keep bugging me, we’re going to have a big problem. I’m doing the best I can with the situation. Deal with it.”
“Are you threatening to cut me?” Harry asks in a shocked voice. “Do I need to remind you that we have a contract too? You need me, and you’d better not forget it or as you said, we’re going to have a big problem. Our business arrangement goes both ways.”
I would love to tell him to stuff it, but that wouldn’t accomplish anything other than to make me feel better. Harry is the best manager in the business, and as much as I hate to admit it, I owe him for making me a star. I’m not dumb enough to do something rash to be spiteful. No matter how much I’d love to.
“I’m sorry,” I say, forcing myself to calm down. “It’s early in the morning and I’m under a lot of stress. Dad is much worse than I realized, and the ranch is about to go under. My family needs me. I want to be here for them. I truly hope my fans will understand my absence and you know what? I believe they would if they knew the truth. They have families too. Love and family is the basis of country music. Listen to the lyrics sometime. My fans will understand. I know it.”
Harry grumbles words I can’t hear underneath his breath. “Just remember your fans will quickly forget you if you’re not around,” he sputters. “They’ll go on to the next singer in a heartbeat. If you think you’re something special, you’re wrong. Country singers with pretty faces are a dime a dozen in this town. The only thing that sets you apart from the herd is the heavy marketing the record label has thrown behind you.”
“I hear you, and I’ll try to catch up on my social media posting. I know my fans better than you do. I’ll take care of it.”
“Make sure you do,” Harry says coldly. He clicks off the phone without saying goodbye.
I close my eyes and wonder if I can go back to sleep. I doubt it, since Jeb, the ever-living rooster on the roof, has started crowing. Ten minutes later, Matthew opens my bedroom door and sticks his head inside without knocking.
“Get up, lazy bones,” he says. “We’re leaving for church in an hour. Don’t make us late. Lily has Sunday School.”
I roll over, open one eye, and check the clock that shows ten after eight. “Church?” I mutter. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”
“I didn’t think I needed to,” he replies. “It’s Sunday morning, isn’t it? And the second Sunday in June, which means it’s Homecoming and Decoration Day at church. I can’t believe you didn’t remember. Then again, I can. Lily and I picked up a spray of flowers yesterday to put on Mama’s grave. There’ll be a picnic on the grounds after the service. There’s coffee downstairs if you want some.”
“Okay, I’m coming,” I say wearily. “You’re too energetic this early in the morning. Don’t you ever slow down? Life on the ranch is busier than going on a twenty-city tour. I just had a long talk with my manager. Give me five minutes to get up.”
“One minute,” he says. “Did you bring any church clothes with you?”
“Nothing
but blue jeans and boots,” I say. “I didn’t think about going to church.”
“You can borrow something of mine,” he says. “Grab a change of clothes out of my closet. What’s mine is yours, so take your pick. You won’t find any designer duds or fancy labels in there though, and I don’t want to hear any complaining.”
“Don’t worry, you won’t.”
When he leaves, I sit up in bed and rub my eyes. I can’t remember the last time I attended Decoration Day. It’s the one time a year when the family members of those buried in the church’s graveyard gather together. Everyone brings real or plastic flowers to decorate the graves of their loved ones. For the older folks, it’s a huge social gathering and an event they look forward to all year. After the church service and the grave decorating, the church ladies put on a massive spread of food on wooden picnic tables underneath big shade trees.
Anyone who shows up is more than welcome to eat. It doesn’t make a difference if you’re a church member or not. A few of the elderly widowed men in town spend the entire months of May and June going from one church decoration to another for the country cooking. The church ladies happily fill their plates to overflowing, just content to have someone appreciate their cooking efforts for a change.
Growing up, Dad always told us that he only asked one thing when we got older. That one thing was to come back every year for the church decoration in remembrance of our family members who had passed on. One simple thing and I didn’t do it. Not even the year after Mama died.
Once again, I’m left feeling like a dog.
Well, at least I’m here today. Better late than never.
I hurry downstairs and pour myself a cup of coffee. Matthew has already helped Dad get dressed in a dark suit and tie. They’re both sitting at the kitchen table. Dad is reading the local Sunday paper.
“You look mighty spiffy this morning, Dad,” I say.
He glances at me with the same old twinkle in his eyes. “Matthew says it’s Decoration Day at church,” he tells me. “Your Mama will be making her famous banana pudding for the picnic. Those other ladies always try to steal her recipe, but she won’t ever tell them. It’s a secret.” He chuckles under his breath. “Your Mama is the best cook in the county. I’m a lucky man.”
Mama?
The smile disappears from my face. “No, Dad. Mama is …”
Matthew throws me a panicked glance. “She’s gone south to visit her sister,” he interrupts me quickly. “Mama hated to miss the decoration this year, but Aunt Lucille needed her help with some canning she has going on. They’re going blackberry picking and then they’re going to put up jam.”
I stare at him, shocked speechless. What kind of big lie is he spinning about Mama who has been dead two years? An hour before church no less.
Dad smiles at him and nods happily. “That’s good. We’ve run out of blackberry jam. There’s no telling what those two women will get into. They’ll probably get covered by chiggers in the blackberry briars. Luke, do you know how to get rid of chiggers? One year you were covered up in them. Your Mama counted over one hundred on you. She put clear fingernail polish on them to suffocate them to death. It worked like a charm.” And just like that, the conversation quickly moves along to something else.
I wait until Dad picks up his newspaper and walks into the living room before turning to Matthew. “What was that about?” I ask in a furious voice. “You flat-out lied to Dad about Mama being alive.”
“I sure did,” he whispers in a voice only I can hear. “It’s called a fiblet, not a lie. When someone has Alzheimer’s, you go into their world. You do or say whatever makes them happy and calm at that moment. It’s the best thing to do. Believe me, I’ve done it the other way and it doesn’t work. You’re going to have to trust me on this.”
I stare at him, not believing what I’m hearing. “So you just lie to him about Mama being dead? How long are you planning to keep this up?”
“As long as I need to,” he says harshly. “And you’d better do the same thing or you’ll have me to tangle with. His short-term memory only lasts a few minutes, so he’ll forget anything we tell him anyway. Why cause him grief? That would be cruel. If I correct him every time about Mama dying, it would be the same as reliving a nightmare over and over for him. Why put him through that?”
I shake my head slowly. “I just don’t see how this is right. Dad wouldn’t want us lying to him.”
“Luke, so help me,” Matthew says in a stern voice. “If you screw this up, you’re going to have to deal with me, and I’m dead serious. This is one time in your life, you need to listen to me. If he sees spiders crawling across the wall, you go kill them for him. If he goes searching for Mama, you reassure him that she’ll be back soon from the store. Keep him happy and calm in the minute. Trust me. It’s the only way. I’ve been doing this long enough to know.”
Dad walks into the kitchen and grabs his car keys from where they’re hanging on the wall. “I’m going on over to the church,” he says. “I’ll see you boys there later.”
Matthew gives me a ‘see what I mean’ look over Dad’s head. “I’m not sure if your truck will start, Dad,” Matthew says. “I was having trouble with it yesterday. Tomorrow I’ll go into town and get you a new battery.”
“I’ll go check it out,” Dad says, walking out the door.
I walk over to the window to see what he does. Sure enough, Dad slides into the driver’s seat of his truck and tries to start it. After a few minutes of nothing happening, he gets out and heads back toward the house.
“Don’t worry,” Matthew says. “I disconnected the battery. Otherwise he might disappear, never to be seen or heard from again. He hasn’t driven in over a year. Not that he remembers. He would be another statistic on the evening news. It terrifies me to think about it.”
“I’ll do what you say,” I reassure him. “As you said, you’ve been doing this a lot longer than me. I trust your judgement.”
“Thanks, Luke,” he says. “That’s a relief to hear you say that.”
“Is this dress pretty, Daddy?” Lily says, skipping into the room like a bright ray of sunshine. She’s wearing a frilly pink sundress and sandals.
“Pretty as can be,” Matthew says, beaming at her. “Are you ready for Sunday School?”
She holds up a miniature, golden-colored New Testament. “I’ve got my Bible Grandpa bought me for Christmas,” she says.
“You already know how to read?” I ask, knowing she’s only four. Do kids read that early now? I don’t have any idea.
“No, but I’m learning,” she says, grinning shyly. “Daddy is helping me and my preschool teacher too. I know my ABCs and can count.”
Matthew leans down and picks her up for a big hug. Lily giggles when he tugs one of her long curls. Seeing them together makes me envious for a moment. I’ve never thought much about having kids, or at all. The idea of having a family to come home to after a long music tour sounds pretty good to me right now.
Dad opens the door and steps back into the kitchen. “The truck wouldn’t start,” he says with a puzzled expression. “I need to peek under the hood. Where’s my toolbox?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Matthew says, giving me a wink. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow. Is everyone ready to go to church? We don’t want to be late.”
I toss back the last sip of coffee in my mug and stand. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” I say with a resigned sigh.
14
Luke
The small country stone church sits at the top of a sloping hill. I notice the white roof of the building could use a fresh coat of paint, along with the red front doors. The stained-glass windows lining both sides of the church have lost a little of their sparkling shine, but they’re still pretty in the sunlight.
The church was built back in the early 1900s, so considering its age, it’s held up well. I wonder if I should make a sizeable donation to spruce things up, or if I might be resented for it. In small towns, you never know ho
w the offer of money will be received.
People from Texas are proud and don’t take kindly to handouts if they think that’s what you’re offering. My brother is a prime example of that. If nothing else, I might offer to pay the annual fee for a landscaper to mow the graveyard and clear any weeds that pop up. Matthew told me that volunteers are taking turns doing it now, and they surely could be better used for something else.
Then again, I could always drop a wad of cash in the offering plate when it’s passed around. Something tells me the church secretary would know exactly where it came from though, so that method would be far from anonymous. Ten years ago, I never dreamed I’d have the problem of convincing people to take my money.
Real-world problems, I guess.
Reverend Tom Smith, the elderly preacher of the Sweet Rose Canyon First Baptist Church, is standing at the open front door and shaking hands with everyone passing by to go inside. He doesn’t appear much different than I remember, except maybe a little older. His hands are curled now with arthritis and his shoulders are more stooped. He also seems to have shrunk a couple of inches in height. I thought he was old when I was a kid. He must be well into his late seventies or early eighties by now.
He grips Dad’s hand in a firm handshake, and his eyes light up when he sees me standing behind him. Reaching over, he bypasses my outstretched hand and grabs me in a big hug instead.
“Welcome home, son,” he says, patting my back. “Glad to see you here. Did you come to town for the church homecoming?”
“Yes, sir,” I answer with a nod. “And the food.”
He chuckles and reaches over to shake Matthew’s hand next. “The best in the country,” he says. “Go inside and grab your seat. It’ll be crowded today. Lots of new people here for Decoration Day.”
Lily spots one of her friends and takes off running to join them in the kid’s Sunday School classroom.
Every Good Cowboy Deserves A Second Chance Page 12