But I do feel nervous. I keep my eyes closed and manage to sing, though in a weak, quavery voice with an uneven tone:
Outside of time we ride
We ride the wind together
And it feels like
A little bit of home.
I lengthen the musical interlude that leads into the chorus, doing some simple improvising, but since I'm so nervous, I can't really improvise with freedom, either. I just feel SHY. Hopeless, useless, constrained, and SHY.
I jerk my fingers off the piano and feel myself encased in what feels like a full-body flush. A full-body wall of shame. A misery that I'm helpless and hopeless to overcome.
Mom is right. I'm destined to fail at life.
Granville sits beside me on the piano bench and touches my shoulder. “It's okay,” he says softly. “You sounded wonderful. You have a gorgeous voice. With practice, the nerves will grow less. It's okay. It'll just take some time. It's like strengthening a muscle you haven't used much yet.”
I still can't look at him. My shame is total. I'm a pathetic excuse for a human being. Mom is right. I'll never amount to a god damn thing.
Granville takes my chin in his fingers. Gently, he nudges it around until I'm facing him. His expression is filled with kindness and compassion, and...
Can he possibly desire me after my failure?
He moves in closer, his gaze fastening on my lips. I feel his warm breath. He moves closer. I take a breath in anticipation. His lips brush mine and I sigh. I can't believe this. I failed miserably and he still thinks I'm worth something. He doesn't want to shame me, like Mom would. He still wants to help me, encourage me, and now, he even wants to kiss me.
The feel of his lips on mine makes me tingle all over, and I turn on the bench so that he can pull me close into his arms. The pressure of his lips on mine increases, and I feel a slow warmth coursing everywhere in me.
Then he gently pulls away. I meet his gaze. His eyes are alive with desire, but he says, “Now. Try singing now, sweet Frannie.”
I put my hands on the keys and close my eyes again. I play the intro and lengthen it just a bit, gathering my confidence, pulling together the energy and delight that flared up in me when Granville and I shared that wonderful kiss. I can do this. And I will do it. I sing the second verse:
Come into my warmth
And push me to my limit
Oh, it feels like
A little bit of home
I start out stronger, and it's only on the last line when I realize that yes, I sound pretty good, and yes, there's someone sitting here, watching me, listening to my words, coming into my warmth and pushing me to my limit—oh, the sexual double entendre, especially in Granville's incredibly hot and handsome presence!—do the nerves come back in force, and I finish the last line sounding like a frog, but hey, I sang most of it pretty well, and I only flaked out on the last line.
Better. Yes?
I turn to ask Granville if he thought it was better, but his lips immediately claim mine and his arms go around me, pulling me close. This time, his lips are hotter, more insistent, and I move mine under his. He teases my lips apart with his tongue. God. It's good. It's really good. We kiss for long, long moments, both of us reluctant to part, but when we do, we're breathing heavily.
“I want to hear the whole thing now,” he says.
I play it for him and sing it, too, with my ragged, aroused voice, and somehow, the feel and sound of my own voice when I feel aroused helps more of my shyness to fall away. There's only the slightest quaver as I sing all three verses, plus the chorus, and I repeat the chorus again, emphasizing it with some power bass on the piano:
Home is in your eyes and in your arms and in your touch
I never would have thought that I could need someone so much.
The song mirrors my feelings, how I feel at home with Granville, the tender way he looks at me, the kind and respectful way he treats me, and I marvel at how much I have come to need him to help me feel I'm more than just shy, fucked-up Frannie and that perhaps, with time, I can be somebody who can add to the sum total of awesomeness in the world.
I finish the song and sag sideways against him, blushing fiercely. He takes me in his arms and holds me close, kissing my forehead and the top of my head. Then he tips my face up towards his and his lips claim mine again. He murmurs against them, “You're amazing. You're absolutely amazing. Thank you for sharing your beautiful self with me.”
I can't respond because inexplicably, my eyes are full of hot tears. I keep kissing him, but I can't keep the tears from falling, and as we kiss, he feels them as they wet his cheeks as well. He pulls away from me slightly and looks into my eyes. “Are you okay?”
I pull him close. “Yeah. I'm more than okay. I feel as though I've turned a corner in my life. No, busted a hole in a thick wall that's always held me back. And you helped me bust it. You helped me walk through.”
He kisses my forehead, my cheeks, then my lips again. “You busted through with your own talent. I just showed you the weak spot in the wall.”
“What's my wall's weak spot?”
“Appreciation. Feeling appreciated for who you are. Encouragement. And consistency.”
“It makes sense,” I say. Jake's the only other person, other than Dad, who has ever appreciated me for who I am, but he hasn't been able to reach me quite like this since he's so enmeshed with Mom and all their drama. And Granville is a little older than Jake and me. He's twenty-three and a graduate student. Only five years older than me, but those five years must count for a lot with experience. I've found his patience and maturity incredibly helpful.
“Frannie, do you think you might be up to trying something?”
Fear fills me again, damn it. “What?”
“I was wondering if you'd like to come to the Old Grind Coffeehouse Friday night and do some karaoke with me.”
I stare at him, disbelieving. He's got to be kidding. Isn't he?
“You wouldn't be up there by yourself,” he says. “I'll be up there with you, and we'll sing together. Do a song we're both comfortable with.”
What a challenge, and a good opportunity, too. If I'm serious about becoming a singer-songwriter, I need to take this chance. Granville being up there with me will be a great help. I'll feel shy, yeah, but if I become frightened and my voice gets weak, I can lean on him. If I choke, he can carry things until I recover. And with his encouragement and kindness, I'm sure to recover. And hey, I might not even choke.
As scary—no, terrifying—as it sounds, I need to do this.
“Okay,” I say softly, still scarcely daring to believe I'm fighting back against my shyness like this.
“Okay?” he repeats playfully, kissing me tenderly on the nose. “You're adorable, you know that?”
I look away and shake my head, blushing again, but a grin spreads over my face like rising sunshine.
“If you'd like to give it to me, I'd love to have your cell phone number,” he says. “We could talk a bit, do some texting. Would you like that? Maybe we'll want to get together somewhere other than a practice room one of these days.”
I nod and feel my grin widening.
“And we'll keep up our morning meetings. What do you say?”
“Yes,” I say, giggling. “I mean, I like our meetings.” How silly I sound! But I don't want to be hard on myself for getting flustered and saying goofy things. Granville isn't hard on me for it, so maybe I should give myself a break.
Hey, I actually did it. I sang in front of someone else, and I did okay. It's a step in the right direction. I have never felt like this, not ever before in my life. I feel powerful. Like a person who is capable of great things.
Perhaps there's hope for me yet.
Chapter Seven (Jake)
I'm so fucking jealous. But who am I kidding? I have only myself to blame. Did I really think Wildflower would go along forever without a boyfriend, then somehow wind up back with me? I know she's still attracted to me, just like I am to
her, but she doesn't know why I broke up with her. Now, she could be lost to me forever, lost to that Granville Watts guy who comes in to listen to her play piano every morning.
I used to feel intimidated listening to her play the piano. Her classical training really is formidable, and next to her chops, I felt like a redneck hick. Exactly what her mom thinks I am, of course. But I can pick, to be sure; I can pick a banjo, a mandolin, a guitar, all three of them, and I'm totally self-taught, raw talent without a lick of formal training. Wildflower tells me that's stupendously amazing.
I guess it is pretty cool.
For the last year, I've been doing a good job with Kelsey and Ty. We're the Hickory Hollow Boys, and we're starting to get a name around here. All around the region, in fact. Wildflower has been so proud. Going to our gigs, watching us play with stars in her eyes.
Now, though, she's with this super brainy science major who also plays music, and from what I understand, he's really good at piano and keyboards, like she is. He's in college, too, which means he's surely going to be a lot more acceptable to her mother than I am. A college guy. Probably going to be a scientist of some sort while his band makes a million dollars on the side.
God damn it. Just god damn it.
If he's better for her, then who am I to try to mess things up?
Except it hurts. Because damn it, I still love her.
If her mom hadn't interfered, we'd probably still be together. But maybe not. I don't know. Her mom has always made me feel like I'm not good enough for her, but it isn't just her mom that makes me feel that way. I make me feel that way. My upbringing makes me feel that way. Wildflower and I are from two very different backgrounds. I worry about the part of me that's like my father, angry and resentful of people who have money, privilege, and more ease in life. I can't lie; there's some of the same resentment in me, too. And what if Wildflower and I got back together, married and had kids, then I wound up making her as anxious and unhappy as my dad makes my mom?
That's the last thing I want. She's a gentle spirit like Mom. Strong in her way, but gentle, too. She needs someone who won't make her anxious and unhappy.
Have I ever made her anxious and unhappy? I don't think so. I hope not. I've never done anything like that on purpose. But if I have enough of my dad in me, then how could I keep things from turning out that way?
I don't see how I could.
Still, I need to talk to her. I want to see her.
I worry I'm not good enough for her. But I also can't stand the thought of her taking up with this Granville Watts guy and being lost to me forever.
I get in my truck and drive to her dorm. She's got to be there. She's probably studying. I won't keep her long. I just want to see how I feel when I'm with her. The love will still be there, the attraction will still be there. What I need, though, is to see if I can let her go.
I don't know if I can.
Maybe, just maybe, she doesn't want to let go, either.
If I see evidence that the other guy is better for her, then I'll have to let her go. It makes no sense for me to hurt either her or myself by hanging on.
Chapter Eight (Frannie)
I'm studying Monday evening—thank goodness Andrea is out of the room; she's studying down the hall with Tabby—when my cell phone plays Mozart. I reach over to grab it off my desk. Maybe it's Granville. I've been wondering when he might call. But no, it's Jake. A battalion of butterflies takes flight in my stomach. Jake had sounded weird this morning. I would swear he was jealous. But why did he break up with me a year ago, if he has such strong feelings for me in that way?
Maybe he's just calling me to touch base.
“Hi, Jake.”
“Wildflower.” His voice sounds gruff, as though he's stressed.
“What's up?”
“Can you come out and take a drive for a while?”
I have a report to write and a quiz to study for, but I've gotten a lot of other things done, and I could use the break. Besides, I want to see Jake. Regardless of anything else, I love seeing him. “Yes. When will you be by?”
“I'm outside your dorm right now.”
Oh, wow. “Okay. I'll be right out, then.”
I run outside and hop into Jake's old seventies model truck. He uses it for his gigs, so lately we've been calling it the Hickory Hollow Mobile, though he's been driving it since he was a junior in high school.
He looks at me, his eyes seeming darker than usual, and they're already quite dark brown. He looks like he's got a lot on his mind.
“Jake, what's wrong?”
He doesn't answer, just pulls away from the dorm building, drives off campus, and heads for the highway heading out of town.
“Where are we going?”
“I thought we'd go to the lake for a while.”
“Sounds good to me.” I see that Jake has his guitar with him. Maybe I'll be brave enough to sing with him today, if he sings. I don't know if he'll sing, though. He seems far away from a singing mood.
We're silent as we drive to the lake. When we get there, we park away from the main parking lot. Jake doesn't get out of his truck. He just sits there. We both sit for several long moments before I finally say, “What's on your mind? You seem like something's really bugging you.”
He looks at me, and his expression seems almost tortured. “How did today go?”
“What?”
“I was just wondering how your day went.”
“Just a day like every other day. Classes, studying. That's pretty much it, except...” An image of Granville from this morning flashes into my mind, along with my feeling of triumph from having sung for him, with him in the room watching, and his wonderful kiss that had made me tingle and feel so warm, appreciated, and alive. From head to toe.
One corner of his mouth turns down. “So something happened between you.”
“What?” I say. But I know what he's talking about. He's jealous. Why he broke up with me last year, I can't understand. He's so jealous, he's sizzling in it.
“Oh, Jake.” I want so much to cuddle up in his arms, the way I used to do the year we dated. “What is it? What's the matter?”
He turns away from me, his jaw tightening. “Nothing.” His big hands clench on the steering wheel as though he'd like nothing more than to crush it into dust.
“We're best friends. We can talk. No matter what. Please tell me what's the matter.”
He looks at me then, and his eyes appear as dark fire. Whatever this is, it's really getting to him. But he still says nothing.
“Yes, something happened with me and Granville today,” I say, deciding to spit it all out. He needs to know the whole deal. “We kissed in the practice room. He's interested in me. And I like him, too. And something else happened. He's really been encouraging me with my singing and playing. He's gotten me to play my songs and sing for him while he stands in the hall, because he figured out how shy I am, but he doesn't give me a hard time about it. And today, for the first time, I sang while he was in the room. I did okay. And he asked me to go to karaoke with him Friday.”
He looks away from me then, but not before I see hurt suffuse his expression like a bloody wound. He's silent for a long moment.
“Wildflower,” he finally says. “Do you know how many times I've tried to get you to sing with me? All the years I've tried to help you with it? But you never would sing with me. Or for me. And you've already done it for that guy. Well, I guess it just proves what I've thought all along.”
“What are you talking about? What have you thought all along?”
He shakes his head, refusing me an answer.
I don't know what he's talking about, but everything I say seems to hurt him more and more, though I'm trying to be as honest as I can be about what's going on in my life and in my heart. I want to be completely honest and tell him I still love him and that I wish we hadn't broken up. But I also want to tell him that if we can't be together, for whatever reason, I need to feel free to explore possibilitie
s with Granville.
“I've hurt you,” I say. “I'm sorry. But if I can't talk to you, who can I talk to? You're the only person I'm close to.”
“Except for him,” Jake bites out. “Granville Watts.”
He's really angry. But he isn't angry at me. Whenever he looks at me, his eyes are fierce, yes, but his anger is directed elsewhere. At himself? Maybe. But that doesn't make sense, either. My mind whirls with confusion, and yes, desire. Because I still desire Jake, too.
I have feelings for both of them, Jake and Granville.
“Yes, Granville's my friend,” I say. “He's a new friend. But you and I have known each other for years. I don't want to lose you as a friend just because I might date someone else.” And I might as well say it. “If you're bothered by it, then why on earth did you tell me we needed space last year? If you hadn't broken up with me, we might still be–”
He holds up a hand. “You deserve better than me, Wildflower.”
“I... what?”
He looks at me as though he's trying to decide what to say. Then he shakes his head again. “Just be careful, okay? He's an older guy, isn't he? Like in his mid-twenties? Why can't he find somebody his own age?”
“It isn't like he's forty years old, for Pete's sake,” I say. “He's twenty-three. And he's nice. Very spiffy...” But seeing the look that spreads over Jake's face, I immediately regret describing Granville as spiffy.
“Is he rich?”
“I don't know...” I trail off, feeling guilty. I'm lying. Granville definitely comes from a wealthy family. Though he hasn't told me that in so many words, it rolls off him in the way he talks and dresses, his mannerisms, and the easy way he goes about his days.
That ease is polar opposite of Jake's attitude. Jake is rough and tumble, expects life to be tough, and plows through anyway like a bull in a china shop. He has taught himself all kinds of practical skills. He can fix any kind of vehicle from a car to a truck to a motorcycle. He can do electrical work, plumbing, mechanical work of any kind; you name it, he can do it. His dad is the same way. But they have never had much money, and Jake's mother works odd jobs to help them make ends meet. Jake has three younger brothers, one of whom is in high school, the second in junior high, and the third in elementary school. His family lives in a trailer in Solway next to his dad's garage. Jake moved to an apartment in downtown Knoxville, where he lives with the other two Hickory Hollow Boys, Ty and Kelsey.
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