My Favorite Souvenir(38)

Fretty held his hands up. He had the raspy voice of a guy who had smoked two packs a day for forty years. “I wasn’t trying to make time with your girl. Druker told me someone was looking to borrow a guitar. He said to find the prettiest girl in the room and give it to the lucky bastard by her side.”

I winked at Maddie. “I guess it wasn’t too hard to find me then.”

Fretty stood. “I got an old Rosewood Martin, if you’d like to take her for a spin.”

“Yeah. Incredible guitar. That would be great. Thanks.”

He held up one finger. “I have one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You let me play while you sing one of your songs.” He reached up and touched his throat. “Damaged my cords and can’t belt ’em out anymore. But I still love to get on stage.”

“Sure. Of course. I picked out three songs. But if you don’t know any of them, we can swap one out.”

The old man smiled. “Trust me. I’ll know ’em.”

Maddie and I listened to four performers, all of which were pretty damn good, before the host called my name—well, he called Milo Hooker anyway.

I met Fretty at the host station, and we decided he was going to join me for my first song. So I got up on stage and walked over to the piano to play while Fretty took a seat toward the back with his guitar, out of the limelight.

“Good evening, everyone.” I adjusted the microphone up a little. “My name is Milo. I’m going to play you a few songs. My buddy Fretty will be joining me for the first one. This song goes out to a very special Hooker in the audience tonight. It’s a song I’ve sung for years, but tonight it seems to have new meaning for me. I hope you all enjoy it.”

I stretched my fingers a few times before playing the first notes of Lenny Kravitz’s “I’ll Be Waiting.” It wasn’t really a song to get the crowd going, because most people weren’t too familiar with it. But that wasn’t what tonight was about. I finally felt like being on stage again, after four long years. To me, singing is an opportunity to say all the things most of us are too chicken shit to spout off in real life. Words are all puzzle pieces, and music clicks them into place to show the big picture. Pretty soon, I knew my time with Maddie would be coming to an end, and I wanted her to know how I was feeling. The lyrics started off explaining how a guy broke a woman’s heart and she needed some time. But the chorus was all about how he’d be waiting for her to be ready.

When I was done, I looked up from behind the piano for the first time and found Maddie smiling wide, but she also had tears streaming down her face. It made my heart so full. I pointed to my own smiling lips and traced imaginary tears down my cheeks. Her eyes widened when she caught on, and her smile grew bigger, if that were even possible.

If nothing else came out of what we’d started on this trip, I’d at least given her a souvenir to remember from New Orleans—the smile she’d longed to have from her favorite photo.





Chapter 13




* * *



Hazel



While Atlanta was supposed to be our next stop, the flashing lights of a carnival off the highway caught our attention somewhere in Alabama. And since our mantra was that we go wherever the wind takes us, it seemed the wind had a craving for funnel cakes.

And I did also.

Turns out the event was called the Applewood Fair. We’d already spent a few hours here, eating greasy food, playing games, and even enjoying a few of the rides. Milo and I acted like a couple of kids. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had so much fun. Well, yes, I could. Every moment spent with Milo was the last time I’d had fun.

I stuffed a piece of pink cotton candy into my mouth. “I think it’s funny that we don’t even know the name of the town we’re in. Is Applewood the town or just the name of the fair?”

“Maybe we should ask someone.” Milo tapped the shoulder of a woman in front of us. “Excuse me?”

She turned. “Yes?”

“What town is this?”

“You’re in Bumford, son.”

“Not Applewood?”

“No. Applewood is Rusty Applewood, the man who started this fair some fifty years ago.”

He nodded. “Got it. Thank you.”

“Did she say we’re in Bumfuck?” I joked as the woman walked away.

“Basically. Bumford.”

A little while later, the sun had gone down, and we’d pretty much had our fill of the carnival. I yawned. “It’s getting late. Want to just find a place to crash here in Bumford tonight?”

“I don’t mind driving, if you want to keep going toward Atlanta.”

I shrugged. “Eh, I kind of just want to stay, if you don’t mind?”

I was starting to fear the looming end of our adventure. If there was an opportunity to stall, I’d take it. Staying overnight here would mean an extra day in the end. It wasn’t about Bumford. It was about getting to spend time with Milo.

I wasn’t about to admit any of that, though, so I tried to come up with an alternate explanation. “This place reminds me of something out of a Hallmark movie. You know, the small town where the heroine always gets sent to by her corporate job to fix some problem or raise money. Then she falls in love with a Christmas tree farmer who drives a red truck, and she somehow ends up settling in the town at the end. This is that kind of place.”