You'd Be Mine(61)

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When I was fifteen and my granddad was sick, I got into trouble with a couple of no-accounts at school. We were cutting class and smoking pot behind the auto garage, and when the principal called home, he got Danny, fresh home from basic training.

I’ll never forget sitting on the bench outside the office when my big brother showed up. He was in civilian clothes, but it didn’t matter. He was different from his head clear down to his toes—as though he were somehow taller and bore the world on his shoulders. His jaw was set, and his eyes were steely as he approached, but he barely spared me a glance before striding into the office, closing the door behind him. Less than a minute later, he was in front of me. He picked up my bag and slung it over his shoulder. Danny was halfway down the hall before I realized I was supposed to follow him.

He remained silent as he got in his truck. In dead quiet, he pulled out of the lot and drove us through town. I reached for the radio, and he smacked my hand.

By the time we pulled into our driveway, I was ready to make a run for it, convinced he was gonna kick my ass with his newly honed Marine skills. He turned off the ignition and stared straight ahead. That’s when I saw it: the tic in his jaw, the twitch in his whiskered cheek.

Then I heard the snort.

My stupid brother was laughing at me. Red-faced and clutching at his gut. He was howling and sputtering. “Your face!” was all he said.

I tried to punch him in the arm, but there was nothing in it. I was just so relieved he wasn’t going to kill me. Soon I was laughing just as hard.

When he died down, he turned to me, his eyes still full of mirth. “Did I ever tell you about the time Fitz and I got caught drinking Granddad’s old scotch behind Autos?”

My eyes were saucers.

Danny smiled at the memory. “Drunk as two skunks. Diana Foster had just turned both of us down for prom, and so I snuck home at lunch and broke into the liquor cabinet.”

“You guys asked the same girl to prom?”

Danny grinned. “It was a bet. We both lost.”

“And scotch?”

He grimaced then. “Yeah, it was disgusting. We got caught because Fitz couldn’t stop puking. I thought he was dying.”

I started snickering now. “You turned yourselves in?”

“I thought he was dying!” he repeats. “And I was three sheets to the wind. There was no convincing me otherwise. I ran straight for the dean and begged him to call 911. Thank God he didn’t. He followed me out behind the Autos and force-fed us day-old sub sandwiches from the cafeteria.”

“You didn’t get into trouble?”

Danny shrugged. “He figured we had scared the living daylights out of ourselves and the hangover was punishment enough. Then he warned if we weren’t early for school the next morning, we’d be suspended.”

“Man,” I said. “He was ready to suspend me, and I wasn’t even drunk.”

“Nah, he wasn’t gonna suspend you. I knew once he saw I was back, he’d relent.”

“What are you gonna do?” I scoffed. “You’ll be leaving again soon.”

This time, Danny turned to me fully. “You need to cut the shit, Jefferson. You can’t be smoking drugs.”

“Watch me,” I mumbled.

“Granddad is dying, and I’m leaving, as you helpfully pointed out. I have to. We need the money, and being a soldier is all I’ve ever been good for. But you? Damn it, Jeff. You can do better. Get the fuck out of here. You’re special. Don’t waste your life away in this town. Those guys you were caught with? They will die here having accomplished and contributed nothing. Don’t be them. You’ve got a gift.”

I rolled my eyes. “No one makes a living playing guitar, Danny.”

“You will,” he told me seriously. “You make people feel things with your music. Don’t you dare take that for granted.”



* * *



It’s Friday, and I’m revving up the John Deere once again when Annie’s grandfather comes up behind me with a slight tap on my shoulder. He holds out an older model, slim iPod between his fingers attached to a set of large headphones.

“It belongs to Annie. I offered to bring it out so I could talk to you.”

I swallow and nod, taking the small, outdated device.

“She thinks you’re worth saving. Are you?”

The air gushes out of my lungs at his frank question. I shake my head but look him in the eyes. “I want to be, sir.”

His stare softens, just barely. “My Cora was intoxicated with fame. She didn’t want to be saved. She wanted to dance with the devil.”

I wait him out.

“Everyone thinks I don’t see things because I’m old and I don’t run off at the mouth every chance I get. But I watched you and my granddaughter onstage. I know she’s afraid of following her momma’s path, but there’s a difference. Annie won’t dance with the devil. Annie wants to save his soul.”

I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure I like what he’s alluding to. “I don’t want to be the devil in this scenario or any scenario, sir.”

Pops puts one gnarled hand on my shoulder and squeezes with a surprising amount of strength. “Good. Don’t be.”

A humorless chuckle erupts from the back of my throat, and my head is shaking again. As if it could shake the messed-up grief and rage right out of my brain. “I don’t know who I am anymore. I used to be a grandson and a brother and a son and a singer, and now I’m just a fuckup. Excuse me.” I rush to apologize, remembering my audience.