You'd Be Mine(68)

I can’t know it because then I can’t unknow it.

I raise a hand, my guitar pick still gripped between my sweat-slick fingers, and beam at the crowd as though my heart weren’t broken. They scream and stamp their feet, and it should be gratifying. It sort of is in a detached way, I suppose. “Thank y’all. You’ve been incredible. God bless and good night!”

The lights shut off, revealing only the dim glow of the backstage guides. I place my guitar back on its perch with more care than it requires and, in silence, turn at last to the wings.

Just in time to catch the stricken look on Jefferson’s face as he strides away from me.





27



Annie


I’m back in my trailer when Trina comes knocking.

“You’re up in ten,” she says, letting the door flap shut again.

I rush to the door and swing it open. “Really?”

“Yes, really!” Trina yells over her shoulder.

“But I figured—”

Trina stalls midstride and whips to face me, her blond hair fanning out around her shoulders. “You figured wrong. Stop your pouting. You’re a professional, Annie Mathers, so act like it. Get back out there.”

I take the steps in one and jog to catch up to Trina’s strides. She’s muttering, “Goddamn teenagers. Making moon eyes at each other all summer just to go all duh-rah-ma onstage before the whole world.” She glances sideways at me. “Tell me, what did you hope to accomplish with that display tonight?”

“Me?” I sputter. “You’re the one who said I had to sing it!”

“Obviously I hadn’t realized who it was about, or I wouldn’t have.”

“I tried to tell you…”

Trina stops, placing her hand on my arm. “No, you didn’t. You gave every single excuse except the truth. I could have had him stay out of sight.”

“Is it so bad he saw it? Maybe he couldn’t tell,” I offer, knowing it’s bullshit.

Trina smiles humorlessly. “Oh, he knew. You’re lucky this is the last stop for you two. Tomorrow the headlines will be fraught with speculation, and while you’re riding high on your new album and your fame and Grammy nods or whatever, Clay’s just given his notice.”

“His what?”

“He’s officially out. He’s taking time off. Going back to Indy. Enrolling in college or some such nonsense.”

“College?” I ask faintly.

Trina releases a giant sigh and squeezes my shoulder in an almost affectionate manner. “Look, I’m not really upset with you or even him. Despite what you all think, I care more about you kids than my bankroll. I’ve known Clay needed help, and I’m happy he’s going to get it, and I knew when I heard your little low-budget clips on YouTube that you had your momma’s blinding star power. So do me a favor. Just once, tonight, this last show, let him see the real Annie onstage. He’s already decided to leave, and that’s fine, but more than anything, the kid’s been longing for something real. He’s got the chops. Give him one last taste of what country music is really about.” Her shoulders slither down, and she lowers her voice. “And if you do that, then maybe, just maybe, he’ll find his way back to us one day.”

I think back to the afternoon in June when I’d overhead Jefferson playing in his trailer. I nod. “I can do that.”

We’re at the back stairs now that lead to the stage. Trina releases my arm, and I shuffle up the steps alone. Someone holds out my guitar for me, but I wave them off. I won’t need it for this. I see Kacey and Jason in the wings and come up behind them. Fitz shimmies over to us.

“Ready?”

“Totally,” I say. I see Jefferson circle back to take a swig from his water bottle. “But I have a request…”



* * *



Fitz meets Jefferson in the middle of the stage, passing on my idea. Jefferson’s face brightens as his eyes find mine in the wings. He nods once, easily, and I release a slow breath. Good. This is good.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Jefferson begins. “As with most nights on our summer tour, I’m about to bring out some very special guests to share a song with us. They’ve been our opening band, our lovely eye candy, and by now our very close friends and family … Jason, Kacey, and Annie from Under the Willows!” Another roar of cheering rings out into the navy sky beyond the bright lights of Wrigley. Kacey and Jason run out first, and I follow a little slower, taking it all in. The lights, the sheer massive number of fans, the balmy late-summer air. The scent of spilled beer and fried food. Jefferson glances down at my bare feet and grins, passing me a mic. I shrug before leaning over, as I do, taking in every detail of him as well. This is probably the last time I will ever share the stage with this man.

I swallow thickly before saying, “Are you sure you’re up for one more Johnny and June?”

He wraps a strong arm around me, squeezing my shoulders. “I’d be honored.” He reaches behind himself to pick up an older-model guitar with a slightly unraveled embroidered strap and secures it over his shoulder. “I don’t know if word of our Johnny-and-June duets have reached you all out here in Chi-town, but we thought it’d be an appropriate end to our partnership, so Miss Mathers suggested a little song called ‘Long-Legged Guitar Pickin’ Man.’”