Come Rain or Come Shine (31 page)

Was she being too eager, too open? She was a little scared, her heart was racing. But he was special and she was leaving in the morning and it was only a walk . . .

He offered his arm. She took it.

‘Excuse us,' he said, nodding to all, including the dogs.

They walked across the front yard and across the driveway and turned into the moonlit ribbon of the hay road, and there was the music of crickets in the grass and the singing of stars overhead.

‘The light is terrible,' said Doc Harper, ‘but I never got a shot of you two with Dooley's parents, so let's do it.'

She was going to remind her dad about the awkwardness of Dooley having two sets of parents, but it all happened so fast. A lot of people were in the living room during the band break, some getting ready to leave. It was a scramble. Her dad collected Father Tim and Cynthia and had backed them up to the fireplace and was fiddling with his camera. Pauline and Buck were standing only a few feet away. Why hadn't her dad thought this through?

‘Mama, Buck,' said Dooley. ‘Get in here.'

‘Bride and groom in the middle, terrific. A set of parents either side, good, great smiles, here we go.' Flash, flash. ‘Let's do it again, stand a little closer, wonderful, terrific, okay,
back up another inch or two, I've got a shadow here, that's it! Lookin' good!' Flash, flash, flash . . .

‘You're okay drivin' around these mountains at night? I can follow you and your mom to Wesley, make sure you're all right.'

‘Really, we'll be fine,' said Beth. ‘Thanks. Everything was lovely. I loved your great music. I'll love having your CDs.' She wish she hadn't said
love
so many times. She almost said she loved his voice, too; she was a wreck.

‘There's something about weddings,' he said. ‘They kind of shake me up. All that long road ahead—how do two people do that? Maybe it's what Bono said—marriage is like jumpin' off a tall building and discovering you can fly.'

She was flying now—looking into his kind, honest, soulful eyes, and flying.

‘You comin' back anytime soon?'

‘I don't know,' she said. ‘I hope so. I mean, yes.' He was tall like Dooley.

‘You're amazing. I like the way you sing. No tricks.'

‘You don't learn many tricks singing with a choir. You have to do it without tricks. I like the way you sing, too. Really great.' Saying
really great
was insipid. You have a unique style, she might have said, or I like the way you mash the high notes . . .

She had to go, she had to finish packing, she could hardly breathe.

‘I want to start playing my own stuff,' he said.

‘You write, too?'

‘For years. Just haven't been brave enough to put it out there.'

‘You are very brave,' she said. ‘It could have been Pamplona.'

He laughed. ‘Thanks.' He leaned to her and kissed her cheek, and there he went, walking away like a cowboy.

She stood at the door in a kind of daze. She had never sung like that before. She had followed his lead and something happened—she had used her voice in a way that was completely unfamiliar and yet as natural as breathing. It was as if she'd long withheld a secret from herself.

When she was twelve, her voice teacher had sent a note to her parents, alluding in part to
‘the remarkable gift of
Elizabeth's splendid classical soprano.'
Her mother had framed his monogrammed note card, written in a racing and eccentric hand; it had hung in their library for years. Classical. It was official. Tonight had been like discovering a room in her apartment that she'd never seen.

She was going inside when she heard him call her name. He was standing by the porch steps with his guitar case with the decal saying,
You want mustard with that?

‘I was just thinking. I could pick you and your mom up in the morning . . .'

Bugs smacked into lanterns. Lights shimmered in trees.

‘. . . and we could drop off your rental car and . . .'

He would have to send the equipment with the guys and the extra speakers could be shoved to the back of the van to make room for whatever luggage they had. He would sweep it out tonight, definitely, and a little Armor All wouldn't hurt.

He would miss seeing Harley's truck pull into the driveway next door, and taking over the occasional soup to Helene's tenant in the basement.

‘I'll miss you, buddyroe.'

‘Yessir, Rev'rend, it's been a good run out here. But I'll be seein' you 'uns when I come in for supplies an' all.'

‘Remember to put that book in Kenny's car for me.'

‘We tried to git 'em out on Tuesday mornin' instead of afternoon, but I'm glad they won't be any planes flyin' to Oregon on that schedule, this gives 'em more . . .' Harley stopped, aghast. ‘Boy howdy, I've stepped in it now.'

‘Harley, Harley. You sent the tickets!'

‘But don't tell nobody. Nossir, that's our little secret, you hear?'

‘I hear. How in the world? I mean, did you make the reservations? How did you do that?' He couldn't possibly have made plane reservations; that took a university degree.

‘Well, sir, Amber, she'd done a good bit of travelin', she done th' tickets online. I give her a nice tip.'

He breathed out. ‘No more plans to visit Las Vegas?'

‘Plumb over that monkey business,' he said. ‘Miss Pringle wants me to lay out a garden by her back steps. I can do it m' days off.'

He gave Harley a hug with a good bit of backslapping. ‘You're the best.'

‘I figured this would mean a lot to Lace an' Dooley, to th' whole family. I wanted to do somethin' for everybody who's done it all for me. It started with you an' Cynthia takin' me in when I was sick as a cat an' it's went on from there, everybody pitchin' in for ol' Harley.'

‘I'll pitch in for ol' Harley anytime,' he said.

What a wonder. Of all things!

‘Good night, beautiful. Thanks for a wonderful day.' Her dad slipped something into her hand.

A key. A car key!

‘Looks and runs like brand-new,' he said.

She had hoped for something like this, but didn't know. She loved hugging her tall, funny dad. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you!'

‘Leather seats,' said her mom, ‘in your favorite color.'

She also loved hugging her mom, who always smelled so good.

‘With plenty of room for Jack Tyler and Charley,' said her mom, ‘and only five years old!'

The Harpers, herself included, were not fans of the sleek and shining. They drove vintage stuff proudly.

‘How can I ever thank you for everything you've done for me, for us?'

‘Here's how,' said her dad. ‘Love God, be strong, be safe, be happy.' He kissed her cheek. ‘It's parked behind the woodshed. New tires, low mileage, trailer hitch. In the long run—way better than the Caymans.'

Up ahead was a ribbon of taillights, an unusual sight on their dark country road.

‘Looks like when we're leavin' th' county fair,' Mink said.

Mr. Do-Right was sleeping off his behavior in the backseat, along with Rudy, who, quiet as any mouse, was staring out the window to see what the moon was doing.

‘Maybe we should have a renewal ceremony,' said Honey.

Danny popped up from his doze. ‘What's a renewal ceremony?'

‘Or maybe not,' said Honey.

‘You know we'll come when needed,' he told Lace and Dooley.

‘And occasionally,' said Cynthia, ‘when not needed!'

He would house-sit, babysit, cattle-sit, dog-sit—you name
it. Indeed he would be volunteering to sit something for the rest of his life. It was the very job he had always wanted.