Marking Time (11 page)

“A buddy of mine from college bartends here,” Ashton said when he’d parked the car on the street. “Let’s see if he’s working.”

Kate followed him into a dark hole in the wall where the smell of smoke and stale beer mixed with music coming from a stage in the back of the large open room. Two bars were doing land-office business on the first floor. A sign on the wall over one of the bars said, “Everyone welcome: Be’s, Used to Be’s, Might Be’s, Never Gonna Be’s.”

The walls were littered with framed photos of country music royalty, many of them posing with a massive black woman who had to be Mabel herself. Interspersed among the photos were gold records, musical instruments, and framed copies of handwritten songs. Ashton took Kate’s hand to keep her with him as they navigated the Sunday afternoon crowd. He led her to the second floor, where a lone guitarist performed on yet another stage.

Ashton tugged Kate along with him and waved to the bartender. “This is Butch Cassidy,” Ashton hollered over the noise.

“That is
not
your name,” Kate said to the jovial bartender. He had close-cropped curly dark hair and mischievous blue eyes.

Butch grinned and reached out to shake her hand. “What can I say? My mother had a sense of humor.”

Not sure whether to believe either of them, Kate shook his hand.

“What can I get you?” Butch asked. They had to yell to be heard over the crowd and the music.

“Couple of beers?” Ashton said, looking at Kate.

“Just a Diet Coke for me.”

“Kate is a new transplant from Rhode Island. She’s here to strike gold.” Ashton had lost the hint of cynicism he’d had before she sang for him.

“Aren’t they all?” Butch nodded to the room full of people as he drew a beer for Ashton from the tap. “Wanna be’s. Every one of ’em.”

“This one might be different,” Ashton said with an appreciative glance at Kate. “She’s got some pipes.”

“Oh yeah? How’d you get hooked up with this guy?” Butch had the same middle Tennessee drawl as Ashton.

“Our dads are friends. I applied for a job here. Who do I need to talk to?”

“Charlie Sledge is the manager. He’ll be here tomorrow morning. What’s your last name? I’ll put in a word for you.”

“Harrington.”

“Kate Harrington,” Butch said. “I’ll remember that. Maybe someday I’ll be able to say I met you the day you landed in Nashville.”

“Maybe so,” Kate said, taking in the chaos that was Mabel’s, filled with the satisfaction of being
exactly
where she wanted to be.

On Monday, Kate arrived at the five-thirty sign-up time to sing at open-mic night at the Bluebird but didn’t make it on stage that night. They gave her a “play next time” ticket. She planned to go back the following Monday, and Reid and Ashton promised to come cheer her on. Jack surprised Kate with tickets to the Tuesday evening show at the Grand Ole Opry and invited the Matthews to go with them. Kate loved the show, which was made up of a talented group of unknowns and a surprise appearance by Vince Gill. Reid said he hadn’t been to the Opry in more than fifteen years and thanked Jack and Kate for giving him an excuse to play tourist in his hometown.

With Butch’s help, Kate landed a job busing tables at Mabel’s and was due to start in a few days.

By the time Friday rolled around, her father had helped to get her settled into the apartment at the Westchester. They turned in the U-Haul and spent the next two days playing tourist. They’d been through the Country Music Hall of Fame, listened to jazz at F. Scott’s, visited Belmont Plantation, and made the rounds of the music industry’s hot spots, including the Bluebird, the In & Out, and Tootsie’s.

Before they left Kate’s apartment for the Nashville International Airport, Jack handed her a gift bag.

“What’s this?”

“Just a few things to make it possible for me to sleep at night while you’re here.”

Kate laughed when she pulled a can of mace and a panic button out of the bag. “A safety goody bag. Thank you.” He’d already given her a credit card to use for anything she needed.

“I want you to keep that stuff with you all the time, do you hear me?”

She patted his cheek. “I will. I hope you won’t be worried every second of every day. You can’t do that.”

“I’ll try to behave and leave you alone, but you have to call. Often. If you don’t, I’ll worry.”

“I have a feeling I’m going to be pretty homesick for a while. You’ll get tired of hearing from me.”

He pulled her into a tight hug. “Never,” he whispered.

Before she could give in to the urge to cry her eyes out, Kate drew back from him. “We’d better go.”

They drove the short distance to the airport in silence. Kate took a ticket at the short-term parking lot so she could walk him in.

When she couldn’t go any farther with him, he turned to her. “You know where I am if you need anything, right?”

With her hands on his chest, she looked up at him. “I always know where you are. I want you to try very hard not to worry.”

“Be careful who you trust here, Kate. This is a tough town. They chew up little girls like you and spit them out. Don’t get sucked into all that crap. Reid and Ashton both have my card. They know to call me if they see you heading for any kind of trouble.”

“Spies, huh?” Kate asked with a grin. She expected nothing less from him.

“No, friends. Keep in touch with them. They’re good people.”

“I will.” She clung to him much longer than she’d planned to, and when she was finally able to let him go, she wasn’t surprised to see tears in his eyes, too. “Do you remember my favorite movie when I was little?”

“Of course I do. I must’ve watched
The Wizard of Oz
a hundred times with you.”

“Then you’ll remember what Dorothy said to the Scarecrow when she was leaving Oz. I think I’ll miss you most of all.”

He hugged her hard and made no attempt to hide his tears. “I love you, I’ll miss you, and if I don’t go right now, I’ll never be able to leave you here.”

“I love you, too. Go.” She gave him a nudge and watched him move through security.

When he got to the other side, he turned and waved one last time.

She blew him a kiss. Then he was gone, and she was alone in Nashville.

I
n Rhode Island, Clare made final preparations for her trip north. Her mother helped her work through a giant to-do list that included forwarding her mail, temporarily canceling her cable TV, checking in with Dr. Langston, and having the Volvo serviced. While she received a clean bill of health, the old Volvo wasn’t so lucky. When the mechanics identified several major problems with the car, Clare gave in and bought a new one. She chose another burgundy Volvo with four-wheel drive and a ski rack, so she could bring the girls’ skis with her to Vermont.

By Wednesday, she was finally ready to make the five-hour trek north. She spent her final night at home with her mother and Maggie. Her mother left early Wednesday morning to go home to Hartford, and Clare thanked her profusely for her company and help over the last few months.

With her new car loaded to the gills, Clare planned to hit the road after she dropped Maggie off at school.

“I’ll see you right after Christmas, okay?” she said to Maggie as they arrived at school. Maggie and Jill were coming to Vermont for a week during their holiday vacation.

“I can’t wait to ski,” Maggie said.

“I’m sorry I’ll miss the holidays and your birthday, but we’ll celebrate when you come up. I promise.”

“Okay. Well, I’d better get in there.” Maggie glanced out the window at the flood of students heading into the school.

Clare battled a flood of memories as she leaned over to hug her daughter. “Be good for Dad and Andi. I love you.”

“Love you, too. I’ll call you.”

“You’d better,” Clare said with a smile.

Maggie got out, closed the door, and waved from the curb.

Clare indulged in a mini pity-party but pulled herself together by the time she reached the Newport Bridge. It was out of her way to take the bridge north to Boston, but something about that bridge symbolized home and, in this case, leaving home. She could never leave Newport forever, at least not as long as Maggie still lived there, but there was something so necessary about what she was doing that she couldn’t help being anxious to get to Vermont and get settled. Dr. Baker’s words kept replaying in her mind—
now is the time to take care of you so you can be there for your daughters when they need you
.

The radio kept her company as she left Providence, northern Rhode Island, and southern Massachusetts in her wake. Within ninety minutes, the Boston skyline appeared in the distance, reminding Clare as it always did of Jack taking her to the “Top of the Pru” for the first time. The Prudential building was one of Boston’s most recognizable landmarks.

Since her muscles were beginning to stiffen from sitting so long, she decided to stop in the city to take a walk through her old Beacon Hill neighborhood. She took the Storrow Drive exit and parked on Newberry Street. Pulling her winter coat tight around her, Clare set off down Newberry, comforted that little had changed in the pretty, historic area where she and Jack had lived as newlyweds. The narrow cobblestone streets, gas-powered street lamps, and brick-front townhouses were exactly as she remembered them. There were memories here, too, but they were good ones.

Wandering along Beacon Street, Clare came upon the three-story brick house where they’d had an apartment on the third floor. Standing on the sidewalk looking up, she could still remember every detail of the place. Jack had worked then for Jamie’s father, the world-renowned architect Neil Booth, and could walk to his office from their apartment. Clare, who had been a substitute teacher in the Boston school system, often met him halfway home when they would have dinner in one of the cozy restaurants or take a long walk through the Boston Commons. Glancing to the far end of Beacon, she spotted the Citgo sign that hung over the outfield at Fenway Park and remembered spending many a summer evening eating hotdogs and popcorn in the bleachers when the Red Sox played at home.

She recalled Jack’s excitement on the night they learned she was finally pregnant. They’d been trying for more than a year and had begun to wonder if something was wrong when along came Jill, followed just over a year later by Kate. She had been pregnant with Jill when they moved to Newport, but Clare had never forgotten those early years in Boston when it had been just her and Jack.

With a wistful last look at the Beacon Street house, she walked back to her car. Energized by her walk, she drove through the city to pick up Interstate 93 north. Oddly enough, though, she felt energized rather than saddened by the visit to their old neighborhood.

Progress.

Clare arrived in Stowe, Vermont, just after three that afternoon. Mount Mansfield loomed in the distance as she drove into the picturesque town. The sidewalks were filled with early season skiers wearing snow pants, parkas, hats, and boots. Following her brother Tony’s directions, Clare drove to the far end of town, past town hall, the general store, a bookstore, several antique dealers, a coffee shop, a church with a white steeple, and a grocery store.

A minute later, she pulled up to a two-story shingled colonial with a wide front porch and bright red shutters. Clare was pleased that the house was within walking distance of town.

She got out of the car to air that was significantly colder than it had been at home and in Boston. On the front porch, she tipped a clay pot to find the key right where Tony had said it would be. The inside was cozy, if somewhat dilapidated. She could see right away that while the place was warm and inviting, it needed work. The paint looked like it had seen better days, and the hardwood floors were in bad need of refinishing. The kitchen and downstairs bathroom were outdated. The second floor had four bedrooms and two bathrooms and was in slightly better shape but still in need of work.

Shelves around the television in the living room were filled with movies and books left by the former owners who had used the house as a ski rental. The rooms were furnished in what Tony had called “ski house chic,” which Clare now realized meant a hodgepodge of furniture, none of which went with anything else. Tony and his wife Miranda had bought the house as an investment with hopes of using it as a weekend getaway. But Tony hadn’t counted on getting mired in one of Connecticut’s messiest murder trials in decades. As the district attorney in Hartford, he wouldn’t be getting away much in the next year, and they were grateful for Clare’s willingness to oversee the renovations.

She turned up the heat and went out to unload the car. An hour later she had taken up residence in the second-floor master bedroom, which included a bathroom and a view of the Stowe Community Church’s white steeple. After she unpacked, she left a message with the property management firm that cared for the house to let them know she’d arrived. When her stomach let her know it was dinnertime, Clare decided to drive back into town to find something to eat. She would conquer the grocery store in the morning.

A diner called McHugh’s looked inviting, so she parked down the block and window-shopped her way to the restaurant. Once inside McHugh’s, she sat at the counter, and ordered a cup of coffee and the beef stew from the list of specials.

Clare’s mouth watered when the waitress set the bowl of steaming stew down in front of her.

“Enjoy,” she said and went to wait on other customers.

When she came back a few minutes later, Clare was nearly done eating. “I hated it.”

The waitress laughed. “I see that. Are you new in town?”

“I am. I just arrived this afternoon.”

“Where are you staying?”

“My brother has a house on Maple Street. I’m staying there for a few months.”

“Well, you picked the right time of year to be in Stowe. This is when all the action happens.”

“I’m looking forward to it. My daughters ski, and they’ll be up to visit.”

“Where are you from?”

“Newport, Rhode Island.”