Sweet Talk Me (24 page)

True tugged at her paper napkin. “I think she has the right to know who her father is. But until we find out, I’m not even considering it.”

“Are you actively trying to figure out who he is?”

She shook her head. “I don’t see the point. I’m afraid it would shake her up badly. And she’s doing so well right now.”

“I agree.” He stood and reached out his hand. “Come on. Let’s go dance. We need to celebrate. Not stress. Weezie’s on her way.”

True laughed. “She is, isn’t she? The world had better watch out.”

“Amen.” He drew her up and wrapped her hand in his arm. A lot of people looked their way, so he exuded the worldly opera lover Terence Jones as best he could. Surely they were admiring True and not wondering if he was Harrison Gamble. She was breathtaking whatever she wore, but tonight she was a real stunner.

They made sure to steer clear of Weezie when they got out on the dance floor. A current pop hit was playing, but they caught only the tail end, just long enough for Harrison to make a fool of himself, folding his arms behind his head and rolling his belly.

“Stop!” True was laughing so hard that when the song ended, she leaned on his chest to catch her breath. “You’re an idiot sometimes.”

“I’m Terence Jones,” he said, not cracking a smile.

“See you at the table.” She grinned and pushed off his chest, not giving him the time of day anymore. She used to do that when they were kids, too. She’d be all played out and want to go home. But he always managed to get her back.

“Crazy,” by Patsy Cline, started playing, and Harrison grabbed her hand. “You’re not escaping. This song’s too good to sit down to.”

She pursed her lips a little.

“It sure is refreshing to be rebuffed so openly.” He paused a beat. “
Not
.”

“Do all country music superstars have such fragile egos?” Reluctantly, she lifted her arms around his neck.

Yowza
, was all he could think. True Maybank’s arms were around his neck for the first time in ten years. And it felt better then he ever thought it would.

“Yes,” he said, “it’s a prerequisite for the job. It’s the only way we can feel tortured enough to write our music.”

“You weren’t tortured when you wrote ‘Snack on This.’ That’s a happy little song.”

He thought back to when he’d written it. He’d been on autopilot—no particular challenges, nothing special going on in his personal or work life. “It’s a fun song,” he said. “But I wrote it when I was missing you and the boys and Sand Dollar Heaven and all the fun we had in the old days. When we could get happy just buying a candy bar at the pharmacy.”

Wyatt’s. It was such a great place with its spinning leather stools and that big counter to lean on. A boy felt like a man there. You could buy hot dogs, ice cream, soda, and candy with the loose change in your pocket. All you had to do was turn in all the Cheerwine and Coke cans and bottles you found on the side of the road, and in a week or two, you’d have enough to treat yourself. And best of all, if you didn’t have any money, Mr. Wyatt never chased you away if you hung out underneath the striped awning with the other broke kids.

As Patsy sang her heart out, True smiled a little dreamily. “I remember. The first time I ever talked to you was outside Wyatt’s. I was walking into the store with Mama. Gage said something funny.”

“The boys and I were talking about car engines. But then out of the blue Gage said, ‘Take the
D
off the front of Dunkin’ Donuts and put it at the end, and it’s Unkind Donuts.”

They both laughed at the memory.

True pulled back and looked up at him, her eyes twinkling the same way they had that long-ago afternoon. “I remember I said, ‘I didn’t know you had such a funny brother, Harrison Gamble.’ And then Mama dragged me into the store.”

God, he remembered that, too. It was like a lightning bolt had gone straight through his body.

“And that was that.” He pulled her under his chin again. “We became best friends. Crabbing, swimming, playing in the woods.”

She sighed. “The simple pleasures of life are always the best.”

Yeah, like holding you
, Harrison wanted to say. A sense of nostalgia gripped him, so strong he had to close his eyes. Not just for their childhood, but for that special night at the beach.

Their
night—

That had slipped through their fingers.

Had they been crazy to let it go?

True leaned her head carefully on his chest. He burrowed his chin into her hair—God, the feel of her against him!—and let the music take them back to the last time he was happy.

But Patsy’s voice eventually drifted away. People around them began to pull apart. The disc jockey got on the microphone and promised that a door prize would be picked soon.

In the midst of the laughter and chatter, True’s eyes shone with something that made Harrison feel whole. What was it? And why did he want it so badly?

“Harrison?” she whispered like a question.

He was an inch away from kissing her when one of his older hits began to play: “Truckload of Promises.” He wrote it two years after he’d last seen her. He’d been hungry for success. It muffled the heartache. She’d made her choice, and it hadn’t been him.

Riding high on the seat,

Your laughter’s low and sweet

And you swear you’ll be faithful till the end,

But we know, me and you,

That your promises ain’t true.

They won’t last till we drive around the bend …

As he heard his own voice singing, he thought,
My career.

My music
.

True’s lips parted.

Her wedding.

And he pulled back. But just barely.

“We should sit down.” He barely got out the words.

“Okay,” she murmured back.

And they wended their way back to the table, separate but close, the bright lights away from the dance floor making Harrison squint behind his John Lennon glasses.

At the table, True put her chin in her hand—her eyes not on him but on Weezie, still on the dance floor—and sang along with the chorus:

Truckload a’ promises don’t take me very far,

Hard work, not lies, will see me through.

I got a world to see while strummin’ my guitar,

Truckload a’ promises won’t do …

The irony struck him deep. Did she have any idea the song was about her? ’Cause it was.

But tonight he’d figured something else out, and it wasn’t pretty.

It was about him, too.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

On their way home from the open house, True signaled to Weezie in her visor mirror to take out her earbuds. Weezie looked extra content, probably because her night had gone really well, unlike True’s.

There was no way she could pretend this time there wasn’t something sizzling just below the surface between her and Harrison. If it hadn’t been for him and his restraint, she’d have kissed him on the dance floor. That was bad on her part. Very bad. She refused to blame him for any of it. It was
her
problem.

“What’s up?” Weezie leaned forward between the two front seats.

“I know what I’m going to do for the wedding,” True announced.

“Oh, yeah?” Harrison was being a little removed, as he should be.

And it was lucky for her that he was, because in that gap True had done some hard thinking and come up with a plan. A multifaceted one.

“We’re still going to have the big wedding,” she said. “But I got the number of the guy who catered tonight’s event at Trident Tech, and we’re going to have a barbecue picnic instead of a fancy finger food reception.”

“You
are
?”

That was from Harrison. Was he happy for her? Or simply shocked that she’d made such a bold decision?

She was amazed herself. “He’s going to get his wife to make up more of her tofu strawberry spinach salad for Weezie and whoever else doesn’t like barbecue.” Penn and her lofty expectations didn’t matter anymore. Nor did Dubose’s. Their wedding was on the line.

“I love you, Sister,” Weezie said, which made True grin. “Where’s the picnic going to happen?”

“At home.” True felt so good saying that. “At Maybank Hall. Outside, beneath the two big oak trees.”

“Hallelujah!” yelled Weezie. “Right, Harrison?” She held up her hand to high-five his.

He twisted his right hand around backward to complete the move. “This is big,” he said, sounding über-serious.

Which scared True. It
was
a big deal. But if she was going to carry it off, she had to act like she could handle it. So she laughed. “I know. Right? It was staring me in the face the whole time. And tonight … it just all came together.”

Thanks in large part to Harrison. What he’d said about the simple pleasures of life resonated. As did his suggesting that she cared too much what other people thought. What kind of example was she setting for Weezie, who needed to know that being herself was okay?

However, she wouldn’t thank him specifically for influencing her. She couldn’t afford to open those doors to close friendship again. Some people, she knew now, you simply can’t be close to.

So instead she said, “Thank you both for your support,” then smiled tentatively around the car, like a shy political candidate. She didn’t think those existed. But if one did, he or she would look just the way she did right now.

“You’re very welcome,” Harrison said formally.

He got it, too, the fact that they had to back off from each other. She appreciated his diplomacy. And hated it at the same time.

Maybe he’s acting cool because he’s not happy about this wedding news
, a secret part of her heart whispered.
Maybe he doesn’t want you to marry Dubose
.

Wrong, wrong, wrong. He was plenty happy to see her settled. If he weren’t, he’d have kissed her when he’d had the chance.

“I am
so
glad you’ve made this decision,” Weezie told her. “Except for Dubose being there.”

Harrison looked back in the rearview mirror. “I think your sister gets it, Weezie. You don’t have to keep rubbing it in.”

“All right.” Weezie wore an abashed smile. “I’m just sayin’.”

“I know you love True and want what’s best for her.” Harrison was acting so
mature
at the moment. It was quite unsettling. “But she’s an adult. She makes her own decisions.”

Yes, she did, although his saying so reminded her of some choices she’d made that she still had regrets about.

“Let me tell you about the cake,” she said. Cake was always a happy topic.

“What about it?” Weezie hopped once on her seat.

“I talked to Mrs. Bangor, the head of the culinary department.” True was excited at her own daring. “The students are going to make us cupcakes. Three hundred of them.”

“Cupcakes!” Weezie squealed with delight. “So much better than a big ol’ wedding cake! And from Trident Tech, too!”

“How about the music?” Harrison kept his eyes on the road.

“I’m canceling the string quartet.” True felt no pangs of remorse. “It was supposed to play while everyone has a cocktail and some nibbles as they’re waiting for us to finish up the wedding pictures.” She loved baroque music, but this was a celebration. She wanted something more upbeat, from start to finish.
She
wanted. Not Dubose or Penn. “I’d like to find some fiddlers to play instead. I’m releasing the other band, too. I’m working on getting Booty Call.”

“
Booty Call
?” Harrison inclined a brow.

True felt an unwelcome but wildly strong attraction hearing him say such a sexy phrase.

“You’ve been gone too long,” Weezie told him. “They’re a great cover band.”

“Yes, they are.” True tried to pretend it was Roger, the elderly busboy at Starfish, driving the car to provide relief from her incessant need to glance at Harrison, but it didn’t work. “I checked their schedule on my phone, and that day they’re free. Let’s hope it’s not for personal reasons. I already sent them an email, but I’ll call them tomorrow. They’ll get everyone going on the dance floor, for sure.”

Weezie clapped her hands.

Harrison sent True a sideways glance. “Penn’s just gonna love that.”

“It’s her fault if she has a bad time.”
Let’s get this show on the road
was True’s new motto. She wanted past the uncertainty and straight to the wedding band on her finger. “This reception’s going to be fun. I’m really hoping Booty Call will come through.”

“What about Dubose?” asked Weezie.

True looked back at her sister. “He’ll love it.”

“Or else.” Harrison chuckled rather wickedly.

Weezie cackled in the backseat.

True let them laugh. Harrison wasn’t far wrong. If Dubose gave her grief about trying to save their wedding reception any way she possibly could, then they had a bigger problem to work on. “I’m calling the tent company tomorrow. Hopefully, they’ll have tables, chairs, and a dance floor. If not, I’ll find ’em somewhere.”

“You done good,” Weezie said.

“You’ve certainly figured things out,” echoed Harrison politely.

“Thanks.” True had a reluctant vision of a younger Harrison reaching across the front seat of his pickup truck and taking her hand, squeezing it hard, their fingers locked for miles and miles …

Her contentment.

Their bliss.

“I have an idea about the fiddlers,” Harrison spoke up.

Which brought her down to earth again. Once again, he was helping her pull together her wedding to another man. “What is it?”

“We should talk to Cornelius Dearing,” he said. “He lives up the creek on Pee Dee Island. I remember hanging out with him and his friends in high school. Great bunch of guys. One of ’em plays bass. They play washboard, too. I’ll bet he’s available. He’s not big on paying gigs, but it’s worth a shot.”

“Thanks. I’ll call him tomorrow.”

“He probably doesn’t have a phone. He lives pretty primitive. And that’s a long way around by car. Forty minutes. But by kayak, it’s only ten.”