The Perfect Love Song (5 page)

The Unknown Souls were plopped directly in the middle of the concert, unfortunately in about the exact same place as an “intermission” might be in a play or opera. Sadly, the audience, unfamiliar with this band of extreme talent, used this opportunity to get a drink, visit the concession stand, or go to the filthy bathrooms. Those who did stay were talking or making out. Until Jimmy started singing his love song.

Ah, the hush that descended on the auditorium was almost holy. A quietude that caused breath to be held and eyes to open wide without blinking. It was a moment, well, many moments, when only the lyrics and music filled the place. A
common man filling a common place with an uncommon beauty.

Kara and Charlotte were sitting backstage, sipping champagne and listening—they couldn’t see the crowd, but when the quiet descended, they poked their heads out to make sure the stadium had not emptied. Charlotte’s eyes—oh, the beauty of her eyes—when she realized that the song meant for her had filled others with the same bliss.

“They love it,” Kara said.

Charlotte wiped at tears. “They do, don’t they?”

Kara put her arm around her best friend’s shoulder and squeezed.

Jimmy bowed to the applause and returned backstage to see Charlotte. “Hey, girl, they seem to like you.” He kissed her in that soft way he has with her, as if she might break, as if she is the most fragile thing he’s ever held.

She laughed, which is Jimmy’s favorite thing about Charlotte. When she laughs he is filled with such delight he’s unsure whether it’s just too much—all this love is maybe, he sometimes thinks, just too, too much. That is what a man who hasn’t had enough love would think.

“I don’t think it’s me they like,” Charlotte said. “It’s you. Your song.”

“The song is about you.” He kissed her and then held
her face in both his hands. “So if they like the song, they like you.”

“They have no idea, but I’ll believe you,” she said, and cuddled up next to him, placed her fingers through his belt loops, and held fast.

This was the moment when the bald, stout, sweating man came running backstage. His name was Milton Bartholomew, and he was (and is) in charge of these concerts. A concert organizer. An expert in audience response. A man who knows when a song is destined to be a hit.

“Hey,” he said to Jimmy, grabbing him by the forearm. “That song wasn’t on the playlist.”

Jimmy cringed. “Sorry. We substituted at the last minute. I just thought . . . Sorry.”

Milton laughed so loud and long that his face was tinged with purple. “Whatcha apologizing for, son? It was brilliant. Truly brilliant. You wrote it about Christmas, didn’t you? That’s a Christmas song.”

“Um . . . well, really I wrote it for my girlfriend.” Jimmy held Charlotte’s hand in the air.

“No, no, you didn’t. You wrote it about Christmas. It’s the perfect Christmas song.”

“Huh?” Jimmy stared back at Milton, thinking that the man must have had way too much holiday cheer.

“The perfect Christmas song. All about undeserved love. All about letting that Love into your heart to change the world.” Milton’s hands were flying all over the place, as if he were throwing confetti or rose petals.

Jack stepped forward now.

You see there are moments in life when the smallest action leads to the biggest changes. We don’t know—none of us—when those moments are happening. We understand only when we look to the past, and sometimes not even then. This was one of those moments.

“You’re right,” Jack said. “It could be the perfect Christmas song.” He turned to his brother. “It’s true. I didn’t even realize it, but,” Jack turned to Milton, “you’re right. It is the absolutely perfect Christmas song.”

Just then a famous country superstar, Rusk Corbin, walked by, searching for his guitar, and stopped to hear the end of the conversation. “What is?” he asked.

Now, at this moment everyone stopped and stared at Rusk. Jimmy and Jack didn’t answer; Charlotte and Kara were starstruck, and Milton pulled out his cell phone.

Rusk tried again in that deep baritone voice of his that makes all hearts stop for a beat or two: “What’s the perfect Christmas song?”

Milton then realized that the singer was talking, and he
covered the mouthpiece of his phone. “Hey, what’s up, bro? Aren’t you next?”

“I’m just looking for my backup guitar. Is someone going to answer me? What song is the perfect Christmas song?”

Kara found her voice first. “Did you just hear the last song?”

The country star shook his head. “Nope, I was back in the dressing room.”

“Well, Jimmy here,” Kara pulled Jimmy forward, “is the lead singer for the Unknown Souls, and he wrote and sang the most magical song of the night.”

She stopped, embarrassed, realizing that this star was part of the evening’s concert. “Well,” she said, smiling her cutest smile, “so far, anyway.”

“Can I hear it?” Rusk asked.

Milton stepped in now, placing his body between Kara and the star. “Ah, yes, you can. I’ll get you a recording. But you, go . . . You’re on.”

“Happy New Year,” the star said and was gone.

The foursome stared at him as he walked off, and then they all burst into laughter. They had no idea what had just been set in motion. No idea whatsoever. Do any of us ever know what’s been set in motion when it is?

“It’s almost midnight,” Jimmy said.

Jack poured champagne into plastic flutes and handed them around. “This time next year we’ll be married.” He pulled Kara closer. “And we’ll all be together in Ireland.”

“Here’s to next year. To Ireland,” Jimmy said and raised his glass.

Ahya, the best-laid plans . . .

—MAEVE MAHONEY TO KARA LARSON

 

 

 

 

T
he year passed in the way most of our years do pass—with moments that stand out as memories and then with moments that seem insignificant (and aren’t remembered) but somehow add up to a year. Marshside Mama’s Restaurant and Bar was crammed past the fire-code regulations, but no one seemed to care, what with the bluegrass band playing and spring having blossomed in Palmetto Pointe like a full field of wildflowers. Springtime. Ah, the promise of newness it brings to everyone, bearing the smile of hope. My favorite kind of smile.

The crowd spilled outside and onto the patio where Kara and Charlotte sat at a round-top zinc table, leaning toward one another to discuss Kara’s first big paying photo shoot in the morning. When Kara had quit her job on the PGA Tour, she’d fulfilled her dream of going to photography school and working in a studio. Now, finally, she had her first solo job. Night settled over the crowd, candles the only light futilely competing against the brilliant moon.

“Have you told Jack yet?” Charlotte leaned closer, her voice pressing against the other voices and music.

“No, I want to tell him in person,” Kara said. “What other man would understand how it is to get paid for something you love and would do anyway?”

“Me. I’d understand,” a voice said from behind.

Now, of course the girls recognized this voice immediately, yet they didn’t turn; they waited for that brief moment where their eyes met and widened. Kara turned first. “Hey, Peyton,” she said to her ex-fiancé.

“Hey, you.” He hugged Kara, and she, in reflex, hugged him in return.

He stood there looking like the pictures Kara had once taken of him on the golf course—the absolute grand standard-bearer of the handsome athlete. Now, this is how he likes to view himself and how he presents himself. His
gaze moved to Charlotte, and his face hardened into that false smile that goes only as far as the edge of his lips and no farther. “Hello, Charlotte.”

“Hello, Peyton.” She nodded at him, but didn’t move from her seat to greet or hug him.

The awkward silence that comes with a girl seeing her ex-fiancé for the first time since breaking off the engagement filled the area, a silence that demanded someone speak, but no one knowing exactly what to say next.

“So, I wasn’t eavesdropping,” he said. “I was just walking past when I heard you say you got a big photography job.” Peyton grabbed a bar stool from the adjacent table and sat next to Kara, actually in between Kara and Charlotte, turning his back to Charlotte.

Kara scooted her stool closer to the other side so Charlotte wasn’t blocked. “Yes, I was hired to shoot an Easter family reunion next week.”

“So, you really did it, huh? You really went back to photography school and left an entire career behind?”

Charlotte laughed in a sound that was much less like a laugh and much more like a cough. “You kidding me, Peyton? She left a job to start a career.”

He leaned back in his stool and stared at Charlotte with his blue eyes, eyes that held a light that he could turn
on and off at will. Here he turned the light off, leaving Charlotte to stare into blue ice. “I guess that would depend on what you’d call a job or a career, wouldn’t it?”

Kara held up her hand. “Stop it, y’all.”

Peyton saw it then: the engagement ring. He grabbed Kara’s hand and pinched the diamond on either side. “Wow. So you’re engaged already? Less than a year since we broke up? I guess I was right . . . ” He exhaled and stared off into the crowd.

“Right about? . . .” Kara asked in the quietest voice.

“That it was someone else. That your little speech about not loving enough, or not knowing how to love me . . . it was a bunch of . . .” He didn’t finish the sentence, but instead ran his hands through his hair, shaking his head.

“No, Peyton. That’s not it. That’s not entirely true.” Kara lifted her hands in the air. “You know things weren’t . . . right between us.”

“Yeah, and now I know why.” He leaned forward and placed his hand over hers, covering the ring. “Can I ask you a question? I mean, we were in love, or at least I was in love, so can I ask you a question?”

Kara nodded; Charlotte rolled her eyes.

“Is it that guy from the band? The guy you hired for the PGA concert?”

“Yes,” Kara said. “But it’s not the way you make it sound. I’ve known him since childhood. It’s not like I picked up some band guy and let him put a ring on my finger. I’ve loved Jack since I was a kid.”

Peyton shook his head in that motion a father uses when a child comes home with a bad report card, that kind of snarky shake of the head. “Yeah, okay.”

Kara pulled her hand from under his. “Stop, okay? Let’s not say hurtful things. It’s good to see you. How are you?”

“I’m well. If you’ve kept up with my career, you’d see how well.”

“I know how you’re doing there,” Kara said. “I meant how are
you
?”

“I’m okay. I guess this has been harder for me than it has been for you. It’s taken me a while to get my feet back on the ground. I really thought we were
it
. . . you know? Really thought it was forever and if I just waited long enough . . . you’d realize it too, but here you are with a ring on your finger.”

Charlotte stood now. “You know what? I think I’ll go get us a couple drinks at the bar and be right back.” She looked at Kara. “Okay?”

Kara’s eyes widened. “I don’t need another drink. So you can stay.”

Charlotte took the hint and sat back down.

Peyton glanced between the two of them and then fixed his gaze again on Kara. “So, where is your fiancé?”

“He’s on the road . . . ” She looked at Charlotte. “Where are they tonight?”

“Memphis.” Charlotte looked at her cell phone. “They should call soon.”

“They?” Peyton asked.

“Well, Charlotte is dating Jack’s brother, Jimmy.”

“Now, isn’t that nice for both of you? Two best friends. Two brothers. Yep, I’m sure that’s true love, or is it just more convenient?” Peyton said.

“Stop.” Charlotte’s voice was hard, cold, not a voice she uses often. “Can’t you just be happy for us, Peyton?”

“Happy for you? Sure. I’ll try. I’ll try as much as I can with a broken heart. But let me ask you this before I leave.” He took Kara’s hand and lifted it to his lips, kissed the inside of her palm. “Don’t you miss me? Miss us? What we had? I mean, do you really want a life where your husband is gone all the time, singing songs on the road and being screamed at by young girls all over the country? Do you really want that life?”

Kara pulled her hand away, wiped her palm on her jeans. “Yes, I do. That is exactly the life I want.”

Peyton stood. “Guess that’s your choice.”

“Yes,” Kara said. “It is.”

He looked down at her. “I still love you, Kara. If and when you discover that this is not what you want or need, I still love you.” He walked away and toward a group of men at the far side of the patio.

“Let’s get out of here,” Charlotte said, raising her hand for the waitress to bring the check.