The Reckoning

by S. L. Scott

  “I know. That’s what worries me.”

  “Don’t be worried. It’s beautiful.” With my hand over my heart, I say, “I’m blown away—the words, the melody, your voice—it’s perfect. I wouldn’t change anything.”

  “Really?” he asks, skeptically.

  “I mean it. It’s perfect. The line about a bird waiting for its song to return… so beautiful.”

  His eyes seem to light under the compliment as I walk to him. His guitar gets propped beside him, making room for me. I sit on his lap and look deeply into his eyes. “I think it may be your best song yet.”

  “I wrote it for you.”

  He’s written other songs for me, but this one is different. This one was his heart singing to mine, a gospel of dedication and promises of an uninterrupted ever after. “Thank you.”

  His forehead touches down on my shoulder and he says, “Thank you.” It’s softly spoken, but I hear it how it’s intended, personal and sweet, and full of meaning.

  “What?” I ask, turning toward him, confused.

  “I know you worry about me. But you don’t have to anymore. I’m okay.”

  I study his features, the assurance of his words found by the serenity in his expression.

  He says, “Cory was too good for this world.” I try to hide my surprise, his statement knocking me off guard. I wait for him to say more, hoping he will. He does. “He’s found peace. I think I have too.” His blink lengthens and he takes a deep breath.

  “How?”

  “I finally realized that he didn’t make the music. The music made us. It can recreate too, turning us into something new.” He kicks the deck lightly, and he says, “I think he’d like the new songs.”

  I smile. “I think he would too.” I bump up against him, leaving my body pressed to his and watch the sunset. My mind wanders back to what started this conversation. “If he was too good for this world, what does that make us, the ones who are still here?”

  “Necessary.”

  Pondering his response, I start to understand what he means. “I need you.”

  His gaze meets mine and he says, “I need you too.”

  Necessary.

  Nerves fill the car as we drive into downtown Austin. Dalton’s usually really good about putting on fronts. He’s had many years of practice, but tonight is different, new. At a stoplight, I peek over at him in the passenger seat. “Hi,” I say, hoping to evoke a smile.

  It works and I’m rewarded with one that’s genuine. “Hi.”

  “You doing okay over there?”

  “Just running through my set list.”

  “You’re gonna be great.” He nods, turning his attention back out the window in front of him. I learned years ago that musicians need their space before a performance, so I let him have his thoughts and focus on getting us there.

  Tommy greets us in the alley. “Do you want your mic out of the trunk?” he asks.

  “Yeah, my mic, guitar, and amp. That’s all.”

  “Got it.” The trunk door is slammed closed

  I say, “I’ll park around the corner and be back.”

  Dalton nods but doesn’t say anything, his nerves showing more than I’ve ever seen before.

  When I pull up to the end of the alley, I look in the rearview mirror. The guys haven’t gone in yet. The conversation between Dalton and Tommy is tense by the body language. It makes me curious what they’re talking about before the show. I want to know, but I need to park so I don’t miss the opening.

  I pull around the corner, but can’t find any spots nearby. Three streets down and two over, I park. Hurrying back to the bar as quickly as I can, I get impatient. I don’t want to miss his opening. I walk in the front door to a fairly empty bar. There are a few locals at the long wood top and a few small groups at the tail end of a happy hour. The place is small enough for him to be recognized, but deep down, for him, I hope he’s not.

  The bartender jumps the bar and hops up on the small stage. “We’ve got some live music for you this evening. A singer-songwriter some of you may know. Let’s give it up for Jack Dalton.”

  The crowd could care less. They’re here for the drink specials, not the music. It’s perfect, just the way Dalton wanted. He’s wearing a baseball cap that I know has been through years of touring. He called it lucky when he tossed it in the car. And for him, I hope it is.

  He starts playing and I order a Sprite before looking over and seeing Tommy sitting at a table in the back. When I sit, he leans in and whispers, “He sounds good.”

  “I’m nervous.”

  “Me too.”

  Tommy goes through a beer, his own nerves showing as he watches one of his best friends expose himself to the world in a whole new way. I keep wondering if I’m partial. Maybe I am, but I think he sounds strong, steady, and so good.

  As soon as the first half of the set ends, we both meet him in the hallway that leads out back to the alley. There is no dressing room, so I follow them outside. His brow is cinched and Dalton says, “What the fuck was I thinking?”

  Tommy says, “You sounded good. Stop stressing.”

  “I should have brought my electric guitar. They want Johnny Outlaw. They want The Resistance, not me.”

  “No,” I say, “they haven’t connected you to the band yet. That’s what you wanted. This is your chance to win them over in a whole new way.”

  Tommy says, “Outlaw is who you fall back on. He’s not real. Jack Dalton is right here and ready. You can do this.”

  Dalton looks distressed as he scans the alley.

  Tommy adds, “They didn’t know you were coming. Most of them are tanked. When doing something like this, wipe away your expectations and be open to what’s happening now.”

  Dalton’s expression changes, confidence seeping into his psyche and softening the hard lines. “You’re right. I’ve got thirty minutes left to make a difference, to change their minds.”

  Holding him by the shirt and making him listen to me, I whisper, “Don’t worry about them. Play for you.”

  He says, “I don’t think anyone’s even noticed me up there.”

  “Fuck ‘em,” I say. “If it helps, then play for me, babe.”

  Tommy looks at his watch, then says, “Stick to the set list and make them regret they missed the first half of the show.” He steps up to open the door. “Time to make shit happen.”

  Dalton repeats, “Make them regret it.”

  “Break a leg,” Tommy says, patting him on the back as Dalton goes back inside.

  Our table is free, but I choose to sit in the center of the room. I want him to see me if he needs me, to know I’m here for him, and to give him the support he deserves. There’s a moment of hesitation as he sits on the stool in front of the microphone. He says, “I’ve been playing music a long time, but I’m trying something new tonight.” He adjusts his guitar strap, leans in and says, “This is for my angel.”

  Keeping his eyes on me, he sings, looking more youthful than his years. The vulnerability is stripping him of his onstage ego. This is the man I married. Sure, he was all bravado too, but this, this is Jack Dalton unplugged and he’s just as magnetic as Johnny Outlaw ever was, if not more so.

  When he finishes the first song, he laughs, the nerves seem to have gone. The rest of the show he’s relaxed, such a natural talent. Thirty minutes fly by as I get to hear the results of all his hard work for the first time.

  After his set, Tommy and I stand, clapping and the others who have wandered in join in. I hear some giggles from what appears to be college-aged girls, letting us know he’s been ‘found out.’ Tommy’s quick to the stage, grabbing the amp and mic while Dalton packs up his guitar. Dalton and I make it to the alley before the girls catch up with us. “You’re Johnny Outlaw, right?”

  He smiles, the weight of the anticipation gone from his shoulders. “Yes.”

  “Can we get a picture?”

  “Sure,” he replies breezily. “I’ll be happy to take one of you.”
r />   They laugh, his charm working on them. “With you, if you don’t mind,” one girl says.

  “Yeah, okay,” he chuckles. He sets his guitar down next to me and they ask if I’ll take the photo.

  “Sure.” They flank his sides and hold him tight around the waist. As soon as the camera on the phone focuses, I take the pic. “I think that looks good.”

  “Thanks,” they say in unison.

  Dalton says, “Thanks for coming to the show.”

  “Are you going to be playing more?”

  “Maybe,” he replies. Picking up the guitar he asks me, “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  Tommy runs after us and talks as we walk. “You just earned a hundred bucks.” He laughs. “I bought the bar a round of drinks with it.”

  “Damn,” Dalton jokes, “I had big plans for that money.”

  Tommy says, “So the new stuff. Let’s talk about it.”

  “Wanna come out to the house?” I ask.

  “Or we can grab a bite to eat while we’re downtown,” Dalton suggests, surprising me. He almost never wants to go out in public. Maybe Austin really will be the reprieve he needs.

  We end up at an Austin tradition, Hut’s Hamburgers. It’s kind of dark and there’s not much to look at, but the food is really good and the company even better. I lean on my hand, suddenly feeling depressed that I’m so big. “A year ago, I couldn’t have finished half that burger. Now I finished the burger and a basket of onion rings. By the way, your son likes chili and jalapenos.”

  “My son’s a badass. That’s why.”

  “You’re having a boy?” Tommy asks, sitting across from us in the booth.

  “Yeah, we found out, but we don’t have a name yet.”

  “Congrats. That’s great news. Oh and Tommy or Thomas is good,” he adds, straight faced.

  I let Dalton handle this one. “I think we’re gonna go in a different direction.”

  “Whatever,” Tommy feigns offense. “Let’s talk about the music. It’s different, not as raw as the band’s stuff. It’s more polished. How long have you been working on it?”

  “Before the tour until now.”

  “I know you’re taking a break from the band, but this could really be something interesting for the band to put out. What do you want to do with it? Go into the studio and record?”

  “Maybe.” Glancing at me, Dalton shrugs and says, “Probably.”

  “I think it could be a hit for you,” Tommy says, “It shows your range. Would you tour?”

  Suddenly playing a few gigs has turned into something much bigger, so I listen intently when he answers, “I don’t know. I’ve not thought about it. I would have to tell the band. I’m not sure how to even tour without them.” His hand rubs my leg under the table. “And the baby’s coming.”

  Tommy sits back, settling in for the hard talk. “They know this is a possibility. They know you’re down here playing your own songs. It’s crossed their minds.”

  “Why does everything have to be so big?” I ask.

  Tommy answers, “It doesn’t, but this is how the industry works. You put out an album and you tour to support it.”

  “I understand that, but can’t the tour be smaller, less cities. Maybe just the U.S. You know the last tour was rough on all of us.” This is a subject we’ll have to discuss soon, but not now. “Let’s just celebrate tonight. I’m glad you did it.”

  “I’m glad it’s fucking over and I’m ready to do it again.”

  Holding up my glass, I say, “To fresh starts and new adventures.”

  Dalton glances to Tommy before lifting his glass and tapping mine. “To fresh starts and new adventures.”

  “Anger is a solid emotion. It’s coarse and rough around the edges, scarring on the inside. Much like life.” ~ Johnny Outlaw

  While Dalton stays home reworking his set before his next gig, I decide to go shopping downtown. There were a few boutiques I saw when driving in the week before that I wanted to check out. Not worrying about money in the last few years has been nice, but I still find myself being a bit frugal when it comes to purchasing on a whim. But as soon as I set my eyes on a pink diamond ring, I lose all focus on anything else. I try on the one of a kind design, holding my hand in the air and admiring it. I can’t take my eyes off of it. I would have never guessed that a pink stone would wow me so much, but it has. Unfortunately, the price does not. I walk out of the store empty-handed.

  After the disappointment of leaving the ring behind, I’m not in the mood to shop anymore and drive home. “Hello?” I call out when I walk in the front door.

  Dalton peeks out from the kitchen. “Hi. You’re home sooner than I expected.”

  “Did I walk in on you doing something scandalous?” I tease.

  “Yes, this Nutella and Fluff sandwich is very scandalous.” He holds it up just as I walk into the kitchen.

  Stealing a bite, I moan in pleasure as I chew. “That’s amazing.”

  “It’s all yours,” he says, handing it to me. “But only if you keep moaning like that.” He rearranges his dick.

  Apparently it does things to him so I moan again just for kicks. “Thanks and if you keep making me these sandwiches, I promise to do things to you with my mouth.”

  Reaching around me, he grabs my ass. “I fucking love your dirty mind and this great ass.”

  I try to laugh while keeping my mouth closed since it’s full of food, but it’s a struggle.

  He asks, “Why are you home so early? Bored?”

  “Shut your mouth! You don’t ever say words like ‘bored’ when it comes to shopping.”

  “Why? Will shopping be offended?”

  “No, but it kind of jinxes me and I may not find anything cute.”

  “Ahhh. Gotcha! That makes sense,” he says, shaking his head, “not at all.”

  Making me laugh, I say, “Maybe it’s a girl thing. Anyway, I didn’t find anything cute today, but I did find something gorgeous.”

  He pulls out the bread to make another sandwich. “What?”

  “This ring. It’s to die for, Dalton. You don’t even understand how amazing it was.”

  “Did you buy it?”

  “No, I didn’t buy it,” I say, my pitch going up two octaves. “It was almost thirty-thousand dollars.”

  “And?”

  Is he insane? “And nothing. I can’t spend that kind of money on myself.”

  “Why?”

  “Because,” I say, trying to find a solid reason when money is no object. With my hands up, I huff. “I don’t know why. Just feels weird.”

  “Okay, then I’ll buy it,” he says so easily as if money grows on trees.

  Even though for us, money is no object, I try a rational approach. “You can’t just go buy it.”

  He looks at me completely confused. “Why not?”

  “Because it’s expensive and so beautiful.”

  “That’s why you should buy it.”

  I’m shaking my head at the ridiculousness of buying something so frivolous just because my heart has totally fallen in love with it. “I can’t.”

  “I don’t know why, and honestly I’m too tired to figure it out right now. I’m gonna nap.” He heads upstairs while I finish eating and go into the living room with a glass of water.

  I get more horizontal on the couch, a nap sounding way too good to not take one. My laptop is open on the coffee table in front of me. I search for the store’s name and find the ring online. I admire it for a few minutes before my lids get heavy. I close my laptop and fall asleep.

  The following day, we head back downtown for Dalton’s second gig. I know he’s hoping for low key again to work out the kinks in the songs, but I’d be surprised if he gets it.

  Word’s gotten out that he’s staying in town and the crowd tonight is great—enthusiastic and supportive, though I have no idea how they found out where he was playing.

  I can tell the difference in Dalton too. On stage, he’s charismatic and confident, sexy and
completely captivating.

  In the middle of the first half of the show, I feel the baby kick. Obviously he loves listening to his Daddy play as much as I do.

  Life is better than ever.

  After the show, I wait in the car as Tommy and Dalton load the gear. Tommy comes over and says, “I need to talk to Johnny for a few minutes.”

  “Okay,” I say, wondering why he can’t talk in front of me. But business is business so I start the car, turn on some music to pass the time, and check email on my phone.

  “No!” I hear Dalton say, catching my attention. I turn back over my shoulder to see what’s going on. They stand at the back of the car and like the last time I saw them like this, their body language is tense. Dalton turns his back to the car and paces away and back again. Both hands are planted loudly on the trunk and he looks down. “Fuck that!” he says harshly. Looking up, our eyes briefly connect, but something in his eyes hits me hard. I turn back, scared to what would upset him so much. I can’t hear anything once I face forward, but I dare to peek into the rearview mirror. Tommy is using his hand to make a point. Tommy nods and says something that makes him shake his hand. I look away again when my stomach tightens, a bad feeling taking over my gut. The passenger door opens and Dalton gets in. “Let’s go.”

  “Everything okay?” I ask wearily.

  As if he’s flipped a switch, he reassures, “Fine. You ready?”

  “Yeah.” I drive forward. Something’s going on. I want to ask, but after the wonderful time we’ve had here, I’m afraid of the answer I might get. But I hate secrets more, especially his. Glancing from the road to him and back again, I say, “We never talked about whatever it was back in LA. Do you remember?”

  I think I hear him gulp, but I’m not sure. When I stop at a red light, I turn to him. He says, “I should have told you by now, but things aren’t how they should be, yet.”

  “So you’re wanting to wait to talk about it?”

  He sighs and cracks his window, the air in here feeling stifling to me too. “Is that an option?”

  The light turns green and my gaze goes forward as the car moves. “When it comes to you, I must have the patience of a saint.”