The Song

by Chris Fabry

“What are you going to do?”

  He said it with a yawn, but he was probably just tired. She closed her eyes and saw his brown hair, those eyes that could stare a hole right through you. Eddie could be so intense yet so fun-loving.

  “I’m working on another guy.”

  “Story of my life.”

  “What?”

  “You working on another guy, that’s the story of my life.”

  “Eddie.”

  “Seriously, Rosie, if you’re interested in somebody else, just tell me.”

  “What are you talking about? There’s nobody else. You know how I feel about you.”

  “No, I don’t. Every time I get close to you, you push me away. Every time I try to show you how I feel about you, you pull back. I don’t understand why you don’t want me to love you.”

  “I do want you to love me. Just not in that way. Not yet.”

  Rose heard his exasperated sigh just as her father walked into the house and called her name.

  “On the phone, Dad,” she called back.

  “All right. I brought dinner when you’re ready.”

  She closed the door and sat in front of the computer again, looking out the window. The evening was her favorite time to look over the vineyard, the sweep of the land bathed in the fading sunlight. The pond that lay like a golden pool at the bottom of the rolling hill.

  “My dad’s home,” she said.

  “There’s a few of us getting together over at Lake Barkley tomorrow. My uncle has a little cabin and there’s a park nearby with picnic tables and a volleyball net and some sand. It’s really nice. Peaceful. It’ll be fun. No pressure.”

  “Who’s going to be there?”

  He rattled off a few names she didn’t recognize, except one guy from church. “We could spend the day at the lake and then watch the moon come up from my uncle’s cabin. We could watch movies. Or just talk. I want to be with you, Rose.”

  “That sounds really good,” she said, and she meant it. Being with Eddie was always fun.

  “We could bring a bottle of your dad’s wine. Go out on the lake in the boat.”

  She closed her eyes and could see the lake, imagine the cabin. It would be nice to get away from the stress, even for a night. Just leave the cares and worries behind.

  “What do you say, Rose?”

  Her cell beeped and she looked at the screen. A number that began with 502.

  “Eddie, can you hold on a minute? I think the singer guy’s calling.”

  He gave another loud sigh. “Sure, I’ll be here.”

  She hit the button and answered with a nervous “Hello, this is Rose.”

  “Hi there, Rose. This is Jed King. Do you work with the . . . ?” A slight pause like he was having trouble reading something. “Jordan Vineyard?”

  “Yes sir, Mr. King. I was hoping you would call.”

  “I understand you need someone to sing at your fall festival.”

  “Harvest festival. Yes.”

  “Can I ask why you waited so long to find somebody?”

  “Well, we did have someone, but he was injured in a waterskiing accident.”

  “You had Chad booked?”

  “You know him?”

  “I played with him a couple of times here in Louisville. He’s a good guy. Not a good water-skier, though.”

  “Evidently not. So that’s why we have this open spot and we were hoping you’d come.”

  “Well, I’ll have to check my schedule and talk with my people and see if my secretary has anything else planned for me.”

  Her heart fell. “Oh. Well, do you know when you might be able to let me know if you—?”

  “I’m teasing you. I don’t have any people. No secretary. I barely have a calendar. I’ll do it.”

  “You will?” She was smiling from ear to ear. “That’s great! Now, I know there’s probably a contract you have with the food and equipment and things you need. Can you send that to me?”

  “I don’t need a contract. My word, your word, is as good as a contract.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll show up an hour before the event to set up. I assume it’s in the evening, around seven?”

  “Right. Come a little earlier and we can get you some dinner.”

  “Sounds great. I only have a guitar, a banjo, and a table to sell my CDs, if that’s okay.”

  “Sure. I can get someone to help you, if you’d like.”

  “That would be awesome. As long as you have a microphone and speakers that work, that’s all I need. I’ll bring the songs.”

  “All right. Great. We’ll see you on Saturday the seventh, then.”

  “Wait, Saturday the seventh? I thought it was this Saturday.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Only that I’ll have to wait another week to play for you guys. See you on the seventh.”

  Rose couldn’t stifle the grin on her face. This Jed King was a stranger, but he sounded so confident and, well, nice. Down-to-earth. Not like some of the entertainers she had heard about through the grapevine.

  She hung up and immediately remembered Eddie. She hit the button again but the call had dropped. She quickly redialed, but her phone rang before it went through.

  “I can’t believe you hung up on me!” Eddie said.

  “I didn’t. I was talking with the singer about the festival.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “It’s not important, Eddie.”

  Another sigh. “Rosie, say yes to tomorrow. The lake. The cabin. That’s all I want to hear.”

  “It does sound like fun.”

  “It’ll be great. We’ll leave early in the morning and be back late, so tell your dad.”

  “I need to get the ads up in the stores.”

  “You can do that Saturday. Come on, Rosie. Just one day.”

  “All right. Pick me up tomorrow morning.”

  “Yes! Oh, we’re going to have so much fun. You won’t regret this.”

  When she told her father over cold chicken and mashed potatoes that she was spending the day with Eddie, he groaned. There was a wrinkle above one eye that creased his forehead when something went wrong with a tractor or some joyriding kid took out his mailbox, and it showed up now. She was beginning to see the age in his eyes. He had seemed so strong and youthful when she was little, but the loss of her mother and the boys moving out and the weight of the years had weathered him like an old barn.

  “I know it’s hard to see me grown-up and making my own choices, Dad.”

  He tore off a piece of buttermilk biscuit and held it there like a communion wafer, rolling it and studying the thing before he put it in his mouth. Her father had always savored a good meal. Rose remembered the spread her mother used to put on the table on Sundays and holidays. This rubbery chicken and the prefab mashed potatoes were so far from what they had known, but exactly what they had gotten used to—what they settled for.

  “You don’t think Eddie’s a good choice,” Rose said.

  He put down the plastic fork and wiped the grease from his hands. “What do you think, Rose?”

  “I think he’s sweet. He’s handsome, he has a good heart, and he really likes spending time with me.”

  “Is that what he likes? Spending time with you?”

  She let the question hang there, wondering if her dad knew more about Eddie than she thought. “He’s a good guy, Dad. He’s not like some of the others.”

  “You sure?”

  He looked at her with those pale-blue eyes and she realized she was saying this more for herself than for him, more to convince her own heart than to comfort his.

  “I got a singer booked today.”

  “Doesn’t ski, does he?”

  She smiled. “You heard about that?”

  He ignored her question. “What’s he sing?”

  “I’m not sure. Country, maybe. He’s supposed to be good. Denise suggested him.”

  “You hired a guy and you don’t know what he sings?”


  “I trust Denise. Plus, it’s really short notice.”

  “He’s not some honky-tonk singer, is he? You know, ‘Let’s get drunk tonight’ kind of guy?”

  “Denise said he sings about God and a lot of things . . .” Her voice trailed and she suddenly felt like a little girl again, her dad giving her a wary eye about makeup or how much her haircut cost. “I know you don’t trust me with this, but—”

  “You sign a contract?”

  “He said he didn’t need one. His word was as good as a contract.”

  Her dad pushed his plate away and wadded his napkin and placed it on top. “I don’t mean to hurt you, Rose. Don’t take it that way. I do trust you. You know how I get when the festival rolls around.”

  “We don’t have to do it this year. We could take a year off.”

  “I couldn’t do that to your mother.”

  “To Mom?”

  “I made some promises. You know that.”

  She had heard the story a thousand times. “Tell me again.”

  “One of them was that we would do something every year to celebrate life. That’s what the wine represents—you know this.”

  Rose did.

  “Your mother always hated the fact that I took my time making decisions. Weighing this against that and the cost versus the risk and what people would think and worries about money. Living that way is not living at all, it’s prison. Paralysis.”

  She had never heard him talk so philosophically about his life.

  “Point is, I finally saw it when she was gone. I finally realized that not making a decision, not moving ahead with life because it was hard or uncomfortable, was not really living. So I told her I would change. And keeping the festival going each year represents a little of that change for me.”

  Rose patted his hand with mist in her eyes. “This is going to be the best festival ever.”

  He smiled. “You just watch Eddie, you hear?”

  On the way to the cabin, Eddie turned on the radio and listened to his favorite morning team. The banter was raunchy and the humor felt cruel at times with the hosts making fun of celebrities or callers, but Eddie hit the steering wheel laughing, having a great time. When they reached the picnic area, there were several cars already there and people throwing Frisbees and playing volleyball. Another group was under a shelter starting the barbecue.

  He pulled into the parking lot and switched off the radio. “How come you’re so quiet?”

  “Just thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “The festival. My dad.”

  “He doesn’t like me much.”

  “He doesn’t like anybody who shows an interest in me.”

  “He’s got nothing to worry about with me. I’m the perfect gentleman.” He reached over and squeezed her knee, then rubbed her leg gently. “Let’s go have some fun.”

  Rose didn’t know many people at the picnic and she stayed mostly by herself. Eddie dragged her onto the volleyball court though she didn’t want to go. She stood up front at the net, right across from Kristen, a girl she knew was interested in Eddie. She was laughing loud and bouncing around in tight shorts and a shirt that looked a couple of sizes too small.

  When Kristen spotted Rose, her face lit up. “Hey, Rose, you made it!”

  Like she knew she’d been invited? What did Kristen know?

  “Hey, Kristen,” Rose said. Someone served from Kristen’s side and the ball bounced in the sand right behind Rose.

  “You gotta get that!” Eddie yelled.

  The next serve hit the net and fell at Kristen’s feet. She picked up the ball and wobbled a little, then handed it to Rose. “Your turn.”

  She tried to serve, she really did, but the ball angled out of bounds.

  “Give her another try!” Eddie called.

  “Yeah, let’s see her do that again!” Kristen said.

  Rose tried to concentrate on the ball, dropped it and swung underhanded, but again it went sideways and she couldn’t look up. She also couldn’t get Kristen’s laughter out of her head. She spent the rest of the game trying to avoid the ball.

  “Hey, you tried hard,” Eddie said after the game was over. “No harm in that. Let’s get something to eat.”

  They ate burgers and hot dogs and sat on picnic tables. There was soda, but there was also plenty of beer. The longer the day wore on, the louder the party got, with music booming from an open Jeep and laughter rising along with the smoke from the barbecue.

  “I don’t think I want to stay,” Rose said to Eddie.

  “That’s fine. We can shoot over to my uncle’s place.”

  He told everyone they were taking off, and once they were in the car, she felt better. As they drove away, Rose caught Kristen’s glare from the picnic shelter.

  The farther they drove into the countryside, the more remote the area became, and more beautiful. Leaves had turned but hadn’t fallen, with every color of the palette on display.

  The cabin was right on the lake, built on a slight knoll with a long, wooded driveway and trees that shrouded the dirt lane. It was an A-frame with a heavy wooden door that opened like Eddie was unlocking a freezer. There was a loft upstairs, granite counters in the kitchen, a gourmet stove and a huge refrigerator stocked with food, and hardwood floors that looked like mirrors in the fading sunlight.

  “This is gorgeous,” Rose said. She stood at the front windows and looked out on the rippling lake water. “Your uncle must be rich.”

  “He’s a builder. He remodeled this with stuff left over from a big job in Nashville. Some software developer had a house built in Brentwood. Waterfalls in the backyard.” Eddie walked in front of Rose, blocking her view. “The most beautiful thing here isn’t the house or the lake though.”

  Rose blushed. “He has a boat?”

  Eddie laughed. “I’m not talking about a boat. The most beautiful thing here is right in front of me.” He put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And I know I don’t always express it the best way. I’m clumsy. It’s because I’m scared, I think. That you won’t like me.”

  “I do like you, Eddie.”

  He leaned in for a kiss. After a few seconds, Rose broke away and hugged him, then pulled back. “Let’s go for a walk around the lake.”

  “I don’t know. There’s a lot of bugs out this time of day. But there’s a hot tub on the patio. Let’s go there.”

  He took her hand and led her outside, pulling the cover off the hot tub. While he worked on it, Rose wandered off, down to the little boat launch, her mind spinning in different directions. Part of her was glad she was being pursued but another part didn’t like the pressure from Eddie.

  “Now what are you doing down here?” Eddie said, walking onto the launch.

  “I think we should go home.”

  “We just got here!” Eddie said. “I want to make you dinner. Watch the stars come out.”

  “We’ll be really late driving back.”

  “Then maybe we should spend the night here.”

  “Eddie, come on—”

  He moved toward her and she backed away, still facing him. Her feet were at the edge of the launch, precariously close, and she put her hands on his chest to steady herself.

  “The beautiful Rose,” he whispered. “And not a thorn in sight.”

  “We need to talk about this . . .”

  He leaned closer and she could smell the mints he had eaten on the drive. “Just a little kiss. That won’t hurt anything, will it?”

  Maybe it wouldn’t. In fact, she knew it wouldn’t hurt. It would feel good. So when she could back away no farther, she planted her feet and lifted her face and let him kiss her. It was slow and passionate and inviting, and she felt something shift in that moment, felt something inside give way, like a surrender. She put her arms around him and he pulled her close. But somehow the shift of weight didn’t work and he leaned a little too far and her balance tipped. Ro
se screamed and grabbed him around the neck as they fell into the water.

  “You did that on purpose!” she said when she came up for air, algae in her hair and shooting daggers with her eyes.

  Eddie laughed. “You were the one who pulled me!”

  She swam to the dock and pulled herself up. A stiff breeze blew, giving her goose bumps, and she scampered back to the house dripping wet. Eddie suggested they launder their clothes.

  “No way,” she said.

  “It’s okay. There are robes in the bedroom. Get out of those and I’ll wash them.”

  He gave her a thick cotton robe like she had seen in ads from high-end spas. It felt like she was wrapping herself in a sheep. When she came out, the robe tied tightly, Eddie was bare-chested with just a towel wrapped around himself.

  “I need a shower after that dirty lake water. Want to join me?”

  “No.”

  “Kiss me one more time, then,” he said.

  But this time there was something else in his eyes. A fire. Determination.

  Rose moved past him into the laundry room and shut the door, rinsed her clothes and wrung them out by hand, then tossed them in the dryer.

  “You sure you don’t want me to help?” Eddie said.

  “No, I’ve got it,” she called back, her stomach churning like the clothes flopping in the dryer behind her. She had shoved down the feelings about Eddie for a long time and she was beginning to see it wasn’t really about Eddie. It was her. These feelings kept bubbling up and she kept pushing them down.

  When she heard the shower running, she pulled her clothes out and put them on, even though they were only half-dry. She went out the back door and walked to the road, following the way they had come. A half hour later, after she had reached the blacktop, Eddie pulled up alongside her.

  “Rose, get in the car.”

  “Don’t order me around.”

  “This is crazy. You going to walk all the way back to Sharon? What did I do?”

  “I don’t think it’s going to work with us, Eddie. We’re just different.”

  “I was just trying to have a little fun. I can’t help it. You’re beautiful.”

  “Yes, you can help it. You’re not a teenager who can’t control his hormones. You’re a grown man who should listen when I say—”

  “Rose, come on,” Eddie said, interrupting. “Just let me give you a ride. You can get in the back if you want. I’ll be your chauffeur.”