The Song

by Chris Fabry

  “What are you saying?”

  “Come with me to your father’s place. Let’s pack up Ray and head to the vineyard. I can work on the chapel. Man, it’s been so long since I even thought of that place.”

  Rose rolled over and looked at him. “You mean it?”

  “It’ll be good for Ray. And Shep too.”

  “He’s been wanting to take Ray to that malt shop in town. The one with the pony ride in the corner.”

  “It’ll be good for us. No agenda. No grabbing.”

  “I’ll believe that when I don’t feel it,” she said, a little smile on her face. And that coaxed a smile from his.

  “Let’s do it, Rose. Let’s get away. Together.”

  She rolled back over and stared at the wall. “You think you can get up that early?”

  “I’ll set my alarm.”

  They were on the road by six and Rose felt a strange sense of newness with Jed, a sense of hope she hadn’t felt in a long time. His words had haunted her all night, though. If she asked him to give up the music and choose their family, would he really do it? Could he? And did she want him to give it up? He came alive when he played his songs. It was as if God were reaching down and giving him something each time he wrote a new song. Did she want to stop that? Could she ask him to give it up?

  One of the Bible studies her group had gone through contained a whole section on forgiveness and how important it was. It asked, if we truly possess forgiveness from God, can we give that forgiveness to others? And if you’re not ready to forgive another person, can you really say you’re ready to be forgiven by God?

  These things rolled around her head as they drove to the vineyard. Her father was outside to welcome them—except he only had eyes for Ray. The sullen man who walked through life with a blank expression or a scowl lit up like a Christmas tree when he saw that little boy. He hugged Rose and welcomed Jed, but there was something about that child that opened him up like nothing she had ever seen, and Rose wondered what this had done to his heart, them coming to the vineyard to spend time with him.

  “You don’t mind if I take him?” her dad said after they were in and settled.

  “Maybe you should wait for lunch. He’s got his squirt gun out and ready for you.”

  “We’ll let him work up an appetite then,” he said. Then he coughed and leaned against the wall for the tenth time that day. Yes, she was counting.

  “Daddy, are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m no problem,” he said. “Old dogs slow down, you know.”

  “Old dogs should go to the doctor.”

  He looked at her with sad eyes. “I’m fine, Rose. Really. Just get me to the malt shop on time.”

  She smiled and touched his arm. “Make sure that . . .” She was going to ask him to lay off the sugar with Ray. Have him order a fruit smoothie instead of a chocolate malt. All she could think about was the Twizzler episode with Jed. But she bit her tongue. “Make sure you have a good time with him, okay?”

  “Just being with you three is a good time for me,” he said. Then he coughed again and waved her away when she started to speak.

  They worked through the morning clearing some brush from the vineyard, all of them wearing gloves except for Ray, who was in attack mode with his squirt gun. He attacked Shep and Jed and it was fun seeing the men in her life in a playful mood. The way Jed treated Ray, the kindness he showed, the tenderness and caring and easy conversations he had, drew her heart toward them both. It was turning out to be a glorious day.

  Ray downed Jed with a perfectly placed shot to the shoulder; then he turned the water gun on a clump of grapes. “I’m making them grow faster,” he said.

  Rose pulled the gun down and drew Ray close, talking as much to her husband as to her son. “That’s not how it works. If you try to force them, you’ll get bad grapes. You gotta be really patient and gentle.”

  She looked at the fruit of the vine. “Treat ’em right. Give ’em time. And when they’re ready, they’ll let you know.”

  “Okay,” Ray said.

  She turned and glanced at Jed, his bandanna corralling his hair. He smiled and nodded. “Okay,” he whispered.

  Later, when her dad had gotten his truck started—and that seemed no small feat the way the engine ground and chugged—Rose watched him pull away with her son down the driveway and to the road and out of sight. Something stirred at the sight of them leaving, an emotional tug like she was losing them. Like they might have an accident. Or her dad could have a spell while he was driving and run off the road or into the path of some other car . . . But that was just the fear taking hold. And if she lived her whole life that way, she’d be paralyzed. Love told fear to hit the highway. Perfect love believed the best and acted on the truth and not what might happen.

  She looked at the knoll above the pond, where Jed was at work on the chapel. The wood had aged in the years since he first started the framing, but it stood tall and the memories of their wedding came flooding back. The sounds of the wood saw and the hand drill putting screws in the drywall rolled over the vineyard. He was putting the windows in and making progress with the work when she walked up in her dress and her cowboy boots, and the sunlight framed her face with a golden look that she hoped would distract any man from the work of his hands.

  She’d brought a bottle of water, and when they locked eyes, she took his hands and poured the water on them, washing them and drying them with a cloth. He was like putty as she pulled him away, into the seclusion and privacy of the vineyard.

  Rose thought of the words in Proverbs—“There are three things that are too amazing for me, four that I do not understand: the way of an eagle in the sky, the way of a snake on a rock, the way of a ship on the high seas, and the way of a man with a young woman.” She lost herself in love and Jed did the same, their bodies expressing what words never could.

  When they were spent on each other, Rose looked at the chapel through the vines. “It will look nice when it’s done.”

  “Yeah. I wanted to finish it a long time ago. I’m sorry about that. Life got in the way.”

  “You’ll finish it. I don’t doubt that.”

  “We have so much to do, Rose. So much to build together.”

  “You’ve got a good start on the walls. And the roof looks—”

  “I’m not talking about the chapel now.”

  She turned to him.

  “Come with me, Rose. Please.”

  “On the next tour? I’m hoping we can come visit you on the road soon.”

  “No, not visit. Come with me to Europe.”

  She thought a moment and the fear crept in again. But it wasn’t only fear if you were thinking about the truth. Her father was getting more and more dependent on others. His body was slowing, failing. She needed to be here for him.

  “I can’t, Jed. You’ve seen him lately. I can’t leave him. Not now.”

  The birds sang and the sun warmed them in the vineyard rows. She could tell by the look on Jed’s face that he was disappointed. And after the way they had just connected, it was hard for him to hear.

  “Okay. I understand.”

  It wasn’t the little boy pouting or kicking at the dirt because he didn’t get what he wanted. It was the man in him telling her he really did understand. He didn’t like the answer and wanted things to be different, but if this was what was important to her, it was important to him. Her father was sick. Jed was going back out on the road. To Europe, no less. She understood the need to travel. He would have to understand her need to care for her father. This was their life, a season, and they both had to work harder at holding on to each other.

  Rose nestled under his arm, putting her head on his shoulder, and they both looked at the clouds rolling by as she wondered if the day would ever come when she’d feel they weren’t being pulled apart by something.

  CHAPTER 30

  SHELBY PUSHED for the Rock & Roots magazine shoot and article. She brought it up with Stan, who took it to the edi
tors, who agreed it would be a great special edition for the spring. It had also been Shelby who suggested they exploit the “King” theme and take pictures with Jed sitting on a throne. Shelby had picked out the crown and scepter, too, and the dark colors with the gold accents. That color scheme went better with her tattoos, she thought.

  She loved the picture they chose for the cover. It was headlined “The Son Also Rises.” She sat on the floor with her head laid back against Jed’s knee, a somewhat-sultry look on her face while he looked blankly into the camera. She wished she could get him to smile more, but there was something to be said for that somber look. It made him appear more brooding, more vulnerable.

  Most of all she loved the equal billing she got with Jed. Her name in big letters beside his. Everything she’d planned, everything she’d hoped for, was coming true. All but one thing. And she was pretty sure that would happen too, if she could be patient. If she didn’t force it. If she let it be his idea. She could see he wasn’t happy. He wasn’t all he could be. It would just take a little time to show him what he was missing, and she had time.

  The lady writing the article had spent a day with Jed at his father-in-law’s vineyard in Kentucky. There were shots with his son, his wife, the chapel Jed had built—or at least tried to build—for their wedding. It was all so cute, so Americana. But the better photos were at the concerts. The screaming fans in subdued light. The sweaty performances of the band. One shot showed Jed and Shelby cheek-to-cheek, eyes closed, singing their hearts out, sweat dripping from their faces. She loved that one. She’d asked for a copy of the photo so she could keep it and the photographer sent it.

  “I thought you weren’t big on photos,” Vivian said when she saw it in Shelby’s purse. Shelby had laminated it so it wouldn’t bend and wrinkle. “Isn’t that what your tattoos are for?”

  Shelby rolled her eyes and took a draw on her cigarette, letting the smoke and nicotine reach deep into her lungs. “I guess some are worth keeping.”

  Vivian opened the magazine and read the story aloud. “‘Jedidiah King, the son of the late David King, makes his home on the outskirts of Louisville, only a half hour from the idyllic vineyard where his wife was born.’ You sure you want to mess with that fairy tale?”

  “I’m not messing with anything, girl. I’m just being who I am and letting the chips fall.”

  “Right,” Vivian said with an edge to her voice. “I don’t know, Shel. This has all the marks of a train wreck.”

  “What are you talking about? We’re on the cover of Rock & Roots, for crying out loud.”

  “You’re at the corner of home wrecker and alimony. Look at that face. Look at that sweet little kid. You want to take his daddy away from him?”

  Shelby gave her a stare. “Since when did you get all religious on me? Since when did you get all judgmental?”

  “I’m neither. I’m just telling you this isn’t going to end well. For anybody.”

  “I’m following my heart, Viv. I’m doing what we’ve talked about all along. You put positive energy into the universe, you get back positive. And all I’m doing here is moving toward love.”

  “How is stealing somebody’s husband moving toward love?”

  “What’s with you?” Shelby said, scowling. “You gonna start telling me to stop taking pills? You don’t seem to have a problem with that.”

  “The pills are different. You’re not hurting anybody but yourself.”

  “And you’re making money on the side.”

  “If you’d pay me more, I wouldn’t have to work on the side.”

  Shelby rolled her eyes. “Nice try. Look, you take care of your side business and I’ll take care of mine. Okay?”

  Vivian was still reading the article. “Did you read this part?” She held her finger to a place in the copy.

  Shelby nodded but took the magazine from Vivian. She couldn’t help reading it again.

  King and Bale make an unusual pairing. Musically, the duo has bands that play many of the same instruments. But thematically, you can’t get much further apart. King’s most famous ballad, “The Song,” a message-driven melody about the pursuit of a lifelong love, was written on his honeymoon after waking from a dream. He worked out the words and the tune early one morning in a riverfront cabin, then played the song for his new bride when she awakened.

  Bale’s most famous song is “Confetti,” a screaming fiddle tune she wrote on the back of wet cocktail napkins after a night of inebriation and chasing a one-night stand. It’s a breathless, cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof song she says is an “existential melody about the longing of the human heart.”

  “It just kind of came out of me,” Bale said from her hotel room on the current tour. “Songs are like that for me. They come and they go through my brain like wind through the trees. Some of them I catch and some fly by. I’m a big believer that if I’m supposed to sing a song, it’ll come around again someday.”

  How the two teamed up is not quite clear, but manager Stan Russel says they perfectly complement each other. “Shelby is the wild-eyed, free-swinging young thing who throws caution to the wind. Jed is the conservative, laid-back, solid family guy, and audiences love them both as individual artists, but love them together even more. It’s kind of hard to explain. It’s magic.”

  In a performance last fall, Bale surprised King by playing along with one of his songs, and the two have been performing together ever since. When asked about a romantic attraction between the two, which some fans say is easy to spot, King smirks and shakes his head, while Bale seems more philosophical.

  “Jed would never do anything to jeopardize his image, his beliefs, or his family,” she said. “He’s not that kind of guy. And everybody respects him for that.”

  Shelby looked up at Vivian and smiled. “It’s there in black-and-white. I respect Jed for his moral . . . What’s the word? Dedication?”

  Stan walked toward them and pulled his sunglasses up. His eyes were just as red as theirs and he looked like he needed some coffee.

  “You ready for some good news?” he said.

  “You’re lowering your manager’s rate?” Shelby said.

  “I should be raising my rate. You know that single we released of the live version of ‘The Song’? It’s going gold. Presentation’s next week between the shows in Orlando and Atlanta.”

  Vivian let out a whoop and Shelby gave her a high five.

  “Never had a song go gold before,” Shelby said, smiling.

  “Technically it’s his song, but you gave the momentum, little lady.”

  “That’s Shelby,” Vivian said, giving her a look. “The girl with the momentum.”

  “Momentum that’s taking us to Europe,” Shelby said.

  “And what’s left after that?” Vivian said to Stan.

  He shrugged. “Who knows? We had a call from a network yesterday asking if Jed might be interested in hosting his own show.”

  “I hope you included me in the deal.”

  “Sweetheart, wherever Jed goes, you go.”

  Shelby couldn’t contain her excitement. Maybe that would be how it happened. They’d get together while in Europe, Jed would see how dead-end his marriage was, and when they returned to the States, they’d start the TV show. His fans would have a hard time with him leaving his wife, at first, but he’d pick up others. They would understand a man choosing to follow his heart.

  But she couldn’t get ahead of herself. She needed to pull back and take things slowly. Get Jed to Europe, away from the familiarity of the States, away from the quick overnight trip home, away from Rose and his son. That would be her best opportunity to help him move forward, move toward her.

  CHAPTER 31

  THE FLIGHT TO GLASGOW, for the first leg of the European tour, was exhausting for Jed. They left in the afternoon and were to arrive early in the morning. He had bought a sleeping mask to block out the light because in the past few weeks he’d been unable to sleep on the plane like usual. But the mask and the neck pillow and th
e glass of wine he had with dinner didn’t help. His mind was busy with the tour, Rose and Ray, and how much he was missing.

  Way back Pastor Bingham had encouraged him to find a friend, someone to help him walk the straight and narrow. He hadn’t, of course. He told himself it was just the way a man of the cloth looked at life. The pastor had no idea how hard it was when you were on the road to find someone who could fill that role. It was next to impossible and a whole lot easier to talk about than to actually accomplish. So, too, was reading the Bible. The daily rigors of life on the road and practicing and playing had made reading a chore, and Jed thought he’d get back to it as soon as life settled. He’d get back on solid ground. That would be the first thing he would do after the success of the tour.

  He put all of that out of his mind and turned his thoughts to Rose. She was right about her dad. The man was slowing down. And it made sense for her to be there. If Jed could go back and have the chance to spend more time with his own dad, he would take it in a minute. But even slower, Shep was still as strong as an ox and would probably outlive them both. At least that’s what he hoped.

  If Rose had said yes to coming on the trip, they could be together, emotionally and physically. They could connect, but he questioned how much “connection” she needed. Would they always be at odds about this? Would he always be made to feel dirty simply because he wanted to be with his wife? Making love wasn’t something perverted, it was holy, as they’d experienced in the vineyard. So why did he feel like he was asking too much when God had wired him this way?

  When he got into these twisted arguments with himself, he tried to use the energy for something good, like writing a song. He pulled out the latest electronic gadget he had bought for that purpose and let the ideas flow. Phrases, ideas, concepts. The best songs, like the best stories, had some element of pain to them that connected with the hearer. They also had an element of hope because everybody wants to be able to hope that something in life is going to get better.