The Song

by Chris Fabry

SHELBY COULD TELL there was something different about Jed’s new song. It wasn’t that it was just him and the guitar and that plaintive melody he’d carved out. It wasn’t that the lyrics seemed a little dark and introspective—that it was downright depressing to hear about everything being a chasing after the wind. It was more that she could hear the thing inside him coming out, the thing that had drawn her to his music in the first place. His raw, aching heart laid bare. And she knew she could make that song better with her voice and her new fiddle.

  Stan had delivered it to the rehab place. He said it was from Jed and she believed him. Nothing would replace her old violin because—well, that thing had seen some good days. How could you ever replace something like that? But knowing Jed wanted her to have this one made her treasure it.

  She put the CD in and listened to the melody first, picking up the violin and playing along with the intro and hearing where she would fill in the song. The second time through she didn’t play; she listened to the words and they struck something inside. The longing, the regret, the hope for something more and the banging of the head against the wall. Yeah, the song had it all. She just wasn’t sure where Jed was taking it.

  It ended in a long instrumental she knew she could nail. Perfect for TV. Perfect for their comeback.

  With rehab behind her, she called Vivian and told her she didn’t want any of the pills, the joints, the powder, the alcohol. She was going cold turkey, not Wild Turkey. Vivian said she respected that and that Shelby’s time in rehab had caused her to think about her own life. She’d cut back a lot and wasn’t drunk half as much as before. But it sounded to Shelby like it was something that wouldn’t last. The folks in rehab said it was all or nothing. You couldn’t dabble, couldn’t just have a taste, because it would pull you back in and suck you under and soon you’d be on the bottom looking up, wondering how you’d gotten there.

  She thought that was how it might be with Jed, too. And she hoped—yes, she prayed—that he would feel the same way about her. One look from him would be all it would take to start something new, something fresh and good. Just like his dad had done with his second wife. She had it all mapped out. He would come live with her, and after the divorce, they’d get married. He would have to pay a lot to Rose, no doubt, but they would weather those hard financial times together.

  They had one rehearsal, early in the afternoon of October 12. It was the first time she’d seen Jed in weeks. And he looked good. His long beard was gone, replaced by stubble. His hair that had grown like a mane was shorter too, and he looked like years had been added to his life.

  Shelby walked up to him and said, “Hey.”

  “Hey. You sure you trust me around that thing?” He smiled and pointed at the violin.

  “I trust you, Jed. With everything.”

  He turned to the band and said, “Let’s run through the new one.”

  And they were off and the sound was amazing, like calling something from nothing, like pulling a rabbit out of a hat—a song that no one had heard, but the band just brought it to life and it sent shivers down Shelby’s spine. She played the instrumental out and then went right into “The Song.”

  After a few bars, Jed waved them off. “We’ve done that one enough. Sounded good, guys. Really good.”

  The band surrounded him and welcomed him back, and before Shelby knew it, Jed was whisked away by some producer who wanted an interview backstage for the production piece to air during the show. When it was her turn, Jed was gone.

  “What was it like to see Jed get so violent onstage? How did you react?”

  “We were all pretty much on the edge emotionally,” Shelby said. “I could have broken a fingernail and it would have brought me to tears. But that instrument, that was a close friend of mine. I lost two friends that night.”

  “Backstage—we’ve heard the stories about what happened. And Jed told us a little about it.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said it got physical between you two. He pushed you.”

  “Yeah, he did. And I hit Stan pretty good when he tried to separate us. But that’s behind us.”

  “What’s behind you?”

  “That night. And what led to that night. The drugs, the booze.”

  “The relationship?”

  Shelby smiled shyly and looked at the interviewer from the corner of her eye. “I’ll always love Jed. His music. His heart. What happens from here on out, I don’t know, but I’m not looking for revenge. Life’s too short. I want to make peace with my demons and move on.”

  “Jed said that his relationship with God has gotten deeper because of this. Do you say the same?”

  She looked at the floor. “No, I can’t say that. I have a lot of questions about God. If there is one. But I don’t fault Jed or anyone for going that direction. If that works for him, for anybody, I’m glad for them.”

  The interviewer looked at her tablet and scrolled down. Then looked up. “Anything else you want to say, Shelby?”

  “I’m sorry if I caused people pain because of my actions. That wasn’t my intent. And I really want this to be the start of something new. Something good for my life and the people I care about.” She looked into the camera. “Thanks for not giving up on me. It really means a lot.”

  Backstage, before they went on, Shelby stood in the wings waiting by the red velvet curtains. Finally Jed walked toward the stage and listened to the performance before theirs. He was twirling something in his hand—was it a ring?

  Her heart fluttered. Maybe his absence had caused him to realize how important she was. Maybe he was going to propose onstage. It was too much to ask, too much to even think about. As she watched him, her heart filled with love and she remembered the times they’d spent together. Even though most of those times were spent in a haze of substances, they were good together, and just seeing him there sparked hope.

  She walked up beside him, smiling. “You ready to do this?”

  He shook his head. “I guess we’ll see.”

  It had been so long since he’d gone in front of a crowd without the help of pills, Shelby wondered if he would be able to get through it.

  “You look really good,” she said.

  “Thank you. You too. Healthy.”

  “Thank you. And the song you wrote—it really spoke to me. I know you didn’t write it to be a hit. It just kind of leaked out. That’s how the good ones come, isn’t it? They just happen to you and you find them.”

  “The good songs find you,” Jed said. “I don’t understand it, but it’s true.”

  “Still think they’re given to you?”

  He nodded. “Oh yeah. I didn’t do anything to deserve this one. Or any of them.”

  She looked at the ring in his hand and wondered how it would feel on her finger. “Jed, I knew you were eaten up, and I just thought if she knew, then it would be over and you and I could be together without all this guilt and you’d be at peace.”

  Jed stared at the faces in the crowd, the lights, the cameras, the female performer onstage. He didn’t respond to Shelby, so she kept going, kept trying to see if her gut was telling her what she hoped. She reached down and took his hand in hers.

  “We have a chance to start over. For things to be the way they should be, you know?”

  He still didn’t respond, didn’t squeeze her hand, and only smiled sadly when the song was done.

  “Here we go,” he said.

  Shelby led the way and the band took their places as the audience applauded. The preproduction piece rolled with the incident onstage in Indy and the interviews with Jed and Shelby. Then they were introduced and the crowd sat on the edges of their seats as Jed began the plaintive introduction to “Chasing after the Wind.”

  Shelby was into it, smiling at the camera, smiling at people she could see in the front row. The guitar and her violin and the mandolin and the rest of them were perfect together. Harmonies came shining through and there was a breathless quality to the performance as if peopl
e were waiting, pulling for them, willing them to move forward. After all, that’s what life was about—hitting bottom and bouncing. Their stories were the stories of thousands of people who had, in some way, sunk so low there was no way but up. Washed-up sports legends who made a comeback, politicians who lost, then ran again—they were all the stories people loved to see because that’s what they wanted for their own lives. And as Jed sang his ode to his own failure, Shelby was coming alive, seeing what might be.

  But every good song has a turn, and this performance of “Chasing after the Wind” had it too. She realized it when they were in the middle, when Jed looked at the balcony or maybe something beyond it, with tears in his eyes. Not stage tears or something manufactured for effect, but real tears, wet and full, as if something inside was releasing. The camera went close on his face, and when Shelby looked at the screen at the side of the auditorium, something in her own heart broke because at that moment she knew the tears weren’t for her.

  And then the intensity of his voice came to a crescendo.

  “Why should I be if nothing has made me?

  All that I’ve done will flame out with the sun.”

  Now he was screaming, not singing, as if yelling to the stars. The veins in his neck strained and his face showed the pressure building inside.

  “Why should I sing if nothing has meaning?”

  As if on cue, the band stopped playing. She wanted to pull the bow across the strings and make some kind of sound, but all she could do was stare at Jed. The audience sat with their hands in their laps, their faces glued to the stage, and the camera focused on Jed in an embarrassingly tight close-up.

  She caught Stan’s face in the crowd and he motioned for her to start, to do anything. So she started “The Song,” like they’d done a thousand times, and the silence was broken by that beautiful, haunting melody. She closed her eyes and let the music flow through her fingers, hoping it would fill the cavern Jed had carved with his voice.

  They were seconds into it when Jed waved them off and sliced at his neck with a hand. One by one they stopped, and Jed, looking like a deer in the headlights, swayed toward the microphone. It almost looked like he was on something, like he was high. Maybe that’s what people were wondering, but Shelby knew better. She’d never seen Jed more sober.

  “You know, when you’re always under bright lights, you can’t see the stars.” There was emotion in his voice. Searing, personal pain bubbling up from inside. “You forget things. You forget that somebody put the stars there. And that they love you enough to die for you. And it’s that kind of love that makes songs worth singing. And life worth living. I had that love. And I threw it away. Because I am a fool. I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head and the silence of the audience was deafening. Shelby could only imagine what was going on in living rooms around the country as people watched. It was as if time stopped, and then Jed was there in front of her. What should have been a chance for him to propose gave way to the worst moment of her life.

  “You’re right,” Jed said. “We have a chance to do things right.”

  Shelby’s heart was pounding. She tried to control it and evened her voice. “You really think she’ll take you back?”

  “Either way, this is good-bye.”

  He didn’t walk backstage to leave; he walked down the stairs and into the audience, all the way to the door leading outside. Shelby watched him go, that long, easy gait, and knew she’d never see him again.

  CHAPTER 48

  JED FELT LIKE HE’D JUST THROWN off a thousand pounds from his back. He walked on air through the audience, not caring what anybody whispered as he passed. For once he felt true freedom, not the kind that could be managed by someone, but the kind that set the heart loose to do what it wanted to do, what it needed to do.

  He glanced at his watch as he neared the hallway and smiled. If he drove the speed limit, he would be there before the band finished at the harvest festival and he could pick up Ray and toss him in the air. He could look at Rose and tell her what he’d done, tell her the old Jed was dead and the new one had come alive. He was already practicing what he would say when Stan pounced on him in the empty hallway.

  “Jed, stop. You can’t do this.”

  “I can. You’re watching it happen.”

  “Do you realize what you’re walking away from?”

  “Nothing that really matters.”

  Stan grabbed him and stopped him, shaking the program in his face. “Let me tell you something. You walk out that door, I will sue you for every show you cancel.”

  Jed smiled. Stan’s power with words had been all-encompassing to him throughout the years. Now he seemed like a paper tiger. “I know. Go ahead.” He put a hand on Stan’s shoulder, suddenly feeling sorry for the man. “It’s only money, Stan.”

  He clapped Stan’s cheek twice and walked away. “I’ve lost much worse.”

  During the drive to the vineyard, he rolled the window down and hung his head out, letting the cool air wash over him. He drove faster than the speed limit, hoping he wouldn’t be pulled over.

  All he could think about was Rose and Ray and their unborn child. What would they call her? Leah? Stephanie? No, Lily. After Rose’s mother. Lily Shepherd King. He couldn’t wait to see Rose and tell her, to let the things on his heart explode. He’d tell her how sorry he was. He’d tell her how wrong he was. He’d give her the rings she had given back to him and she’d be crying, just like the night when he proposed. And things would return to normal. They’d spend their days and nights together and be a team again.

  But he knew that was just a dream. In the real world where real hearts were involved, forgiveness didn’t come that easy. What would he do if she took a swing at him? Or just ran away?

  “Oh, God, give me wisdom,” he whispered. “Again. I promise I won’t squander it this time.”

  He passed the sign for Sharon and accelerated toward the vineyard, where the lights of the place shone into the night. His heart was beating fast when he parked, but the band onstage began a run with their instruments that made him smile. He scanned the crowd and saw the booths and it felt like coming home, like George Bailey running through Bedford Falls and waving at the Building and Loan. He wanted to kiss the crooked cotton candy display and give thanks, but just then he saw his son playing and called him.

  “Dad!” Ray said, running into his father’s arms. How easy it was to pick him up and hold him and look at him.

  “I missed you!” Jed said.

  “You’re late,” Ray said.

  “I know. I’m sorry I’m a little late. But I’m here, right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Where’s your mom?”

  Ray pointed. “She’s over there by the wine people.”

  Jed chuckled. “By the wine people. I’m going to go talk to her, all right?”

  “Okay,” Ray said.

  “I love you, you know that?” Jed said.

  Ray hugged him and Jed gave him a big kiss. It felt like he was home again, like some stone had been rolled away from his heart and he had walked out with only the scars showing from the past. But the biggest hurdle lay ahead. Children can embrace and forgive because their hearts are bigger than their hands. Adults find it harder to let go of the past.

  “See you in a little bit, okay?” He put Ray down and watched him run.

  The sight of Rose made him smile. It was just like the first time he had seen her, right here amid the hay bales and candy apples and wine tasting in the crisp autumn air. She’d taken his breath away, and her beauty now, with their child growing inside, made him wish he could go back and relive the last few months, make better choices. But what man can wind back the hands of time?

  Jed walked toward her to the sounds of the bluegrass band on the stage. It was a pure, clean sound, and the mandolin was kicking in as he caught her eye. She excused herself from the people she was with and walked past the pumpkins and cornstalks. Jed’s face was cold from the drive and he f
igured his nose was red. His eyes watered when he saw her, but it had nothing to do with the weather.

  “Rose.” He said it like a prayer, like an invitation.

  “What are you doing here?” she said, bewildered. “I thought you had a show tonight.”

  “I love you,” he said. He held her gaze and said again, “I love you.”

  She looked away, her face tight. “Jed, stop. Just stop.”

  “I did,” he said. “I quit it. Everything, tonight. I was onstage and I just walked away because it’s not what I want. I want you.”

  He said it with all the feeling in his soul, with resolve and strength and desire. He said it from a heart free from everything that had enslaved him. But what he got in response was not what he had hoped.

  “You had your chance, Jed.” It sounded like an amen to a prayer. So be it. Then she walked away.

  “Rose,” he said. But she was gone. And there was nothing he could do except watch her go.

  A man alone can fall toward despair. He had done that before. But as he watched her walk away, he breathed a prayer. “Oh, God, I asked you for wisdom. Give me that wisdom now.”

  It was an arrow prayer, shot to heaven in an instant. No sooner had he prayed it than he looked toward the band. And he knew what he needed to do.

  CHAPTER 49

  ROSE COULDN’T BELIEVE Jed would show up that late, after promising Ray and then backing out because of a TV show. She assumed that Stan had set things up and that the allure of a sober Shelby was too much to resist. She was content to let him go his own way, to let him walk as far off the pier as he wanted. As for her, she was through with trying to bring him back to his senses. There was only so much a wife could be expected to do.

  But showing up now, just days after their anniversary, was too much for her. She had commemorated the day alone, after she had gotten Ray to bed. She poured a glass of grape juice, not wanting to expose their daughter to the wine, and lit a fire and cried herself to sleep. Where had he been on that night? Why couldn’t he have shown up then?