One More Summer

by Burke, Dez

  “I’m not here just for Dad,” I say. “I’m also here for my brother. He needs me. I swear, Harry. If you keep bugging the shit out of me, we’re going to have a big problem. I’m doing the best I can with the situation. Deal with it.”

  “Are you threatening to cut me?” Harry asks in a shocked voice. “Do I need to remind you that we have a contract too? You need me, and you’d better not forget it or as you said, we’re going to have a big problem. Our business arrangement goes both ways.”

  I would love to tell him to go straight to hell, but that wouldn’t accomplish anything other than to make me feel better. Harry is the best manager in the business, and as much as I hate to admit it, I owe him for making me a star. I’m not dumb enough to do something rash to be spiteful. No matter how much I’d love to.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, forcing myself to calm down. “It’s early in the morning and I’m under a lot of stress. Dad is much worse than I realized, and the farm is about to go under. My family needs me. I want to be a big man enough to be here for them. I truly hope my fans will understand my absence and you know what? I believe they would if they knew the truth. They have families too. Love and family is the basis of country music. Listen to the lyrics sometime. My fans will understand. I know it.”

  Harry grumbles words I can’t hear underneath his breath.

  “Just remember your fans will quickly forget you if you’re not around,” he sputters. “They’ll go on to the next singer in a heartbeat. If you think you’re something special, you’re wrong. Country singers with pretty faces are a dime a dozen in this town. The only thing that sets you apart from the herd is the heavy marketing the record label has thrown behind you.”

  “I hear you, and I’ll try to catch up on my social media posting. I know my fans better than you do. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Make sure you do,” Harry says coldly.

  He clicks off the phone without saying goodbye.

  I close my eyes and wonder if I can go back to sleep. I doubt it, since Jeb, the ever-living rooster on the roof, has started crowing.

  Ten minutes later, Cole opens my bedroom door and sticks his head inside without knocking.

  “Get up, lazy bones,” he says. “We’re leaving for church in an hour. Don’t make us late. Lily has Sunday School.”

  I roll over, open one eye, and check the clock that shows ten after eight. “Church?” I mutter. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

  “I didn’t think I needed to,” he replies. “It’s Sunday morning, isn’t it? And the second Sunday in June, which means it’s Decoration Day at church. I can’t believe you didn’t remember. Then again, I can. Lily and I picked up a spray of flowers yesterday to put on Mama’s grave. There’ll be a picnic on the grounds after the service. There’s coffee downstairs if you want some.”

  “Okay, I’m coming,” I say wearily. “Damn, you’re too energetic this early in the morning. Don’t you ever slow down? Life on the farm is busier than going on a twenty-city tour. I just had a long talk with my manager. Give me five minutes to get up.”

  “One minute,” he says. “Did you bring any dress clothes with you?”

  “Nothing but blue jeans and boots,” I say. “I didn’t think about going to church.”

  “You can borrow something of mine,” he says. “Grab a change of clothes out of my closet. What’s mine is yours, so take your pick. You won’t find any designer duds or fancy labels in there though, and I don’t want to hear any damn complaining.”

  “Don’t worry, you won’t.”

  When he leaves, I sit up in bed and rub my eyes. I can’t remember the last time I attended Decoration Day. It’s the one time a year when the family members of those buried in the church’s graveyard gather together. Everyone brings real or plastic flowers to decorate the graves of their loved ones.

  For the older folks, it’s a huge social gathering and an event they look forward to all year. After the church service and the grave decorating, the church ladies put on a massive spread of food on wooden picnic tables underneath big oak trees.

  Anyone who shows up is more than welcome to eat. It doesn’t make a difference if you’re a church member or not.

  A few of the elderly widowed men in town spend the entire months of May and June going from one church decoration to another for the country cooking. The church ladies happily fill their plates to overflowing, just content to have someone appreciate their cooking efforts for a change.

  Growing up, Dad always told us that he only asked one thing when we got older. That one thing was to come back every year for the church decoration in remembrance of our family members who had passed on.

  One simple thing and I didn’t do it.

  Not even the year after Mama died.

  Once again, I’m left feeling like a piece of dog shit.

  Well, at least I’m here today. Better late than never.

  I hurry downstairs and pour myself a cup of coffee. Cole has already helped Dad get dressed in a dark suit and tie. They’re both sitting at the kitchen table. Dad is reading the local Sunday paper.

  “You look mighty spiffy this morning, Dad,” I say.

  He glances at me with the same old twinkle in his eyes. “Cole says it’s Decoration Day at church,” he tells me. “Your Mama will be making her famous banana pudding for the picnic. Those other ladies always try to steal her recipe, but she won’t ever tell them. It’s a secret.” He chuckles under his breath. “Your Mama is the best cook in the county. I’m a lucky man.”

  Mama?

  The smile disappears from my face.

  “No, Dad. Mama is …”

  Cole throws me a panicked glance. “She’s up in North Georgia visiting Aunt Leona,” he interrupts me quickly. “Mama hated to miss the decoration this year, but Leona needed her help with some canning she has going on. They’re going blackberry picking and then they’re going to put up jam.”

  I stare at him, shocked speechless. What the hell kind of lie is he spinning about Mama who has been dead two years? An hour before church no less.

  Dad smiles at him and nods happily. “That’s good. We’ve run out of blackberry jam. There’s no telling what those two women will get into up there in the North Georgia mountains. They’ll probably get covered by chiggers in the blackberry briars. Levi, do you know how to get rid of chiggers? One year you were covered up in them. Your Mama counted over one hundred on you. She put clear fingernail polish on them to suffocate them to death. It worked like a charm.”

  And just like that, the conversation quickly moves along to something else.

  I wait until Dad picks up his newspaper and walks into the living room before turning to Cole.

  “What the living hell was that about?” I ask in a furious voice. “You flat-out lied to Dad.”

  “Damn right I did,” he whispers in a voice only I can hear. “It’s called a fib, not a lie. When someone has Alzheimer’s, you go into their world. You do or say whatever makes them happy and calm at that moment. It’s the best thing to do. Believe me, I’ve done it the other way and it doesn’t work. You’re going to have to trust me on this.”

  I stare at him, not believing what I’m hearing.

  “So you just lie to him about Mama being dead? How long are you planning to keep this up?”

  “As long as I fucking need to,” he says harshly. “And you’d damn better do the same thing or I’ll beat your ass. His short-term memory only lasts a few minutes, so he’ll forget anything we tell him anyway. Why cause him grief? That would be cruel. If I correct him every time about Mama dying, it would be the same as reliving a nightmare over and over for him. Why put him through that?”

  I shake my head slowly. “I just don’t see how this is right. Dad wouldn’t want us lying to him.”

  “Levi, so help me God,” Cole says in a stern voice. “If you fuck this up, you’re going to have to deal with me, and I’m dead serious. This is one time in your life, you need to listen to me. If he se
es spiders crawling across the wall, you go kill them for him. If he goes searching for Mama, you reassure him that she’ll be back soon from the store. Keep him happy and calm in the minute. Trust me. It’s the only way. I’ve been doing this long enough to know.”

  Dad walks into the kitchen and grabs his car keys from where they’re hanging on the wall.

  “I’m going on over to the church,” he says. “I’ll see you boys there later.”

  Cole gives me a ‘see what I mean’ look over Dad’s head.

  “I’m not sure if your truck will start, Dad,” Cole says. “I was having trouble with it yesterday. Tomorrow I’ll go into town and get you a new battery.”

  “I’ll go check it out,” Dad says, walking out the door.

  I walk over to the window to see what he does. Sure enough, Dad slides into the driver’s seat of his truck and tries to start it. After a few minutes of nothing happening, he gets out and heads back toward the house.

  “Don’t worry,” Cole says. “I disconnected the battery. Otherwise he might disappear, never to be seen or heard from again. He hasn’t driven in over a year. Not that he remembers. He would be another statistic on the evening news. It terrifies me to think about it.”

  “I’ll do what you say,” I reassure him. “As you said, you’ve been doing this a hell of a lot longer than me. I trust your judgement.”

  “Thanks, Levi,” he says. “That’s a relief to hear you say that.”

  “Is this dress pretty, Daddy?” Lily says, skipping into the room like a bright ray of sunshine. She’s wearing a frilly pink sundress and sandals.

  “Pretty as can be,” Cole says, beaming at her. “Are you ready for Sunday School?”

  She holds up a miniature, golden-colored New Testament. “I’ve got my Bible Papa bought me for Christmas,” she says.

  “You already know how to read?” I ask, knowing she’s only four.

  Do kids read that early now? I don’t have any idea.

  “No, but I’m learning,” she says, grinning shyly. “Daddy is helping me and my preschool teacher too. I know my ABCs and can count.”

  Cole leans down and picks her up for a big hug. Lily giggles when he tugs one of her long curls. Seeing them together makes me envious for a moment.

  I’ve never thought much about having kids, or at all. The idea of having a family to come home to after a long music tour sounds pretty good to me right now.

  Dad opens the door and steps back into the kitchen.

  “The truck wouldn’t start,” he says with a puzzled expression. “I need to peek under the hood. Where’s my toolbox?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Cole says, giving me a wink. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow. Is everyone ready to go to church? We don’t want to be late.”

  I toss back the last sip of coffee in my mug and stand. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” I say with a resigned sigh.

  18

  Levi

  The small country stone church sits at the top of a sloping hill. I notice the white roof of the building could use a fresh coat of paint, along with the red front doors.

  The stained-glass windows lining both sides of the church have lost a little of their sparkling shine, but they’re still pretty in the sunlight.

  The church was built back in the early 1900s, so considering its age, it’s held up well. I wonder if I should make a sizeable donation to spruce things up, or if I might be resented for it.

  In small towns, you never know how the offer of money will be received.

  People from Georgia are proud and don’t take kindly to handouts if they think that’s what you’re offering. My brother is a prime example of that.

  If nothing else, I might offer to pay the annual fee for a landscaper to mow the graveyard and clear any weeds that pop up. Cole told me that volunteers are taking turns doing it now, and they surely could be better used for something else.

  Then again, I could always drop a wad of cash in the offering plate when it’s passed around. Something tells me they would know exactly where it came from though, so that method would be far from anonymous.

  Ten years ago, I never dreamed I’d have the problem of convincing people to take my money.

  Real-world problems, I guess.

  Reverend Tom Smith, the elderly preacher of the Monroe First Baptist Church, is standing at the open front door and shaking hands with everyone passing by to go inside. He doesn’t appear much different than I remember, except maybe a little older.

  His hands are curled now with arthritis and his shoulders are more stooped. He also seems to have shrunk a couple of inches in height. I thought he was old when I was a kid. He must be well into his late seventies or early eighties by now.

  He grips Dad’s hand in a firm handshake, and his eyes light up when he sees me standing behind him. Reaching over, he bypasses my outstretched hand and grabs me in a big hug instead.

  “Welcome home, son,” he says, patting my back. “Glad to see you here. Did you come to town for the church homecoming?”

  “Yes, sir,” I answer with a nod. “And the food.”

  He chuckles and reaches over to shake Cole’s hand next. “The best in the country,” he says. “Go inside and grab your seat. It’ll be crowded today. Lots of new people here for decoration.”

  Lily spots one of her friends and takes off running to join them in the kid’s Sunday School classroom.

  “Meet me out front after church,” Cole calls out to her retreating back.

  “Okay, Daddy,” she replies before running around the side of the building, hand in hand with another giggling little girl about the same age.

  I follow Dad and Cole inside the church and down the red-carpeted aisle to our regular pew. Third row on the left side. The same place we’ve always sat every single church service my entire life.

  It’s not as if there’s assigned seating. It’s a habit my Dad got into and never broke. Every family has their own favorite row to sit in.

  Dad goes into the row first and takes a seat at the end. I plop down harder than I mean to beside him on the wooden pew, wincing when my back hits the uncomfortable seat.

  No fancy cushions on the pews for this church.

  No sir.

  It’s going to be a long, painful hour sitting on the rock-hard benches. Maybe that’s the point…to keep people from nodding off during the service.

  Several of the church deacons make their way over to speak to Dad. It’s sad to watch. He was a respected deacon too at one time. He still is, since it’s a lifetime role. The church wouldn’t take the hard-earned title away just because someone loses their memory.

  Except now, he’s not capable of fulfilling the role of greeting visitors and helping people to an empty seat. He doesn’t seem to notice that things have changed. Maybe that’s a blessing in disguise.

  When it gets closer to ten o’clock, the church goers start piling in, crowding tight into the tiny room. The temperature inside is already going up. In another hour, it’s going to be miserably hot in here. Like so many other things, I’d forgotten the church isn’t air-conditioned.

  Baptist preachers want to make sure the congregation knows that the heat of hell is real.

  Glancing around, I notice that every pew is full. Several of the deacons are lined up against the walls with their hands clasped in front of them to free up space for others.

  “Do you come to church every Sunday?” I whisper to Cole, who’s sitting on one side of me.

  “Yeah, it’s good for Lily,” he says with a nod. “When her mama ran off, the church ladies took extra care to give Lily attention and love. She feels at home here with her little friends. The summer Vacation Bible School starts in a couple of weeks. She’ll enjoy that and will help to keep her occupied during the mornings at least.”

  “That’s good to hear,” I say. “I’m glad she enjoys Sunday School. We always did too until they kicked us out of children’s church and made us sit out here with the adults. Then it wasn’t fun anym
ore.”

  “No cookies and Kool-Aid out here in the big church,” Cole says with a grin. “Being an adult sucks.”

  “I hope Lily hangs onto childhood as long as she can. Those days are the best.”

  “I’m not sure what I’m going to do with Lily this summer,” he says, low enough where Dad can’t hear him. “I can’t leave her and Dad alone at the house together while I take care of the farm. A senior caregiver isn’t going to want to chase after a four-year-old, and a teenage babysitter certainly can’t handle Dad.”

  “You’ve got that right,” I say. “Listen, I’ll gladly pay for whatever you need. As soon as you figure it out, just say the word. Money isn’t an issue anymore, so please let me do this.”

  He nods, and I’m optimistic he might accept my help for once.

  Two minutes later, the doors to the church close and the choir director walks up to the front of the room. He takes a moment to give a warm welcome to everyone while the choir members silently file in to stand on the metal stairs behind him.

  My heart stops when I spot Annie take her place on the first row. I didn’t know she would be here this morning. She scans the crowd and her eyes land on me.

  She smiles, lighting up the room in a way that only she can. She’s lovely in her light blue dress that matches her eyes. Her blonde hair is pulled back and held with a pin at the back of her head. A single strand of simple pearls is her only jewelry.

  If she’s wearing any makeup, it’s not visible. She never needed it to show her beauty. I always preferred her without it.

  “You didn’t tell me Annie would be here,” I mutter accusingly to Cole.

  “You didn’t ask,” he replies. “She’s in the choir now.”

  “I didn’t know she could sing either,” I say. “I’ve never heard her sing in public. Nothing except singing along with the radio at the top of her lungs when we were teenagers.”

  “What you don’t know could fill a book,” he teases. “You’ve been gone a while. Things change, Levi. You’re missing out and don’t even know it.”

  The choir director instructs everyone to grab a hymnal book tucked into the back of the pews, then leads us all in a few old-time, Southern Baptist songs. Most people know the words by heart, including Dad, who to my surprise is singing along with everyone else.