Summer's Song

by Lindi Peterson

  His question burns a hole in me. So straightforward, sincere. The man doesn’t have a deceitful bone in his body. If I can’t trust Skeet Lawson, I might as well curl up in this cabin I’ve been leasing for almost a year and hide for the rest of my life. “Yes, I trust you. I’m just curious.”

  “You’ve heard tell of what curiosity did. I’ll see you shortly.”

  He squeezes my hand before he starts back through the woods to his house. As much as I trust him, I’m a little on edge about meeting someone new. Everyone knows who I am. They all have one up on me so there’s always the battle with preconceived ideas, which I fueled regularly until I decided to drop out, clean up, and act right.

  While the media knows that I’ve dropped out, they don’t know that I’ve cleaned up and am trying to act right. But Skeet knows. He hasn’t judged me. I’m not sure I’ve met anyone before who hasn’t judged me on some level.

  And his friend is male. I don’t even know how to act around a guy. I had so many flings, a short marriage, all lived out in that haze that was my life. I wonder what dating is like. Strange question from the mother of a four-year-old. Well, his friend is probably as old as he is, so I’m not going to worry that I’m not wearing make-up, my hair hangs straight, tucked behind my ears, and I’m wearing black capris and a white T-shirt. One thing is certain. I’m not out to impress anyone.

  At least thoughts of Skeet and his friend have pulled my mind away from Coleman’s dreadful visit. For the rest of this evening I’m not going to think about those demands. No, I’m going to enjoy a bologna sandwich.

  I knock on Skeet’s door, arriving a little later than I had intended. I had momentarily debated whether I would drive or walk. I’d rather walk, but not after dark. So the car won out, this time. I park my leased red Mustang convertible behind an average sedan rental, which tells me Skeet’s friend is here.

  After a couple of knocks, Skeet opens the door. “Here you are. Come on in.”

  I step in. A safe feeling surrounds me. In this house, with this grandfatherly man, I have known nothing but goodness. No strife, no confrontation, no pitying. Just singing, music, guitars, and God. Like food labels list their ingredients from most to least, I feel I know the most about singing and the least about God. The music and guitars are comfortably settled in the middle, being explored like the modified food starch in a can of cream of mushroom soup.

  “Come on back to the studio.”

  His home studio is where we hang out the most. It’s down the hall, at the back of the house. I hear guitar music as we get close. When we enter the studio I immediately notice Skeet’s friend. First off, his dark, full head of hair indicates he’s not old. He’s sitting on a stool, his feet propped on the cross-bars, head bent, playing the guitar. He doesn’t look up as we make our way toward him.

  The music is good. It has a life about it.

  He crescendos his way to an ending. His right foot kicks out somewhat as his right hand goes into the air. Then he looks up. “Hi.”

  It’s all he says. Hi. I’m not sure I would have heard anything else had he spoken. Maybe it’s because this is the first attractive man I’ve met since I’ve been recovering. Maybe it’s because he’s wearing a shirt with a guitar drawn on the front, and the logo says Life Is Good. Maybe it’s because his eyes are a deep, dark brown color I don’t remember ever seeing before.

  Or maybe it’s because his music tells me more about him than he knows.

  “Levi, this is Summer. The girl I’ve been tellin’ you about.” Skeet turns to me. “Summer, this here’s my friend, Levi.”

  “Cool name.” Levi sets his guitar in its stand before coming over to shake my hand.

  I offer my hand, not sure of how to handle myself. Already the safe, secure feeling of Skeet’s studio is shattered by Levi. His music, his voice.

  Skeet’s words ring in my mind. Summer. The girl I’ve been telling you about. No last name, no disclaimer, no she’s rehabbing so don’t break out the beer or offer her a Xanax. But Levi would have to be deaf, blind and dumb not to know who I am. Or am I giving myself too much credit? Are there really people in this world who don’t live by the tabloids? Who don’t go to the grocery store? Who haven’t seen my pictures all over every media venue?

  An impossible thought crosses my mind. Could this be my opportunity to actually make a first impression on someone as the new Summer?

  “Summer,” Skeet says. “I told Levi about you havin’ to make a record.”

  My breath hitches. What does Levi have to do with me making a record?

  Skeet glances at Levi. “I think you can help her.”

  My body tenses. Who is Levi anyway? Is he a songwriter? A producer? A relative?

  “Whoa. Wait a minute,” Levi says. “I’m sympathetic to her dilemma, but I can’t help the Summer Sinclair make a record.”

  Once again the old Summer has reared her ugly head. So much for first impressions.

  “Can’t or won’t, Son.”

  “Skeet, you know what I’ve been through. This is not a good time for something like this.”

  Levi’s gaze is darting back and forth between Skeet and me. He’s taken a couple of steps back, and his hands are shoved in his dark denim jeans. I guess I have a way of making people uncomfortable.

  Skeet clears his throat. “I may be old, and my body may be slowin’ down on me, but my mind is still sharp as a tack. The way I see it, both of you are runnin’ so hard away from stuff, if you run in the same direction, you might just run into each other and stop.”

  I want to bolt out of the room. Skeet is making things worse. Levi obviously has issues. He’s making it very clear he doesn’t want to work with me.

  Skeet is a smart man. He has to realize combining two problems doesn’t equal a mutual solution.

  It equals disaster.

  I stare at Skeet like hello, wake up. The man doesn’t want to be involved.

  Who can blame him?

  “This is way out there even for you, Dude.” Levi eyes Skeet with a more than skeptical look. Levi’s pursed lips and scowl combination should give him a sour look, but they only accentuate his fine features. I don’t think the man could be ugly if he grew ears out of the top of his head. Which he might actually do if Skeet keeps pursuing this crazy course of action.

  I better intervene.

  “Your willingness to help anyone and everyone is admirable,” I say to Skeet as I eye the door. “But this is too much. I’ve got to handle my own problems someday, and it looks like today’s the day to start.”

  “Sometimes askin’ for help takes more courage than walkin’ alone.”

  The way I’m thinking, is if a collaboration is in the making, at least one of the collaborating parties should be willing to collaborate. The only willing party here is Skeet.

  “The lady is a phenomenon, Skeet. She doesn’t need my input to make a CD.”

  Lady? Phenomenon? Wow! My brain is having a hard time taking hold of these compliments. Lady? I tingle as the word keeps repeating in my head. When was the last time someone called me a lady?

  When was the first time?

  “What’re you thinkin’, Summer? Do you want his help?”

  Tingles still run down my arms as I assess the situation. My feelings have softened some with his compliment. Isn’t that just like a woman? Tell her anything, a lie even, and her emotions run rampant.

  But he can throw out a dozen ‘ladys.’ It doesn’t change the facts. He doesn’t want to work with me. What did he say? Something about it not being a good time for him?

  When it comes to me, there will probably never be a good time.

  “No offense, Levi, Skeet, but I think I’m better off on my own here.”

  I can see the relief on Levi’s face.

  Skeet’s skeptical look doesn’t escape me, either. Disappointment shows in his warm brown eyes. “I had more faith in you two. More faith that you could see past your own dealin’s and have compassion for another in need. Guess I
was wrong in assumin’.”

  Levi’s gaze catches mine. A result of neither of us wanting to look at Skeet, probably. I know I don’t. And what does he mean by another in need? Is Levi in need of something?

  “What exactly do you want from me, Skeet?” Levi asks as his gaze remains on me.

  “Nothin’ you don’t have.”

  “That’s vague, Dude.”

  “That’s life, young’un.”

  Warring emotions hang thick in the room. The walls, which showcase pictures of Skeet with other famous and not-so-famous singers, seem to mock the resistance of Levi and me as we fight Skeet’s plan to work together.

  Not only is Skeet a master musician, he is a humanitarian. He loves people and wants the best for them. He’s helped many a struggling artist.

  And he’s helped me. A lot. But now he wants to include Levi.

  Levi, who doesn’t want to be included.

  I look down to see if my T-shirt is pounding along with my pulsating heart. This is crazy. Luckily there are no outward symptoms of my inner struggle. “It’s not like I’m looking for a resume or anything, but who are you, Levi? What’s your expertise?”

  Levi looks a little confused. “Skeet hasn’t told you?”

  I try to breathe normally. What hasn’t Skeet told me?

  “No.”

  “I’m a musician. I write, sing, and produce music.”

  “Christian music, Summer.” Skeet’s gaze fixes on me.

  Christian music? Levi has such a renegade look. Maybe all Christian music isn’t sung by people wearing choir robes. And Levi obviously thinks it couldn’t be sung by me. “Oh, I see.”

  “I don’t think you do.” Skeet points to Levi. “This is one extremely talented man. He doesn’t know how talented he is.”

  “I have nothing to offer the lady.” Levi’s expression remains solid.

  “You have everything to offer,” Skeet counters.

  This is crazy. Outrageous. I’ve had the most famous people in the world fighting to work with me. I don’t need this.

  I don’t need him.

  “Thanks, but no thanks.” I walk toward the door.

  “Summer, hold on.” Skeet’s voice slows my steps.

  “Hold on for what, Skeet?” I ask. “Your friend here to tell me one more time I’m not good enough? Just stay here in your safe studio and sing Jesus music. I have a real CD to make.”

  I hurry out of the room, out of the house and to my car. My hand shakes as I push the remote to unlock the door.

  “Summer, let me explain.”

  Levi’s voice reaches me as I’m about to get into my car. All I have to do is open the door and leave. So why do my feet seem rooted to the driveway?

  “I’m sorry about Skeet’s scheming. The man never gives up. So let’s try it, okay?”

  I hear the words he’s speaking, but his tone reveals his still unwilling heart. “Is this a pity consolation?”

  “No.”

  “What made you change your mind? I’m still Summer, and you’re still a Christian.”

  He shifts his weight from one foot to another. “My hesitation has nothing to do with either one of those things.”

  Everything about him indicates he’s sincere. But I can tell he’s not into working with me. For whatever reason this whole running out to the car thing is probably nothing more than an attempt to appease Skeet. “Look, I’m sure you’re a great artist. I saw just a little of it today, and you totally impressed me. But I don’t think it would work.”

  “I’m not trying to impress anyone, and how do you know if you don’t try?”

  Even in the dark my Mustang looks like a tamed pony when Levi stands next to her. All the power and red paint can’t begin to compare with him. I can’t understand it. I just know it’s true. And something tells me I need to stay away. “I really need to be going.”

  He opens my car door. “Will you come back tomorrow?”

  Levi’s question shatters the darkness of the night.

  But it doesn’t shatter my resolve.

  Chapter Two

  I am not prepared to see Levi first thing in the morning.

  But he is standing on my front porch, his hands shoved in the pockets of his boy-do-they-fit-good jeans, trying to make a case for Skeet.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Can I make myself any clearer?

  “Skeet thinks you’re being difficult.”

  “I’m not. I promise.”

  I must admit Levi looks uncomfortable. Like he doesn’t want to be here. His scowl and dark mood contrast with the bright morning while his gruff voice overrides the soft chirping of the birds.

  “Okay. I’m going to get right to the point. You don’t look real busy or anything, and if I go back to Skeet’s without you, he’s not going to be happy.”

  “He’s just going to have to be unhappy then for a while. Look, I really didn’t want to get into it, but my manager’s coming. He should be here anytime now.”

  I say the words ‘my manager’s coming’ like it’s no big deal.

  It’s a big deal.

  Especially if Levi is still standing here. There is no way, no how I want Coleman meeting Levi. It can’t happen.

  My vision of disaster comes to life as I hear Coleman’s car barreling up the long, winding driveway. And really, barreling is the only way to describe how Coleman drives. To be totally honest, which is new to me in a big way, it’s how Coleman lives. Barreling through life. Through people. Through money.

  Through me.

  Will he barrel through take-charge Levi?

  My palms start to sweat as Coleman exits his rental and walks to the trunk he’s popped open.

  Levi looks at me. “That’s one very beige dude. His suit matches the car, which matches his hair.”

  I try to hide my smile, then Coleman slams the trunk shut, and I flinch.

  “Does the man make you nervous?” Levi asks.

  What’s making me nervous is Coleman meeting Levi. You see, my therapist didn’t cover what to do when two worlds collide.

  Coleman walks briskly up to the porch. I’m still standing in the doorway, Levi is still standing on the porch. Coleman stops at the top of the steps.

  “Hi, Princess. Who’s your friend?”

  “Levi Preston.” Levi offers his hand to Coleman.

  Coleman takes Levi up on his handshake offer. “Coleman Ross. What business are you in?”

  “None of yours. And you?”

  “What do you want with Summer?” Coleman’s tone changes as he practically yanks his hand away from Levi’s.

  I shake my head. “Coleman. Use some manners, please. He’s a friend of Skeet’s.”

  “Who the hell is Skeet?”

  I close my eyes to give myself a moment. How have I put up with him all these years? Is he always this rude? This beige? I smile at the thought of Levi’s description.

  “Skeet Lawson?” I say, knowing full well that Coleman will recognize the name. There is no bigger name in country music.

  “Yeah, so how does this guy who knows Skeet Lawson know you, and what does this have to do with me? I don’t have a whole lot of time to waste here, Princess. I left T-LUV and The Brandywineries in mid-recording to come and talk to you. Every minute counts.”

  I could care less about his new groups who have burst on the music scene. They are making him a ton of money, just like I do. Or did. No. Still do.

  “Hey, now. Treat the lady with a little respect, here. Tone down the tone. Relax.” Levi squares his shoulders.

  “The name Skeet Lawson I know, but Levi Preston I don’t. So why don’t you move on for now. Summer and I have an appointment. I don’t recall you being invited.”

  “I invited him,” I blurt out.

  The two men look at me like I’m crazy. And I think I am. What am I doing?

  “Princess, the discussion we need to have is private.”

  Coleman not only looks irritated, he sounds irritated. Great. Now I’m st
anding with two irritated men.

  “Coleman, Levi is a musician. He’s helping me work on something.” I speak the words even though I know they aren’t entirely true. But I can honestly say a decision hasn’t been made on my part. I’ve been pondering.

  “He’s helping you on your new CD?”

  The look Levi is giving me isn’t a good one. The words to describe it are confused, confused and confused. In a bad way. I’m not including disappointed in there because in as much as I don’t know Levi Preston, he has to know I’m up to something. I don’t want to out and out lie to Coleman. Not only is the look Levi is giving me screaming that loud and clear, there’s something inside of me rebelling at the very thought.

  Which is scary. Before I started rehab I don’t think I knew the truth from lies and vice versa.

  “I haven’t started the new CD.”

  “So how is he helping you? And this better be good, because I’m sure there are some contract violations going on here. Not just anybody can work with you, you know.”

  Now that I’m sober I find dealing with Coleman exhausting. “I wasn’t aware my life is a contract.”

  Levi’s expression is indescribable. And not in a good way.

  “I hope you’re not helping him. People pay for your opinion.” Coleman’s face is red, like it might explode any minute now.

  Levi holds up his hands as if in surrender. “I’m a professional musician with recording contracts, agents, publicists. But I’m in a totally different league. You guys are too much for me. Catch you later, Summer.”

  Without as much as a goodbye to Coleman, Levi makes his way down the steps. I don’t really know what is happening as I follow him to his car. I just know he can’t leave here like this.

  “Wait,” I say as his hand grabs the door handle.

  “He’s messed up, you know.”

  His truthful gaze sears into me while his words permeate my brain.

  “Yes, I’m aware of how messed up he is, but I don’t have a choice in the matter. He’s been my manager since I was eight years old. I don’t even know how long our current contract is. I need to call my lawyer and get him to send me all my contracts. Not that I would know how to read them.”

  “If I were you, I’d start redirecting your manager this minute. Let him know you’re the boss. He works for you. You don’t work for him.”