The Songbird Sisters

by Rachael Herron

  Adele’s eyes were wide. “That’s the piece, the one I sent you in the mail. The Sorry! game piece you bit off when you were a kid.”

  As a child, Lana had pretty much chewed her way through most of their toys. She shrugged. “Yeah.”

  Molly said, “It looks like a blue volcano.”

  “Could be that, too.” But it wasn’t. It was the Sorry! piece, with its round blue base, its conical stem, and the ragged edge where Lana as a child had gnawed off the round head. Adele had mailed it to her. It had made Lana cry. The tattoo had made her feel close to her sisters. Silly, really. She pressed her thumb into it. “Look, I made enough money to quit the business. That’s all.”

  Adele crossed her arms. She had a smudge of ketchup just to the right of her lip, and she’d hate finding it there later. Lana sure wasn’t going to tell her. “And you’re stubborn enough to not want to tell us how.”

  “Yep.” Lana’s heart thumped hollowly inside her chest.

  “Fine.” Adele nodded. “It’s really fine. I’m just so glad you’re home.”

  That was it? That was all she was going to get? Something like disappointment slid down the back of Lana’s throat. She managed to say, “Me, too.” She wasn’t sure it was the truth, but she also didn’t know it to be a lie, so somewhere in there the truth probably existed.

  Chapter Seven

  Taft Hill had never seen a town like Darling Bay that wasn’t on the big screen. It was like something out of a romantic comedy made just for women.

  The main street was called, of course, Main. There only appeared to be one stoplight. There was a line outside the ice-cream shop and a balloon guy – who just looked like a college kid making some money, not the creepy clowns Taft remembered from carnivals – was laughing while a baby tried to grab a balloon in the shape of a puppy. A police officer held up traffic as – Taft wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes – a mama duck and her babies crossed from one side to the other. An older woman honked her horn at Taft from inside the Library Mobile, but it was only to wave his car in front of hers.

  Jesus.

  Even though Taft had never been comfortable around perfection, and even though the sweetness of this town should make his teeth hurt, it felt good to be driving carefully down a main street, the top of the rental open to the sun, watching a town function in a way that could make them proud as a nation. All races seemed represented. All ages were present. No one was shouting. In fact, everywhere he looked, people were laughing in the morning sun. The whole town seemed to be scented with fresh coffee, rising dough and a whiff of ocean spray.

  Too perfect. Way too perfect. Had to be a cult or something.

  In a minute, someone would recognize him, and then the world would shift back into place – greedy people would kowtow to him and self-serving ones would make a big deal that he was there. Taft would go back to the life he knew, the life he hadn’t enjoyed in a long time.

  You never knew what people really thought when they never told the full truth.

  Taft hated that.

  He parked in front of the Golden Spike Café. According to Sully’s research, the Darling girls owned the property now. Was Lana planning on starting a recording studio here or something? Alan Jackson did it, after all, with that studio he had in Miami, and another singer he’d worked with last year had up and moved to Iceland, of all places. She said, “I can do everything I need to do online, except for tour, and I can start a tour from anyplace in the world.”

  He pulled on a black SXSW ball cap. It wouldn’t keep him from being recognized for long, but it might take longer than if he wore his cowboy hat.

  The diner was as busy as Nashville’s Loveless Café. A blonde woman waved at him and gave him the sign to sit anywhere.

  Instead, he stood at the hostess podium. Even with as good as the place smelled – like blueberry muffins and maple syrup – he wasn’t here to eat. Later, he could fill his belly with old-fashioned diner fare. Right now, he needed one thing – another song.

  “Sorry, I thought you saw me, anywhere’s fine.” The woman had a pretty face and a perfect-ten body, curves in all the right places.

  Taft thought briefly of Lana’s slim frame. “I don’t mind waiting for you to finish.”

  “Nah, just choose a seat. Your waitress will be right with you. I have a DEFCON level-five clean-up over there, and if I don’t get back to it, the milk will seep through the floor and into the groundwater, and I’ll be in trouble for something that I don’t want to be in trouble for.” She made a move to step away.

  “I’m not here to eat. I’m looking for Lana Darling.”

  “Oh!” The woman’s eyebrows flew upward. “Well, she’s probably around.”

  “Would you mind telling me where I could find her?” It was a small town, it couldn’t take too long to find a gorgeous hellcat who wrote songs like a goddess, could it?

  “Hmmm.” The blonde leaned on the podium. She looked him up and down. Then she shook her head. “No.”

  “Sorry?” Did the woman not like his music?

  “You look like my ex, Todd. Therefore, I don’t trust you at all. If you don’t know how to find Lana, there’s probably a reason.”

  “Well, that’s remarkably direct.”

  “Refreshing, isn’t it?”

  “I lost her phone number.” It wasn’t true. Lana had refused to give it to him, and they’d done all the contract negotiation through his agent.

  “Okay, then.” The woman reached under a side counter and pulled up a coffee pot. “Like I said, I have to clean up the milk, and do another coffee round. If you don’t want anything else …”

  “She owns this property with her sisters, right? So she’ll be around at some point. You really want me to just stick around, like a stalker?” He heard how it sounded only as it came out of his mouth.

  “Well, now that you put it like that, seems like a very bad thing for you to do. I’d suggest leaving before I call the cops. And since my boyfriend – also named Todd, but he’s Good Todd – is the cop on my speed dial, I suggest you move it on out.” The woman’s voice was pure sugar, her face showing nothing except a friendly smile. Anyone looking at them would think they were chatting about the weather.

  Taft shifted his weight. He was doing this all wrong. “Look, I promise I’m not a stalker. I barely know Lana Darling.”

  “That makes me feel even better about not telling you where she is.”

  He took off his ball cap. He gave her his biggest smile, the same smile that more than one magazine had called heart-stopping. He upped the wattage by giving her a wink. “What’s your name, darlin’?”

  The blonde cocked her head. “No, thanks. Good luck to you.”

  It was worth one last try. “You listen to country music?”

  She shook her head as she walked away and spoke over her shoulder. “I do. The Darling Songbirds is my favorite group.”

  Taft wondered if the whole town would rally around Lana in the same way.

  Somehow he got the feeling they might. That must be something.

  A short, round woman sidled up to him. She had so many beads draped around her neck that she clacked like tumbling rocks every time her head moved. “Lana said she was headed to the hardware store.”

  Taft slapped the cap back on his head. “Hot damn. Thank you, ma’am. Will you point me the right direction?”

  “Down the street, on the left.”

  “Thank you!”

  “Don’t thank me. The cards told me to tell you.”

  He touched the brim of his cap. “Ma’am.”

  “Lord, have mercy. Do I look like a ma’am?” The older woman looked down at her shoes, which were just big leather strips. Her toenails were painted blue. “Maybe I do. Anyway. Go easy on her.”

  “Sorry?”

  “I assume the cards told me about you because you’re going to be important for some reason.”

  The hairs rose on the back of Taft’s neck. “Wh
at’s the reason?”

  “Humph. If I knew that, I’d have just asked for the lottery numbers. Do I look stupid to you?”

  For the second time in two minutes, a woman stormed away from him without a goodbye. Taft hadn’t been this unpopular since he’d had glasses and braces in seventh grade. Even then kids were mostly nice to him because he was Palmer Hill’s son.

  He had to admit, it was refreshing. Bracing, like jumping into an icy stream on a hot day. He wasn’t being recognized. He was just a normal guy. Looking for a girl.

  No eyes followed him as he turned.

  No one raced after him for an autograph.

  No customers whispered their suspicions. He’d gotten used to the way a room sounded when he was trying to go unnoticed and not succeeding – there were murmurs, all shushed sibilants. There were small exclamations, tiny explosions around the room. Is that him? It’s totally him. You go ask. No, you go. Oh! You think?

  Now he heard none of these. Spoons clattered in coffee mugs, and a table full of women laughed over something that sounded like a dirty joke. The coffee machine gurgled and spat. A low rumble came from behind him, out on the street, and when Taft turned, he saw a tractor making its slow way down the main street. Cars were lined up behind it, moving at a crawl.

  No one honked. Not even once.

  This sure as hell wasn’t Nashville.

  Chapter Eight

  One of Lana’s favorite places in Darling Bay always had been Floyd’s Hardware. The door still creaked the same way when she pulled it open, and inside, it sounded just the same as it always had. A key being cut shrieked, and nails clinked metallically as they were tossed into a bin. It smelled like citronella and fresh-cut wood and something else clean and sharp, redolent of Pine-Sol.

  At the hotel, she’d tried pulling down some drywall. She’d found to her astonishment that not much at all stood between her and the studs of a building. She needed some tools, and some guidance of some sort. She’d always been good with her hands, with building, and she’d spent long hours on every tour under the stages, building with the set crew. Back then she’d had her own coveralls and her own tool belt. She’d been just a kid, though, good with a hammer but not versed in actual repair. Back then, she’d just followed directions. While her sisters had tested mics up above, Lana had crawled below, running cables from one end of the set to the other.

  It was all so long ago now.

  “Hey! Is that you, girl?”

  Floyd Huppert had owned the hardware store since the end of the Spanish–American war, or so he’d always claimed. He’d been old when Lana was a girl rifling through the nail bins, and though he should have looked ancient by now, incredibly, he didn’t seem much different. He still had a full head of white hair, and he wore the same old blue shirt with his name embroidered above the pocket.

  “Floyd!” Lana leaned over the counter to give him a peck on his cheek. She rubbed her lips. “You’re scratchy.”

  “What?” Floyd scraped at his chin. “I shave twice a week, whether I need it or not.”

  “Ida lets you get away with that?” As the words left her mouth, Lana felt a pang. She had been away so long – what were the odds that both Floyd and Ida were still alive and healthy?

  But Floyd beamed. “She lets me get away with just about anything, as long as it doesn’t involve licorice or other women.”

  “Licorice?”

  “She hates the smell. She’d throw me out of the house if I ever came home with it on my breath. Think I could come home reeking of ladies’ perfume first.”

  “You ever tested that theory?” she teased.

  “Lord have mercy, no, I haven’t. There’s a reason I’ve been happily married so long. You in town to sing with your sisters?”

  Two other old men rattled and coughed in their direction. The siren call of the hardware store – it was always like this, in every town she’d been in over the years. In every single store, three or four old men held up the walls with their shoulders. Lana would bet the two – no, make that four now – men headed her way spent most of their waking hours telling old war stories with Floyd. No matter where she was, Lana usually made an excuse to go to the local hardware. Sometimes she needed a better plug for the hotel bathtub drain. When she was staying on friends’ couches, she’d offer to paint something, anything. Any excuse to wander the aisles and look at all the things she didn’t quite know how to use, all the things she wanted to learn about.

  Now was her chance.

  “Look.” Lana put her hands flat on the counter. Men like Floyd were expert in small-town gossip. They were worse than women when it came to chatter and conjecture, Uncle Hugh had always said. Best to be straight with a man, right up front. Otherwise they’ll imagine too much. “You’re going to see me in here a lot. I’m going to spend a huge amount of money. I’m fixing up the old hotel. I know you mean well, but I’d very much appreciate it if you don’t get on my case about music, in any form. I’m out of the business, and I need one part of my life where it’s not going to come up. Can this shop be that place?”

  Floyd’s eyes widened. “Why, yes. I believe it can. I appreciate the business.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s a big job, girl.”

  “Yes.”

  “Where’re you gonna start?”

  “Room twelve.”

  “No, I mean, what are you going to do first? Roof? Inner walls?”

  “I figured I’d go room by room.”

  From behind her, Lana heard the store regulars grumble. Can’t do it that way. That won’t work. That’s a girl for you.

  A man who wore his big nose like it was something to be proud of said, “You know how to roof, girl?”

  Another said, “What about electrical?”

  “Repairing sheetrock?”

  “Have you thought about the HVAC?”

  Lana opened her mouth to say something snappy, something smart, something that would shut them down. Of course I know about heating and ventilation! I’m strong enough. I don’t spend all my time in hardware stores dreaming of bygone days. I can probably do more push-ups than all of you combined.

  “I’m fine.” It was all she could get out. She chewed quickly on the side of her thumb, then stuck her hand into her pocket.

  “You ain’t got a man around to help you?”

  She smiled as sweetly as she could, but she’d never had a good poker face. It felt more like a grimace. “I don’t do well with help, gender aside.”

  A white-haired man who hadn’t spoken until now said, “You better get good with help. You cain’t do that job alone.”

  Of course she could. She had money and she had time. Lots and lots of time, which was good, since it would take a while to learn everything, to buy everything, to figure out how to use the tools, to redo whatever she screwed up … Her resolve flagged for a second, but she bucked herself up again.

  Lana didn’t ask for assistance, not even when she couldn’t find something in Target. If you were patient enough, you could do anything that needed doing.

  Too bad she couldn’t buy extra patience, though. “Yeah, well, I’m a fast learner.”

  Then Floyd jumped in. “Don’t try the electrical by yourself. I knew a guy who did that once.”

  Lana rolled her eyes. “Burned the house down? Yeah, I’ll be careful. Not much more damage I can do.”

  Floyd frowned. “He got fried. He left a widow and three kids behind. Never seen a woman angrier than his wife, I tell you what. He’d been supposed to wait for his friend to help him, a friend who knew what he was doing, but he was impatient.”

  Chastened, Lana took a breath. “That’s terrible.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I promise, I’ll try not to be impatient. And you promise me something.”

  “What?” Floyd’s face was open even as the other men puffed out their chests, obviously at the ready to spout instructions.

  “Promise you’ll stop thinking about me as just some
girl. A woman can do just as good a job as a man.”

  Floyd nodded. “I promise. I truly agree with you. Now, take this.” He slid a white card across the counter.

  She took it. “Ballard Brothers Building and Realty?”

  “They’re good.”

  Lana wanted to rip it up into little pieces, but she controlled herself. “Thanks. If I need help –”

  “When,” interjected Nose Man.

  “If I need help, I can find my own workers.”

  “They employ women, that’s all I’m saying.”

  Lana blinked. “They do?”

  “Got a woman electrician on their crew, and maybe a plumber, too. Right, Howard? The Fellows girl working with them?”

  Lana decided she’d just ignore the use of the word “girl.” “Fine. Thank you for the card.”

  “Great. You’ll do great. Now, what are you looking for today?”

  “A book.”

  Floyd stared again. “Sorry?”

  “Don’t you have a book about construction?”

  “Well, yeah. But no one’s bought a book in at least five years.” He cocked his head and looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “Don’t you have the YouTube?”

  Lana sighed. “I’m old-fashioned.”

  “Well! That’s refreshing! Follow me. I’ve got a whole shelf of books. Even ordered new ones last year, in case anyone wanted one. Which, I have to say, no one has. You know, there are three of those Ballard boys, just like there are three of you girls. Too bad y’all didn’t get here earlier. Liam and Aidan are already spoken for, I hear. Your sisters, too. Everyone your age shacking up, I guess.” Floyd smiled warmly. “Let me show you those books now.”

  As she trailed behind him, the wind left Lana’s sails. Shacking up. That was a good enough phrase for it.

  Love.

  Honestly. Who had time?

  “Hey!” An old man wearing a red T-shirt with “I Heart Bingo” printed on the front said, “Isn’t that …?”

  “Lord almighty! I think it is!”

  Lana’s cheeks heated. Floyd had remembered her, but she and Uncle Hugh had spent so much time in here when she was young that she hadn’t been surprised. And he hadn’t said her name out loud. If those other old men recognized her, then it meant Molly was right – that this town still remembered them. Maybe if she pretended she couldn’t hear them, maybe if she just kept following Floyd down the aisle, they’d get over their surprise.