Whiskey Girl

by Adriane Leigh

  I was born with gypsy blood running through my veins. I would never be the type to settle down behind a white picket fence, and all the good things in life were what Augusta Belle was born into. What she deserved.

  I never thought the day would come that I could make Augusta Belle deserve me. But she did make me a better man, and that was the most a guy like me could hope for. In fact, if her daddy had had one thing right, it was that she was too good for me. I couldn’t give her the things she was used to. At least, not then. Now, was a different ball game.

  I’d burned through a lot of my cash living on the road, but I’d also managed to stow a fair bit of it away for rainy days ahead. Bein’ a part of Augusta Belle’s father’s estate wasn’t somethin’ I’d ever expected, but I didn’t need nor want it. That all belonged to Augusta Belle, some small retribution for the hell she’d had to endure in their household, born to be their scapegoat.

  If my dad had taught me anything, it was that sometimes a whole life could consist of rainy days. If you got a chance to plan for them, a person ought to.

  “Did your parents come down for your graduation?” I asked, as if that were the most important part of this story. But it was, somehow.

  She shook her head, sweet lips turning down as it looked like she might dissolve into tears. “Nah, they skipped it.”

  I nodded, no words I could give her to soothe that kind of pain.

  “It was better that way,” she offered bravely with a shrug. “I probably would have been so nervous seeing them for the first time. At least I was able to focus. Graduated top of the very small class that year, and it earned me a few extra scholarships.” She pulled on the bottom of her lip, eyes focused out the windshield at the horizon. “Didn’t see Mama again until…” She swallowed. “Well, the first time I went back home was after she was diagnosed.”

  Old wounds bled between us in the cab, but for the first time, they weren’t ours.

  “Sometimes I wish I would have had more moments with her, maybe we could have had the conversations we needed to. But I have to say, Fallon…” She pressed her lips together, holding back tears. “She never really seemed like…she never had that mom moment for me, y’know?” Her eyes met mine, seeking understanding.

  “I know.” I understood perfectly. I’d had the same sort of experience with my own parents. My mom, to this day, still in and out of rehab, struggling with her own demons. And my dad so racked with pain and bitterness the duration of his life he could never see outside of it long enough to spend a real moment with his kids, much less hold a job. Even in the end, he only asked for help, never a single moment between us beyond what I could do for him physically.

  I swallowed down that old familiar burn.

  “Did you ever talk to them about…” I struggled to find the right words. “That night?”

  “Not really.” She sighed. “It all happened so fast. I did what I could to help her, and then after… Well, after, Dad just wasn’t the same. It was weird. The last time I was in that house, it was so much chaos, so much fighting. Fast-forward a few years and all of a sudden everything’s changed. Dad had to adjust to Mom being gone, and I had to adjust to the man I thought I knew.”

  I nodded, thinking it was probably pretty similar to what she’d had to do with me.

  “It wasn’t much long after Mama was gone that I noticed he was starting to slip. I couldn’t put my finger on it at first. Just one day, it was one thing. A month later, a few more. So I came home to help him over the winter. Really, I think just the thought of him alone in that big old house…” Soft tears wet her eyelashes. “I wasn’t even home a year, and we found out his immune system was compromised. His lungs weren’t in good shape from smoking all the Dunhills, and the vodka, well…”

  I remembered the faint smell of cloved smoke that usually lingered around her front porch where her dad often sat, puffing in the corner with a glass of his favorite Russian formula.

  It was weird, spendin’ so much time with a family without them even realizin’ I was there. In a lot of ways, I was a ghost to the Bransons, someone who haunted the periphery, never quite important enough to make it all the way into their world.

  It’d struck me a lot of nights how lucky I was that Augusta Belle wasn’t anything like either of her parents. She was kind and sweet, full of compassion and a supercharged sense of adventure. A smile still turned up my lips when I thought of the countless nights of fun we’d had, just her and me, my guitar and the moonlight.

  If Augusta Belle had been anything like her parents, she probably would have looked through me that first day up on the bridge. I wouldn’t have been a blip on her radar.

  I couldn’t imagine the endless dark days and nights I would have had without her sunshine.

  A man couldn’t live without the sunshine. I knew; I’d been doin’ it day in and day out for too many years now. “Wish I woulda been around to help you then.”

  Her face was soft, reflective. “I’m glad I had that time with him. Spent my whole life resenting the life they’d brought me into, and then all of a sudden…” She shrugged, finally catching my eyes. “Life.”

  “Ain’t that the truth.” I slid my palm over her knee, giving it a soft squeeze along with a smile.

  “Stayed up late so many nights, lyin’ on the roof outside of my room and watchin’ the stars. Writing music and wondering if we were both watchin’ the same moon turn into the same dawn light every mornin’.” She smiled up at me, the first genuine slice of happiness I’d seen on her face since we’d left Memphis. “Made me feel grounded, looking up at how big the universe is and knowin’ you could see it too. It was the only connection I had.”

  I swallowed, the vulnerable side of her something I wasn’t used to. “We’re only a few miles from the hotel. I know it’s late, but I thought we could get something a little nicer tonight. Been so used to being by myself, I didn’t really think about what that last place might have been like from a lady’s perspective.”

  “A lady’s perspective?” She giggled, tucking her arm under my elbow and smiling. “Since when have you ever treated me like a lady, Gentry?”

  I grinned, shaking my head when I thought of all the times I’d held the door, held her hand, helped her out of the car, sang her to sleep… “You may be a lady now, Augusta Belle, but you’ll always be my whiskey girl.”

  She paused, smile faltering for an instant before she recovered. “It’s weird, knowin’ I’m…her.”

  I thought about the woman I sang of who’d left my heart sliced open on the floor. A rousing third chorus line I’d added to a lot of bootleg performances in the earlier days. I winced, wondering if she’d heard any of those versions.

  “You’re not, not really. That was my perception of things at the time, but I’m not that kid anymore either.” I tapped my fingertips on the wheel as I mused out loud. “The person I am on the stage, the one they think they’re getting, the one they paid money for, I have to give them at least some of that even if that’s not entirely the man I am. Working in the public eye, it’s a weird thing.”

  She yawned, leaning her head on my shoulder.

  “Rest your eyes. I’ll wake you up when we get there. And if you’re lucky, maybe I’ll even carry you upstairs so you don’t have to use your legs.”

  She laughed. “That sounds so ladylike.”

  “Doin’ the best I can here, baby.” I gave her my best sideways Elvis impersonation. “Welcome to Tupelo.”

  “Think you’re cute?” We both erupted into a laugh when the “Welcome to Tupelo” and “Elvis Presley Birthplace” signs were illuminated by my headlights a moment later.

  Augusta Belle made everything about being on the road better; there was no doubt about that.

  I wasn’t sure what in the hell the future held for us—not a damn thing was most likely—but right then, I made a point not to give a shit and live in every moment, enjoyin’ the sunshine and smiles of Augusta Belle Branson while I had ’em.

&
nbsp; NINETEEN

  Fallon

  By the time we’d checked in to our hotel, which for a midnight staff took longer than it damn well should have, Augusta was wide awake, singing full songs under her breath and interjecting her own, often more clever lyrics into the stanzas.

  Just as the clock was inching past three in the morning, she was breaking into a rendition of Queen I’d never quite heard before. “This performance has been truly awe-inspiring, but a few hours of sleep would probably be the adult thing.”

  “Let’s go for a walk.” She dug through her backpack and found something long-sleeved to pull over herself, and she was opening the door, eyes on me and waiting.

  “You’re shittin’ me.”

  She shook her head, grin widening by each aggravating second.

  I shoved a hand through my hair, not even considering for more than a half a second tellin’ her no.

  I grinned, pullin’ my own jacket back over my shoulders and followin’ her out the door.

  After dropping into an all-night convenience store for hot coffee and a bag of the freshest donuts I’d ever sunk my teeth into, we crossed the river and ambled through neighborhoods and rows of old homes.

  She told me about the girls she’d gone to school with in Mississippi, how she kept in touch with none of them because the reminder of why they were all there was just too much. She filled me in on her favorite professors in college, and how she’d never spent so many sleepless nights as she did in the hours leading up to her biology exams.

  And she kept writing.

  Music felt like the one thing pullin’ us together. Was it the thing that would eventually pull us apart?

  We watched the dawn come up over the horizon, church steeples as far as the eye could see, our bottoms planted firmly on the little front porch of the tiny white clapboard home Elvis was born in. She’d thought it was ridiculous that the museum didn’t open until nine, and when I pointed out that was pretty par for the course with museums, she stated defiantly that I was ridiculous.

  Augusta Belle, tellin’ me the sky was green just to argue.

  Augusta’d peeked into all the windows, hands up to the glass and nose pressed to the pane like a little kid, and hell if experiencin’ it all with her hadn’t made my heart skip a beat.

  Being with her again felt like seein’ the world through new eyes, and damn if that didn’t feel good after living gig to gig all alone on the road.

  Maybe that old man was right. Maybe I had seen too much, but who the hell hadn’t?

  And what could we do about it?

  Not a goddamn thing. My own crime had been spendin’ so much time dwellin’ on what I’d thought happened.

  “It’s amazing all the things this guy did so young.” She referred to Elvis with a swipe of her hand, gesturing to the house behind us. “Some people are just born to break every mold.”

  “My mama was always singin’ along to old Elvis songs when I was a kid—before she got hooked on things she couldn’t get away from. We’re only as strong as our weakest vice, I guess. This man made all that music in only twenty years. Changed the game the way he brought blues and bluegrass sounds together and created rock ’n’ roll. Imagine all the ways he could have kept revolutionizing if…” I trailed off, mind runnin’ wild as I thought about my own experience in Nashville. “If the machine wouldn’t have eaten him up.”

  Augusta Belle edged herself a little closer, her soft scent invading my nostrils. “You excited for the show tonight?”

  I was pulled from my thoughts, rubbing a hand through my beard. “Don’t really get excited anymore.”

  “Really?” she asked. “Isn’t that a problem, then?”

  “A problem?” I laughed. “Not that I know of.”

  “I mean…” She uncrossed her legs, recrossing the opposite way as the shadows turned to light around us. “Aren’t you supposed to like your job?”

  “I do.” I shrugged.

  “Well, do you ever want to do something in music that excites you again?”

  “Meaning what?” I rubbed at the back of my neck, the three hours in the truck finally catchin’ up to my old bones.

  “I dunno. I guess I just mean you’re better than sticky dive bars and watered-down whiskey.” Her eyes focused on a point off in the distance.

  “Those sticky dive bars are my home,” I replied.

  “Sure, but maybe there’s something else.”

  “Nah, there’s not.”

  She shook her head, exasperation creeping into her voice. “One bad experience in Nashville doesn’t mean the whole industry is bad.”

  “If you’d been there, you’d realize that, yes. Yes, it is.”

  She continued on. “Carve your own way in this business, that’s all I’m saying. You have way more talent than even you know, Fallon Gentry. Whatever happens, don’t ever doubt that.”

  I turned her words over in my mind, wondering if she was right. I loved being onstage, but maybe that time of my life was over. I suddenly didn’t feel the burning desire to chase something off in the distance—or to run from a past that wouldn’t stay there.

  “First light of day is always my favorite,” she mused, arms pressed into the worn wood of the old but recently painted porch we were probably illegally trespassing on at that moment.

  “Somethin’ about mornin’, starting over, sunshine on your face, can’t be beat.” A beam of sunlight peeked over the steeple of the church across the street, splitting the light into two fractals and creating a halo.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said, voice sounding far off. “It’s the most peaceful moment of the day. I never knew what the next minute might bring when I was growing up in such a chaotic situation, but in that split second, I always knew I was okay.”

  I looped one of my fingers with hers, giving her a quick nod before lookin’ up to the sun and wishin’, not for the first time in my life, that Augusta Belle and I could just be left alone. We didn’t need any more shit the universe had to throw us because we were really fucking good right here, just like this.

  “Come on, Augusta Belle. Nothin’ good came of the last time I kept you out till dawn.”

  She shook her head, threading her fingers between mine before, hand in hand, we stood and walked down the little tree-lined path that led up to Elvis’s house, no looking back for either one of us from that point forward.

  And for the first time, I thought maybe music was the blessing that knit her and me together, not just the glue we relied on.

  No woman had ever understood me the way this one did. It was true then and even truer now.

  TWENTY

  Fallon

  After two nights singin’ at Rooster’s Blues of Tupelo, Augusta and I hit the road south, a giant fold-out map of the state of Mississippi in her lap and braids in her hair. Her scuffed-up short leather boots told me she’d probably been kickin’ around in them since the time I’d known her last. And the way she smiled, coffee in a to-go cup in her hand, did something wild and crazy to my heart.

  Made it flip like a schoolgirl despite every badass bone in my body.

  Kept those sentiments to myself, though, because bein’ worthy of Augusta meant doin’ what was right, not sayin’ all the pretty things to make her love me again.

  Truth was, I didn’t want her love if she couldn’t love the man I was now. I didn’t even know if I was lookin’ for it, but it sure felt good wakin’ up to her every morning. Hummin’ her to sleep at night was just about perfect too. I had a hard time thinkin’ of anything wrong between Augusta Belle and me until I started thinkin’ about our past. But truth be told, it’d been startin’ to feel like maybe that was something we could get over too.

  “Grabbed this for you at the last store we stopped at.” I pulled a keychain out of my pocket, Elvis in glittery bold letters on one side, Tupelo, MS emblazoned on the other.

  “This is great!” She grabbed it from my fingers, turning it over as her fingernails traced the letters. “We’ll a
lways have Tupelo.”

  “And Elvis,” I added seriously.

  “So…how much of an off-the-beaten-path kinda guy are ya these days?”

  Hesitation was runnin’ through my blood at just her words. “Got somethin’ on your mind?”

  Her thousand-watt smile hit me across the distance between us, and I wanted nothin’ more than to press my lips to hers, pull this fucking truck over, throw away everythin’ that’d been comin’ between us, and make the world right again.

  The idea that I’d only tasted her once, only felt her under my palms one night for a few all-too-brief hours had my chest aching in a way I didn’t even care to explain.

  “See, there’s this state park just off the highway.” She pointed to a shade of evergreen on the map.

  “And you want to go for a nature hike?” I screwed up my face, tryin’ to make sense of her request.

  “The brochure in the hotel last night showed a massive swimmin’ hole.” Her grin grew. “With cliff-jumpin’.”

  “Oh Christ.”

  “I knew that’d be your first response, but hear me out. The sun on your face, the cool spring water rinsin’ every care in the world away…”

  “I don’t have much for cares lately, but ’preciate your concern about it.”

  She screwed her eyes shut, pushing a hand over her face and then sighing. “Just thought it would be fun, for old times’ sake.”

  “Old times?” I growled. “Got no need to revisit old times. I’m really fucking good at the moment.”

  “Well…maybe I just want to go for a swim,” she ventured finally.

  “Now, that’s a request I can accommodate. Which exit am I headed to?”

  Her cheeks lit with a radiant smile before she threw herself across the truck, sneaking a kiss at my neck.

  I stifled a slow groan, long-dead arousal finally awakening.

  “It’s the next exit.” I would have laughed, but Augusta Belle was sliding her hand through my beard, resting her fingertips along my jawline and brushing her lips across my cheekbone.