27. Arizona
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Arizona
I pull up my bank account before I even admit I’m thinking about leaving. That’s how it always starts. I check what’s left, open a map, and hunt for bars in towns close enough that I can reach them without draining my tank.
Once I find one that pays enough to cover gas and a cheap room, I tell everyone it’s been great meeting them, pack my guitar, and disappear before anyone has the chance to expect me back.
It’s always worked.
Tonight, though, I’m sitting cross-legged on the bed with my laptop balanced across my knees, staring at the same handful of listings until the words blur together.
Spokane, Boise, Missoula, Pendleton.
Any other week, I’d have picked one by now, planned my route, and started packing. Instead I keep scrolling back to the top like a different answer might appear if I read them one more time.
I scrub a hand over my face. “Why are you making this weird?”
The empty room doesn’t answer, which probably says enough.
I close the laptop before I can waste another hour arguing with myself. Future me can figure out where she’s sleeping next week. Right now I’ve got a show to play.
By the time I reach The Silver Bit, every table is packed, and the smell of beer and fried food hangs over the room.
Riley looks up as soon as I walk through the door. “Rock star.”
“I’ve told you to stop calling me that.”
He chuckles. “I remember.” He slides a whiskey across the bar with a grin. “One sip.”
“I’ve got to sing.”
“Exactly why it’s one sip.”
I shake my head, laughing as I pick up the glass. “You’re terrible.”
“I run a bar. I’d lose my license if I encouraged good decisions.”
I take the promised sip and push the whiskey back before it turns into two.
The stage doesn’t feel borrowed anymore. I know which floorboard creaks, I know the microphone pops if I get too close, and I know the stool still wobbles enough to keep me awake.
Carl Benson is already waiting in his usual chair, and Margaret O’Hara waves from her booth with enough enthusiasm to make me laugh before I’ve even unzipped my guitar case.
I climb onto the stage while conversations taper off around the room. “Evening, everyone.”
A chorus of greetings rolls back at me, warm enough to tug at my chest in a way I’d rather not examine.
I hook the guitar over my shoulder and play the opening chords.
The first song gets heads bobbing. The second has people clapping along, and by the third, couples have drifted into the open space between the tables to dance.
When I finish, whistles echo across the room, somebody calls for another song, and Riley rings the little brass bell behind the bar.
I grin into the microphone. “You’re making it really hard to leave.”
The crowd laughs.
I do too, although mine catches before it settles.
I finish with the song I wrote after driving through Montana last summer. Usually that’s enough to leave me thinking about the next town, the next crowd, the next stretch of highway waiting outside.
Tonight I stay where I am after the applause dies away, my fingers resting across the strings while I look out at faces that don’t feel unfamiliar anymore.
I don’t remember when that changed.
By the time I put my guitar away, the rest of the night disappears into conversations I never planned on having.
Somebody presses a slice of pie into my hands before I can escape, Tommy from the feed store spends a solid fifteen minutes pitching a country anthem about tractors, and Carl tells him nobody wants to fall in love with a piece of farm equipment.
Margaret folds her arms and shakes her head at him. “That’s because you’re lacking imagination, Carl. Give the right woman a handsome farmer on a tractor and she’ll swoon.”
Tommy points at her. “See? Margaret understands romance.”
The argument spirals from there, with half the bar weighing in on which piece of equipment deserves a love song, and I decide that’s my cue to leave before somebody volunteers a live demonstration.
The evening has cooled by the time I step onto Main Street. Most of the shops have gone dark, leaving the old streetlamps to spill light across the empty sidewalks while I make my way to the truck.
Nobody stops me or asks where I’m headed next, and instead of enjoying the freedom, I catch myself wishing someone cared enough to ask.
I rest against the tailgate and call Daisy.
She answers before the second ring. “Well?”
I smile. “You skipped hello.”
“I know your show ended twenty minutes ago, so stop dodging.”
“You’re creeping me out.”
She snorts with laughter. “I’m your sister. It’s practically my job.”
“I’ll allow it.”
She continues to chuckle. “So, how’d it go?”
“It went well. They made me play an extra song.”
“Ooh, look at you.”
“And a bunch of people tried convincing me to write a love ballad about farm equipment.”
Her laugh bursts through the speaker. “I need details.”
“I chose self-preservation instead.”
“Probably your smartest decision all week.”
I tip my head back and look up at the stars. “So…”
“So?” she prompts.
“I’ve been looking at other gigs.”
“And?”
I rub the back of my neck. “I haven’t picked one.”
“You couldn’t find anything?”
“I found plenty.”
She pauses for just a moment. “So what’s the problem?”
“I don’t know.”
She goes silent, and I know exactly what she’s doing. Daisy never rushes into a conversation when she thinks I’m dancing around the truth. She waits until I trip over it myself.
“When were you planning to leave?” she asks.
“I figured I’d head out after tonight.”
“You figured?” I can hear her chewing. “That’s it?”
I let out a breath. “Yeah.”
“You haven’t booked another show or packed your truck.”
“No.”
“And every time we talk, you spend half the conversation telling me what Willy did.”
I feel my cheeks heat up. “I do not. I call him an idiot.”
“You laugh while you’re doing it.”
I roll my eyes, even though she can’t see me. “He deserves it.”
“What about Red?”
Heat burns into my whole face even though she’s hundreds of miles away. “We’re changing the subject.”
“Oh, so that’s interesting.”
“It isn’t.”
Daisy continues to tease. “And Emmett?”
I groan. “Will you quit?”
She laughs so hard I have to pull the phone away from my ear. “I’m asking perfectly reasonable questions.”
“You’re stirring the pot.”
“I learned from Mom.”
“I hate that you’re right.”
Her laughter fades, and when she speaks again, her tone turns thoughtful. “Can I tell you what I’ve noticed?”
“You usually do.”
“I’m serious.”
I bite my bottom lip. “So am I.”
“Ari.”
I smile despite myself. “Okay. Go ahead.”
“This town’s different.”
I frown. “How?”
“Every other time we talk, you tell me where you’re going next, what the crowds were like, or which song people liked best. Lately, you’ve barely mentioned any of that.” She pauses long enough for me to realize where she’s headed. “You keep talking about people instead.”
I stare across the empty street.
“You tell me about Sadie learning guitar, Willy making you laugh, Red pretending he doesn’t care about anyone, Emmett trying way too hard to impress people, everyone at the ranch, the town, the potlucks, even the bees.
” A knot tightens in my stomach because I haven’t noticed I’d been doing that. “You’ve barely talked about leaving.”
“I always leave.”
“I know.”
“You remember why.”
“I do.” Her words come gently, which somehow makes them harder to hear. “You spent years teaching both of us that staying only ends with somebody getting hurt.” I close my eyes. “But this is the first place where leaving sounds like the part you’re dreading.”
I stare across the street at The Silver Bit, watching Riley wipe down the bar while Tommy throws his head back laughing at whatever story he’s telling.
The lights spilling through the windows should feel like they belong to somebody else’s life, yet I keep looking at them like they mean more than they should.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” Daisy asks. “Then why are you still there instead of halfway to the next town?”
I open my mouth, ready with the answer I’ve given myself a hundred times before, and the words refuse to show up. “I…”
Silence stretches between us.
Daisy chuckles. “That’s what I thought.”
“You think you’ve got me all figured out.”
“I don’t have to figure you out. I’ve had a lifetime of practice.”
I rub my forehead and let out a tired laugh. “That might be your most annoying quality.”
“It absolutely is.”
I smile despite myself.
“Think about what I said,” she tells me.
“I will.”
“You’ll try.”
“I’ll try.”
“There you go. That’s a little more believable.”
We talk for another few minutes before we say goodnight. After the call ends, I slip my phone into my pocket and stay where I am, staring across the street while Daisy’s words circle through my head.
This town’s different.
I tell myself she’s reading too much into it. Maybe I’m worn out from the show. Maybe I’ve been here a little longer than usual. Maybe I’m making a bigger deal out of this than it deserves.
Warm hands clamp around my waist. “There you are!”
A yelp flies out of me before I can stop it, sending a bird shooting from the tree overhead while my phone nearly slips from my grip.
I spin with my fist already coming up, and Willy throws himself backward, laughing so hard he can barely stay on his feet.
“You absolute menace!”
He presses a hand against his stomach. “That was beautiful.”
“I almost hit you.”
“I know. That’s why it was exciting.”
I gasp, still trying to catch my breath as I march toward him. He backs away with both hands raised.
“Easy now.”
“You’ve got exactly three seconds.”
“To apologize?”
“To start running.”
His eyes widen. “See, that’s a different conversation.”
“You earned it.”
He gasps like I’ve insulted his entire family. “I scare you one time and suddenly I’m public enemy number one.” He hooks a thumb toward the diner. “Come on. Let’s go to the diner for milkshakes.”
I glance down the road. The highway waits exactly where I left it, stretching into the dark like it always has, ready whenever I decide to go.
Then I look back at Willy. “Fine, but you’re paying.”
He snorts. “I was paying before you agreed.”
“See, that’s the kind of information you should lead with.”
He laughs and throws an arm across my shoulders as we head toward the diner.
Halfway there, I realize I never looked back at the truck.
I keep walking.