Chapter 7 #2
For all her sweetness and open-hearted conversation with the bar folks, Willow is skittish with her real self. She’d give you the shirt off her back, help you on the side of the road, or listen to you wax poetic about your problems, but share her truth? Not likely, and not easily.
But that’s exactly why I want it. I want to earn it, straight from her lips, when she lets me inside her heart.
She climbs back in the truck, and I catch a whiff of something floral and light. She perfumed for me too. The parallel makes me smile. I showered so I didn’t smell like manure for her, and she’s spritzing on girly stuff so she doesn’t smell like beer for me.
I drive us through town, giving the tour I promised. “In the middle of the town square is the courthouse. Judge Myson’s been on that bench for longer than you and me together have been alive. He’s old-school, believes in working off your debt to society and paying back your neighbors.”
She catches something in my tone that clues her in. “Speaking from experience?”
I lift one shoulder casually, amused but not hiding anything. “Nothing serious. Me and Chief Gibson might’ve had a little chat with Myson in my younger days. Nothing that couldn’t be solved with painting a fence or plowing a few fields, though. You?”
She laughs. “No. Probably the worst thing I’ve ever done was protest environmental toxins at a corporate headquarters or something.”
“That sounds serious,” I tell her honestly. “The environment a passion of yours? From your dad?”
She shrugs, sort of a yes-no all at once. “I was a kid. I was just along for the ride because holding a sign and marching around with Dad all day sounded like fun.”
I can see that. Little Willow, blonde hair streaming wild behind her as she marches around yelling words too big for her little girl brain, but I have no doubt she was able to define each and every one of them better than Merriam-Webster.
“Hopefully, we can manage to find a little more fun than that,” I say, pulling into the drive-through of a burger joint. “This won’t be nearly as good as Ilene’s cooking, but I figure you didn’t get dinner yet. We can take it with us where we’re going.”
“Where’s that?” she asks curiously.
“It’s a surprise,” I tease, expecting her to argue and demand to know where I’m taking her. But she just settles into the seat a little deeper, looking cozy and relaxed as can be.
I like that. A lot.
People always have expectations and assumptions about me.
That I’m scary because of my last name, that I’m soft because of my music, that I’m down to fuck because of my face.
None of that is totally true. Yeah, I can scrap, had to in order to survive with my brothers and our old issues with the Bennetts.
Don’t mean I look to start fights. Yeah, I have a soft side, but it’s not all I am.
And yes, I like to fuck, but I’m not a manwhore.
I ain’t a monk, either. I’m more complex than all of that shit.
But Willow seems to be taking me as I come, the same way she does everything—people at the bar, every day, and whatever brought her to Great Falls. I’m definitely curious about that, but she hasn’t said a word so I’m leaving that question alone for now.
I order us a two-pack of burgers, fries, and chocolate milkshakes, then glance over for her approval.
We’re good. I pay at the window, noting that Esme is gawking into the truck as she hands over the food.
The grapevine will be lit up like a Christmas tree before we get halfway through town as Esme makes sure that everyone knows she’s the one who spotted Bobby Tannen and Willow Parker grabbing a bite of dinner on their way to ‘only God knows where’ to do ‘only God knows what’.
Too bad she’s too late since everyone at Hank’s already knows.
Willow takes the food from me, and I set the shakes in the cup holders before setting off for our tour.
“Best barbecue in town,” I say, pointing at a half-fallen down shack on the side of the road. “Doctor’s office, dentist, hair salon,” I add, pointing at each in the strip center of offices.
“Just one of each in the whole town?” Willow asks, craning her neck to look back.
“Pretty much. I mean, we have more doctors, I guess, at the hospital. Or Doc Jones for animals. There’s a barber shop for the guys too, and a few ladies who make house calls for hair, but they’re more the ‘set and curl’ type.
” Willow smooths the short hair at the nape of her neck.
“And there’s stuff like that at the resort.
It’s probably different from what you’re used to, but we’ve got everything we need out here. ”
She has the good grace to cringe. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to seem critical. It’s just different. But I think I like it. It’s simple and easy. The whole town feels like that. Like a warm hug from a friend you never knew you needed.”
“Pretty imagery. Mind if I write that down?” I ask. When she smiles, I pull my phone out and hit Record on my voice notes, which is my version of ‘writing it.’ I hold it out to Willow and she leans in to repeat herself.
“Like a warm hug from a friend you never knew you needed.” She laughs a little at the awkwardness of talking into my phone, and I make sure to get that too. I toss the phone into the console and we roar to the outskirts of town.
“You’d be able to get some great shots downtown during the day of the hustle and bustle of folks visiting and shopping on the square.
There’s a park on the east side where ducks and geese congregate.
But if you want animal shots, I’ve got a whole zoo’s worth at home you’re welcome to photograph.
Horses, cows, pigs, goats, dogs, a barn cat, and a bunch of asshole guys who’d probably smile pretty for you.
Well, except for Mark. He don’t smile much. ”
“That’s the oldest Bennett brother, right? The one in charge of everything and married to Katelyn?” she says. We’ve talked through a lot of this already, but I like that she remembers the details.
I nod. “Yeah. If you wanted some nature shots, we’ve got fields and trees and crops that’d be pretty too.
” I’m trying to give her as many things as I can, hoping she’ll want to photograph them all and that it’ll take a long, long time to do so.
Time she can spend at my side and I can spend soaking her in.
“We’ll see. I usually take pictures of whatever I’m doing that day, nothing special, nothing particularly planned out, but I like to take the opportunity to explore and see what I can experience and share.”
I can feel her eyes on me, tracing over my profile as I keep my eyes on the road.
“You can take a picture of me if you want to.” I’m half-joking and half-serious, but I’m still surprised when she dives for the floorboard and comes back up with her good camera.
Richard was right, it’s nearly as big as she is, especially with the lens that she’s got on it.
She does a quick change, carefully setting the lens back into the bag and coming out with another, smaller one, which she attaches easily.
“Tell me about you,” she orders gently, already snapping away.
I chuckle, self-conscious. “I don’t know what to say. I’m just me—a farmer, a singer. Not much to tell.”
Click. Click.
“That’s a bold-faced lie, and you know it, Bobby. Don’t go getting shy on me. I like when people talk as I’m taking pictures because then I catch every expression. Tell me . . . about when you were a kid. What was little Bobby’s big dream?”
She never goes for the obvious question, that’s for sure.
“That’s easy. To be a famous country musician one day.
I thought I was going to get out of this small town, never have to shovel shit a day of my life, and would fill stadiums with people chanting my name.
” I smile at the ease with which that dream comes roaring back to life.
“Younger me thought this town was basically a prison. I guess all small-town kids think that to some degree, drawn to the excitement of the flashing lights of the big city. Probably the same way city kids think life out in the country is slow and easy.” I throw her a knowing sideways glance.
Click.
“And now?” she says.
I can’t see her face, not really. She’s hidden behind the camera, and I’m trying hard to keep my eyes on the road so I can get us safely to Lookout Point.
But there’s a deeper meaning to what should be a light question.
Surprisingly, with my attention half on driving and half on her, the words spill out.
“Now, I see why people stay here. It’s not because they’re trapped.
It’s because it’s . . . home. Shay is always leaving—she and Luke travel a lot for his work with horses, and she’s so excited to go every time.
No matter where they’re headed.” I shake my head a little, chuckling.
“She’d be excited about the armpit of New Jersey during a heat wave.
That’s just how she is, wants to see it all, do it all.
But when they get back, I can tell they’re exhausted.
A few days at home, working their asses off in the sunshine and fresh air, and they’re back to being right again.
It’s different, but it’s good. And I’ve made my peace with it.
I’ll work the land I grew up on as long as Mark’ll let me, sing at Hank’s as long as he’ll let me, and make my life right where God stuck me twenty-eight years ago.
” I shrug, a little embarrassed at how unambitious I sound.
I might be in a rut, but it’s a good one, with a long, steady, straight line that gets me where I’m going—to a life well-lived and hard-worked day by day.
“And a bar full of folks chanting your name is enough, even though it’s not a stadium and you smell like shit at the end of every day?” she prompts, clicking again.