Chapter Seven
Jack
I t’s clear I’m not meant for starvation. I thought I’d be okay not eating, but shit, I’m hungry. My stomach growls, reminding me that a few muffins and a protein bar don’t count as a real meal. The bread was filling for a time, but now that it’s gone, I’m starving.
If only I had a damn fishing pole.
But I’m not going to quit. I can be hungry. It’s okay.
For now.
But hungry and cold is just not going to work. The clouds rolled in about an hour ago and the sun is just about set. I figure I better build myself a fire. I’ve gone through the last of the water I brought with me and I’m not about to drink straight from the creek and end up with a case of the shits. No, thank you.
I need a fire. I built a fire ring out of rocks I collected and now I need some tinder.
I scour the perimeter of the clearing, gathering dry leaves, twigs, and a few larger branches. Once I’ve got a decent pile, I crouch by the fire ring and arrange the tinder carefully. I strike a match from the dwindling pack I tossed in my glovebox months ago. The flame catches quickly. I blow gently, coaxing it to life. It’s a small victory, but one that feels huge in the quiet of the woods.
As the fire grows, I drag a fallen log closer to sit on. The heat is comforting, and for a moment, I let myself just breathe. The fire is calming. Comforting. It makes me feel like I’m not alone. I should have done it earlier.
A rabbit pops out of the trees, startling me at first, but then darts off. He’s probably wondering what I’m doing in his territory. I’m not a fan of rabbit stew, so he’s safe. We stare at each other for a second before he bolts into the underbrush.
I grab the little pot with a handle and walk down to the creek to get some water. While I’m bent over, something catches my eye.
“No way.” I grin.
I leave the pot and walk over to the wild blackberry bush. It’s a little early in the season, but there are plenty of plump, dark berries. I pop a few in my mouth. Tart, sweet, perfect. Nature’s granola bar.
“Holy shit,” I gasp when I realize the area is dotted with blackberry bushes. It’s not exactly a buffet, but it’s better than nothing.
By the time I get back to camp, I’ve got a pot of water, and my pockets are stuffed with berries. I put the pot over the coals to boil. Dad might’ve been a hardass, but he taught all of us how to cowboy camp. Back when we were young, he’d take each of us boys out for a little one-on-one time. We’d fish, hunt, and sit around the campfire at night.
This is why I was so confused. My dad and I weren’t always at odds. I have a lot of good memories of him. It’s just...after Mom died, it was like the happy part of dad died with her. His fun, loving side was buried six-feet deep with her. The only thing left up top was a shell of a man.
While I wait for the water to boil, I grab my guitar. The opening lines of the song I wrote earlier float back to me. I strum a few chords, testing the rhythm. It’s rough, but there’s something there. I put the words to music, finding the right place to put them with the melody.
I close my eyes and play it again, louder this time, singing my heart out and letting the music transport me to another time.
“You’re pretty talented.”
The voice comes from behind me, startling me. I nearly drop the guitar. I twist around, heart hammering.
A woman stands maybe fifteen feet away, her hands tucked into the pockets of a worn flannel shirt. She’s maybe in her fifties, with silver-streaked brown hair pulled into a messy bun and a face that looks like it’s spent a lifetime smiling.
“Shoot—” I scramble to my feet. “I didn’t hear you.”
“Sorry,” she says, not sounding sorry at all. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Agatha. Or Aggie, if you prefer.”
I swallow. “Jack.”
She nods toward the fire. “You know you’re on private property, right?”
Shit .
I hold up my hands. “I didn’t see any signs. I’ll pack up and go—”
“Relax.” She laughs. “I’m not kicking you out. Just curious.”
The water starts boiling. I grab it with the edge of my shirt so I don’t burn my fingers and set it aside. Aggie watches me, her head tilted like I’m a puzzle she’s trying to solve.
“You running from something?” she asks.
“No.” The answer comes too fast.
She raises an eyebrow.
I sigh. “Not from something. To something. Maybe.”
That makes her smile. “Better answer.”
I hesitate, then figure there’s no point lying. “I’m kinda... between places right now.”
“Ah.” She nods like this makes perfect sense. “Chasing a dream, I suppose.” She steps closer, her eyes lingering on the guitar in my hands. “Music?”
“Yeah,” I admit, feeling a strange mix of vulnerability and relief. “Trying to, anyway.”
“Well, you’ve got the voice for it. And the heart, I’d wager.” She gestures to the fire. “Mind if I join you?”
“I mean...sure,” I say, still a little thrown by her sudden appearance. She settles onto the log beside me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“So, Jack, what’s the dream? Nashville?”
“No, no.” I laugh. “Nothing like that. I don’t really know what the dream is. I just know what it isn’t.”
“What isn’t it?”
“Dairy farm.”
She nods. “I see.”
I feel her looking at me. The guy at the store thought I was an underage runaway. “I’m eighteen,” I blurt out. “Almost nineteen.”
She smiles. “You’re just ready to tackle the world.”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Are you far from home?”
I don’t want to tell her too much. “Wisconsin.”
She nods. “And do you know where you’re going?”
I slowly shake my head. “No. Not really.”
“What are you doing out here, Jack?”
I take a deep breath. “I, uh, well, I ran out of money. I’m just thinking about what I want to do next.”
“Did you have dinner?”
I’m a little embarrassed. I’ve never been one for handouts. “I, uh, had some rolls. And I found blackberries. I suppose those are yours and I stole them.”
She bursts into laughter. “Honey, there are so many wild berries out here, I could never pick them all. Nor would I want to. But a boy, I’m sorry, a man like you needs more than bread and berries. You’re tall. What are you—six foot?”
“Six-two, ma’am.”
She grins. “Then it’s settled. Come on up to the house and I’ll get you some leftover casserole. It’s not fancy, but I don’t cook for anyone but me and I’m not picky.”
“I couldn’t impose,” I say.
“You’re not imposing. You can stay out here as long as you need to. You’re welcome to use the kitchen and bathroom if you’d like. Although, I bet living out here in the woods is a teenage boy’s dream.”
“Not mine,” I murmur.
She laughs and gets to her feet. “Come one. My house is just through there.”
I follow her through the trees and realize I was a lot closer to civilization than I realized. I’m real glad she didn’t come up on me when I took a little dip in the creek earlier. That could have been a whole different conversation.
Aggie’s house is a cozy little house with mismatched furniture and outdated kitchen appliances. The kind of place that feels lived-in, with books stacked on every surface and a cat curled up on the couch.
She waves me toward the kitchen. “Bathroom’s down the hall if you want to wash up. I’ll heat up some casserole.”
I use the bathroom and scrub my hands, just like my mom taught me when I was little and eating a meal at someone else’s table. When I return, there’s a plate of steaming casserole on the table and a glass of milk. She gestures for me to sit down. I try not to inhale it like a wild animal, but it’s a struggle. It’s good and I’m so hungry.
Aggie sits across from me, sipping tea. “So. Tell me your deal.”
Between bites, I give her the edited version—left home, no money, just trying to figure things out. I leave out the part about Dad draining my account. And the slap. And pretty much everything else that makes it sound like I’m a runaway kid.
She listens without interrupting, refilling my milk when I finish the glass. When I finish, she leans back in her chair.
“Jack, you’re welcome to camp out there as long as you need.”
I stare at her. “Why?”
She shrugs. “Because everyone needs help sometimes. My parents bought this land back in the seventies—split it between me and my sister when they passed. I’ve got more than enough. I don’t even get out there all that often. I saw the smoke and was worried a fire had started.”
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “I swear I was real careful. I made a ring, and I was going to keep it really small. I just needed to boil some water.”
“It’s fine.” She smiles again. “You seem like a capable young man.”
I don’t know what to say, so I just mutter, “Thanks.”
She waves it off. “Now. About that guitar.”
“What about it?”
“You any good besides that one song?”
“I mean...decent, I guess.”
She grins. “Modest, too. I own a bar in town—The Hollow Log. Mostly a music joint. You could play there.”
“What? For real? Wait, a bar?”
“Not for a salary,” she clarifies. “But tips? All yours. And we get a good crowd on weekends. It’s a chance for you to get some stage time. Iron out the little quirks that come with singing in public.”
I’ve never played for an audience bigger than my brothers and family friends when I was younger. The idea sends a thrill through me.
“You’d let me? Even though I’m not twenty-one?”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s legal to perform underage in this state. Had plenty of bands come through who couldn’t legally drink their pay. Just don’t ask me for a beer or accept one. You get me in trouble with the liquor board, and me and you are going to have a problem.”
I’m grinning now. “No, ma’am. I wouldn’t think of it. When can I start?”
“How’s Friday?”
“Perfect.”
She laughs at my enthusiasm. “Don’t thank me yet. Crowd can be tough. Real tough, especially on the weekends when the locals have a little too much to drink. I’ve got a guy who keeps the riffraff out most of the time, but they always find a way in. I think there’s going to be more than one cowboy around here who isn’t going to be happy to see you coming.”
I frown. “Why? Trust me, I don’t want their jobs.”
She cackles. “Oh, honey, have you looked in a mirror?”
I’m pretty sure it’s a rhetorical question.
“I’ll take my chances, Miss Aggie. I promise, I’ll be good.”
“Then I look forward to hearing you play.”
She sends me back to my tent with a container of leftovers, a jug of water, and a blanket for the chill. I walk back through the trees to my truck. I spread the blanket over the top of my sleeping bag and climb inside. I can’t stop smiling. I had been pretty damn close to the lowest I’ve been in a while, and then Aggie appeared.
A real-life angel.
My mind races with thoughts of Friday. Playing at a real bar—a real stage. It’s everything I’ve wanted and nothing I ever thought I’d get. But there’s a knot in my stomach too. What if I mess up? What if no one likes my music? What if they laugh at me? I shake my head, trying to push the doubt away. This is my shot. I can’t waste it.