Chapter Fifteen
Jack
M y truck bounces up Aggie’s driveway. It’s weird to be driving over here. Usually, I just walk through the trees. Today, I’ve got a bed full of lumber and other supplies I need to take care of some projects around the house for her. It started with me fixing a loose railing on her deck. She asked if I would be willing to take care of some other things that have been sitting and waiting to be fixed for years. She insists she’ll pay me. At first, I reject her offer of payment, but when I realize she’s not talking about fixing a loose board or oiling hinges, I accept the job. At a steep discount of course.
I grab the toolbox Aggie left on the porch for me. She says it’s old and she doesn’t know if the right tools for the jobs she needs done are in there. I take it to the greenhouse. That’s the first job I’m going to tack.
“Damn,” I mutter as a I survey the project.
It’s a big job. I’m not sure if it would be easier to just tear it down and rebuild. I push on a few pieces of wood. The wood practically crumbles. The thing is more rot than wood at this point, but Aggie insists it’s salvageable. I’m not so sure, but the extra cash doesn’t hurt.
I take a deep breath and figure the best way to finish is to get started. I grab the drill and start unscrewing the heavy-duty plastic panels, being careful not to crack them. I lay them in a pile and go after the wood that needs replaced. I yank out one rusty nail after another.
I’m elbow-deep in the rotten wood of Aggie’s greenhouse when I hear the screen door slam. I glance up, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. Aggie’s walking toward me with a glass of iced tea. I love the way she makes it. She sweetens it with a little honey and it’s perfect.
“How’s it going?” she calls out, her voice carrying over the sound of birds chirping in the trees.
“It’s going,” I grunt, prying another piece of warped wood loose with a crowbar. “This thing’s seen better days, though. I’m not sure how much of it I can save.”
“Take a break,” she says. “You’ve been at it for hours.”
I take the glass and gulp it down gratefully. The sugar hits my system like a jolt, waking me up a little more. “Thanks. I didn’t realize how long I’d been out here.”
Aggie surveys the mess of wood and plastic piled around me. “You weren’t kidding about it being bad,” she says, shaking her head. “I was hoping it wasn’t as far gone as it looked.”
“Yeah, well, this stuff crumbles when you touch it. I’m thinking we might need to replace most of the frame.”
She sighs but doesn’t look surprised. “You’re handy for a musician.”
I snort. “Farm kid, remember? If we couldn’t fix it ourselves, it didn’t get fixed.”
“I think farm kids are the hardest workers.” She laughs. “I’m going to make some lunch. I’ll call you in about an hour. I can’t have you passing out.”
“Thanks, Aggie.”
I go back to work, stripping the greenhouse down to just a few supports. I’m glad I bought extra lumber. I’m just going to rebuild what was already there. Design and engineering are not my thing, but I’ve built plenty of sheds and barns to know the basics about building.
I work hard for the next hour until Aggie hollers at me to come inside and eat. I leave the tools on the ground and head inside to wash up. I know I’m sweaty and I’m pretty sure I smell like the cows I hated being around.
I scrub my hands in the bathroom, the cool water a welcome relief against my overheated skin. Aggie’s kitchen smells like fresh bread and something savory—pot roast, maybe. My stomach growls loudly.
“Hope you’re hungry,” Aggie says, setting a sandwich the size of my head in front of me.
“It smells good in here.”
“Pot roast for dinner,” she says. “When it’s warm out, I try and use the crockpot.”
She brings a bowl to the table. A macaroni salad. My favorite. I quickly dish up a portion on the side of my plate.
“Thank you,” I say. “This is too much.”
“Nonsense,” Aggie says, sitting across from me with her own plate. “You’re doing me a favor. Least I can do is feed you.”
I dig in, the BLT is perfect. Crunchy bacon, crisp lettuce, and the most flavorful tomato I’ve ever eaten. “This is incredible,” I say around a mouthful.
“The lettuce and tomato are from my sister’s garden,” she says.
“It’s amazing.”
I take a bite of the salad and groan. “Oh man, even better. Aggie, I’m going to gain twenty pounds if you keep feeding me like this.”
She chuckles, shaking her head. “You’re a growing boy, Jack. Besides, you’re all muscle—you’ll burn it off in no time.”
I grin, wiping a bit of mayo from the corner of my mouth. “Still, you’re spoiling me. I’m not used to meals like this.”
“Good food is my love language,” she says simply, taking a sip of her tea. “Speaking of which, how’s the music going? That crowd last night seemed to really love you.”
“They did,” I admit, my chest swelling with pride. “It was insane. I didn’t expect that kind of response.”
Aggie nods knowingly. “Told you. You’ve got something special, kid. People are starting to notice.”
“Yeah, but....” I hesitate, poking at my macaroni salad with my fork. “What do I do with that? It’s not like I have a plan or anything. I just play.”
“Plans can come later,” she says with a shrug. “For now, enjoy it. Keep doing what you’re doing. The rest will fall into place when it’s supposed to.”
Her words are reassuring, but there’s a nagging part of me that wants more than just enjoying the moment. I want to chase this feeling, see where it could take me. But for now, I keep that thought to myself.
“I had big dreams once,” she says.
“Yeah?”
“Yep. I had this whole vision—outdoor stage, local bands, food trucks. My bar was going to be the thing that put our little town on the map. I was going to build a business that the young people around here would be able to work at. I wanted them to get some experience instead of having to move to the city. I know a lot of people would love living here if they had a decent job.”
“What happened?”
“Life.” She shrugs. “Turns out, running a small-town bar is enough work without adding festivals and tourists.” A pause. “And the bank didn’t share my vision.”
I glance up. There’s no bitterness in her voice, just quiet acceptance.
“Sorry it didn’t work out,” I say.
Aggie laughs. “Oh, honey, don’t be. The Hollow Log’s exactly what it’s supposed to be. Besides, look at me now—getting famous musicians to play for free.”
“I’m getting paid in sandwiches and plenty of other meals.”
“Well, if you keep bringing in the business, I’m going to have to hire another bartender,” she says. “And I might be able to pay off that loan I took to do repairs last year. I think me making you a few sandwiches is well worth the trade-off.”
“I’m getting lots of experience,” I tell her.
“What about that last song you sang?” she asks. “That was different.”
I grin. “That’s the other side of Jack Hayes. The rebel without a cause fighting to be heard.”
“I think that side of Jack Hayes has stars in his eyes.”
“You’re right.”
“Do you think you’ll stick to that kind of music?”
I shrug, chew, and swallow. “I don’t know. I don’t want to be pigeon-holed. I like it all. I don’t like the idea of being a country star or a rock star. I like music. All of it.”
Aggie nods thoughtfully, leaning back in her chair. “That’s smart. You’ve got range, Jack. Don’t let anyone box you into one thing. The best artists are the ones who can’t be easily labeled.”
I take another bite of the sandwich, savoring the crunch of the bacon. “Yeah, but it’s hard to know where to focus. I feel like I’m all over the place sometimes.”
“That’s not a bad thing,” she says, waving her fork at me. “You’re young. You’ve got time to figure it out. And honestly, the world doesn’t need another cookie-cutter singer. They need someone real, someone who can tell a story and sell it like they mean it.”
Her words stick with me as I finish my meal. Aggie has this way of saying things that make everything seem simpler than it feels in my head. I guess that comes with age—knowing what really matters and what doesn’t.
“You ever think about going bigger?” Aggie asks suddenly.
“Bigger how?”
“With the music.” She gestures vaguely toward town. “Recording. Touring. All that.”
The question catches me off guard. “I...yeah. Sometimes.”
She nods like she expected this. “You’re good enough, you know.”
“It’s not just about being good,” I mutter.
“No?”
I think of Dad’s face when I left. The way Aiden Miller used to smirk when I walked by with my guitar case. “There’s people back home who said I’d never make it.”
Aggie sips her tea, watching me over the rim. “And proving them wrong is more important than the music itself?”
“I don’t know,” I say.
After lunch, I head back out to the greenhouse, feeling rejuvenated. The sun is high in the sky now. I start measuring and cutting new pieces of wood, replacing the rotten sections of the frame one by one. It’s slow-going, but there’s something satisfying about seeing progress.
About an hour in, I hear footsteps crunching on the gravel path behind me. I glance over my shoulder and see Jinnie walking toward me, a paper bag in her hand.
“Hey,” she calls out with a smile.
“Hey,” I reply.
She holds up the bag. “Aggie told me you were here working. I brought some of the day-old muffins.”
I grin. “Did you bring any of those chocolate ones?”
Her face lights up. “Don’t tell anyone, but I snuck one in. Those never make it to the day-old tray.”
“No kidding. They’re too good.”
She looks at the greenhouse. “I can’t believe Aunt Aggie has you fixing this thing.”
“She was inspired by your little goodie basket from your parents,” I say with a shrug.
“I bet.”
Things are suddenly awkward. I realize I’m covered in sweat and probably look like hell. There’s sawdust clinging to the sweat on my arms. I look down and my jeans are in the same state. This girl always finds me when I’m looking my worst.
“Do you want to get dinner sometime?” I blurt out the question before I know what I’m saying.
Jinnie’s eyebrows shoot up.
I freeze.
I really just said those words out loud.
“Not like—not fancy or anything. Just. Food. Together.”
Lord, please, kill me now.
She stares at me for what feels like an eternity. Then, to my utter shock, she laughs. “You’re asking me out looking like that ?”
I glance down at my disaster of an outfit. “In my defense, I forgot I looked like this.”
That makes her laugh harder.
“Okay,” she says.
“Okay?”
“Okay, I’ll have dinner with you, Jack. But you’re buying. And showering first.”
“Deal.”
She nods once, then disappears inside. The screen door bangs shut behind her.
I stand there for a full minute, staring at the empty porch before snapping back to reality and getting back to work.