Chapter 17 Colors
Colors
WALKER
The evening is the kind that makes you understand why people never leave Montana. Why I was so stupid to ever leave myself.
The sun is gilding the fields and fence posts and mountain peaks. The lupine along the fence row has gone that deep June purple. Above the mountains the sky is fading from cobalt to pink to something closer to copper.
I think of blue eyes. Rosy cheeks. Copper hair.
Sadie’s colors.
Like my whole world is painted with shades of her.
Jonah is already in the yard when Sadie comes down the porch steps, crouched at the edge of the fence row in his boots and his battered cowboy hat, very serious about the ladybugs crawling along the grass. He’s decided to abandon paleontology in favor of being a bug scientist instead.
I'm leaning against the hood of the truck and I see her before he does.
She's in a cornflower-blue sundress, simple and lovely. Embroidered cowboy boots underneath it. Her red hair flowing down her back. Nothing complicated about it, but I’m still transfixed.
Sadie hasn't seen me looking. She's facing out toward the mountains, one hand shading her eyes, and the late afternoon light catches the line of her collarbone, the bare curve of her shoulder.
For one moment, I let myself imagine it. Her living here, for real. Forever.
Not as the nanny.
As the mother to my child.
As my wife.
Ridiculous fucking fantasy. She’s made it clear she’s leaving at summer’s end.
I make myself look away before she catches me at it.
The days since that midnight in the pool have looked exactly like the days before. Coffee waiting when she comes downstairs. Dinner at six. Jonah between us like a buffer and a blessing both. Careful distance that neither of us is acknowledging.
Normal. Fine. Absolutely fine.
“Absolutely fine,” of course, being my biggest lie since I told Carter Caldwell I was working on new material.
Jonah spots her then. He straightens up, turns around, and presents her with a single stem of purple lupine, slightly bent from his fist.
“This is for you,” he tells her.
A smile spreads across her face.
“For me? Really? Thank you!” She’s so obviously delighted by it. “This is the first time anyone’s ever given me flowers.”
The first time?
It will be the first of many, if I have anything to do about it.
Jonah puffs his chest out with pride. “Put it in your hair, Sadie.”
She tucks it in above her ear, nestled into her hair, and bends down so he can see. “How's that?”
Jonah examines her. “Perfect,” he decides, and turns to climb into the truck.
When she stands, the lupine slides out immediately, catching on a strand of hair before dropping toward the ground.
I'm off the hood before I've thought about it. I rescue it from the long grass before she can catch it, and then I’m standing in front of her with the flower in my hand.
“Here,” I murmur. “I’ve got you.”
Reaching out slowly, I find the place where she already has a hairpin in, just above her ear, and tuck the stem in, threading it through until it holds. My fingers brush the curve of her ear.
“Thank you,” she says, not quite meeting my eyes.
I open the passenger door for her, then get Jonah buckled while she settles in. And then we’re off.
It feels like I’m taking my girlfriend to meet my family for the first time.
It feels like the three of us are our own little family unit, driving over to join up with the Rhodes clan-at-large.
It feels… right.
Which is completely off the mark in every way possible.
My father’s already met Sadie. This isn’t a first time meet-and-greet.
And of course, she’s not my girlfriend.
She’s my nanny. Jonah’s nanny. Whatever.
I can fantasize all I want about making this woman my wife. Doesn’t mean it’s ever going to be real.
Yet it activates all the primal instincts inside me as I drive her and Jonah the five minutes to Rosemont. That feeling that this is my family and they’re mine to take care of and keep close.
A new song comes on the radio. One of mine. But this one’s from my third album, back when I was still proud of the music I was making, back when it poured out of my fingertips like liquid gold.
I remember writing this one. Three in the morning at a kitchen table in Nashville, just me and a legal pad and a bottle of whiskey. The words came so fast I could barely keep up with them.
That used to happen. That used to be me.
The song that’s playing now is all about longing. Longing for someone who isn’t blinded by the fame and fortune. For someone I could bring back to my hometown, to my family. Longing for the woman I hadn’t met yet.
She's sitting right next to me.
I found the girl I’ve been waiting for all my life. I just don’t get to keep her.
“Dad, it's you!” Jonah shouts from the backseat. “Turn it up! Turn it up!”
Feeling strangely self-conscious, I reach over and turn up the dial. It’s my own voice, younger, brasher, coming through the truck speakers.
I glance sidelong at Sadie.
She's already smiling.
“You know this one?” I ask. A little gruff.
“It's one of my favorites.”
I’ve won awards for this song. I’ve heard it called a modern classic by people whose opinions I respect. And somehow none of that has ever made an impact like her saying it's one of my favorites.
I can't help but preen a little at that. I'm only human.
Jonah is singing along in the backseat, getting about every fourth word right. Sadie is looking out the windshield, and I watch her lips move slightly with the lyrics, the real ones, the right ones.
She knows the words.
She knows my words.
The song builds toward the chorus and Jonah throws his whole self into it, belting the words at a glorious off-key warble, and Sadie laughs. It’s perfect, because it’s the three of us driving along on dirt road on a Montana summer evening, windows down, mountains turning gold outside.
This is why I make music. For moments like this.
Used to make music, that is.
And even though it’s my voice on the radio, I’m the only one in the car who’s not singing.
On impulse, I take Sadie’s hand and twine my fingers through hers. Her fingers curl around mine without hesitation. Our eyes lock briefly before I turn my gaze back to the road.
I don't let go.
Music fills the air. My music, from back when I still made it. The woman I’m crazy about is wearing a flower in her hair, one that my son picked for her for the simple reason that he loves her and wanted to make her happy.
My dream life.
Just not mine to keep.