CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO COEN #2
She shakes her head. “Not yet, but we’re hoping something comes through. Our house wasn’t big. It was his mom’s home before she passed, but it was all we had.”
“The neighborhood is a mess still,” says Jon. “We can’t get to the house, probably won’t be able to until they send in someone to help clear out all the debris and make sure there’s no chemicals or hazardous shit around.”
Sabrina is studying them both, chewing her lip. “So you could be here all summer?”
They glance at each other. “Yeah, maybe,” says Brandi. “It’s hard to say.”
“Where are you two headed then?” Jon says, like he doesn’t want to fixate too much on their circumstances.
“Nashville, for work,” I say quickly.
“Oh yeah? What do you do up there?”
“Not much. Some finance stuff.”
At that minute, another couple appears. They come straight over and introduce themselves to us as Kay and Kent, both from the same neighborhood and living at the motel.
It doesn’t take long before Sabrina suggests we grab some drinks from the bar in the lounge.
I volunteer to bring some beers, mostly because I know I can afford them, and I’m not living in a motel with no home.
Lula is behind the counter. I duck inside, and she looks up, popping her gum.
“Hey, what you need, cowboy?” she asks.
“I was gonna get some beer,” I say, gesturing to the coolers. “Two packs, if you have it.”
“All we got is Miller Lite.”
“That’ll do.”
She retrieves a couple packs and hefts them onto the counter. I count out some cash and pass it over.
“You liking the hotel?” She taps at the register.
“Yeah, it’s a great place. And you’re real good to be letting those people stay here.”
She blinks, then recognition clears in her face. “Oh, you mean the folks from West Denton.”
“That’s where the fire hit?”
She nods. “It was rough. I had a couple friends out here, and I drove over to get their pets with them.”
I gather up the beer, nodding. “It’s good of you.”
She shrugs. “That’s what it’s all about, you know?”
I smile and duck out, carrying the beer around the side and through the gate.
By the time I get there, someone has plugged a radio into a Bluetooth on the lifeguard stand.
I guess Sabrina is more of an extrovert than I thought, because she’s standing around chatting in a group of at least six people.
I drop the beer on the table and split the box open.
That’s all it takes for me to be mobbed until every can is handed out.
They’re all from West Denton, survivors of the fire.
This is why I have trouble talking about my problems; there are so many people who are hurting so much worse than I am.
I would know, with the way I grew up. She’s already integrated, so I slide up behind her and grab a can of beer.
Before I can pop the tab, Kent appears and grabs my elbow, saying he wants to introduce me to everyone.
Right away, I’m on my guard, but that fades out slowly.
They’re good people, and not one person says they recognize me.
The party is still going on by the pool by the time the sun has set.
My head buzzes a little from the beer, and I’m ready for a moment of silence.
Extracting myself, I move around the back of the fence and take a seat on the bench at the edge of the gravel.
Tapping my notebook against my palm, I gaze out over the distant mountain range.
I haven’t written enough since I left for Nashville. Taking my pen from my pocket, I flip open the notebook.
Mason has five songs he needs written. I’m two songs in and have about three or so days left, depending on how far I keep going out of the way. And I still have to leave time for editing, recording, and production. Taking out my phone, I shoot a text to Jamie.
Does Mason want us to produce this? Or just write it?
He doesn’t respond, which means nothing. I’m in a different time zone, so he’s probably sleeping. Sinking back into the bench, I cross my ankle over my knee so I can brace open the notebook. The pen hovers over the paper but doesn’t make a mark.
I think hard. When I finally write a few words, it’s not a song for him. It’s a title, for something I don’t know if I’ll ever release.
Hit the Road, Cowboy.
Nothing else comes to mind, but I think some ideas are going to come soon.
It feels like it—the tingle of creativity in the front of my brain is back.
Quietly, I get up and circle around back, emerging into the main parking lot and crossing it to the front office.
The open sign is out, but I can see Lula through the glass.
I knock, and she turns, frowning as she comes to the door.
“You need something else?” she asks as she opens it.
“I was just gonna say, you have my credit card info from the reservation,” I say, keeping my voice low. “The people who were here from the fire, just put their bills for the summer on it.”
Her brows shoot up. There’s a shocked silence.
“That’s gonna be a lot,” she says. “Even at the discounted rate I’m giving them.”
“I know,” I say. “Don’t worry about it. It’s good. Just send me an email with the address on file, and I’ll send over something in writing so you have it for your receipts.”
Before she can argue, I start back, taking the long route.
I pause behind the building for a brief moment.
I kind of wish I had a smoke, because the sunset might be the prettiest thing I’ve seen, other than the girl waiting for me back by the pool.
The numbness in my chest isn’t gone, but it’s starting to melt.
Drip by drip.
I feel a little more human and less like a machine that spits out work.
This isn’t going to heal in a day, but it’s sure starting to feel like healing is possible.