Chapter 11
Sitting in East Nashville, two blocks from Five Points where the best hot dogs you’ll find are sold from a silver Airstream, is one of my favorite places on earth.
The old brick building that houses the Next Note Foundation was once a mechanic shop.
The two garage doors have been repainted cobalt blue, and last summer a few of the kids painted music notes and the foundation name across them.
Inside, the place still carries the faint smell of gasoline and motor oil from years ago.
Pair that with the low hum of guitar chords and the tap, tap, tap of a drum kit, and I remember why I love volunteering here.
I pause in the doorway to take in the view. Teenagers are scattered all over the room, some tuning their instruments, a few practicing songs. In one corner a group sits huddled around a phone screen, watching god knows what.
“Liam,” a familiar voice calls. Rhonda Pierce, a tiny woman in her early sixties is headed my way.
Her silver hair stays trimmed in a pixie cut and red glasses magnify her eyes to twice their size, making them look like she’s peering into your soul.
Half the time I think she is. She’s dressed in her standard outfit: overalls rolled at the cuffs and black Doc Martens.
“Long time no see, handsome.” She raises onto her toes to give me a hug.
She steps back, giving me a once over with her owlish eyes. “What’s kept you away so long?”
I give her my most charming dimpled smile. “Rhonda, Rhonda, Rhonda. Has somebody missed me?”
“I’ve missed you!” a kid, Trey, shouts, from a nearby couch. “My guitar needs to be restrung and I can’t ever do it right.”
I walk over, lowering next to him, and he hands me his acoustic. Strumming a few chords, I adjust the pegs to get it in tune. It’s a second-hand Yamaha student acoustic, and while it’ll do the job, it does have trouble staying in tune.
I’ve reminded Trey he’s welcome to play the guitars we keep on hand here, but he refuses. Trey struggles with change, no matter how small. Rhonda learned that the hard way once when he had a total meltdown after she rearranged the furniture. So, his student guitar it is.
“You got strings?”
Trey looks at the floor, and I immediately feel a pang of guilt. I don’t ask a lot of questions; I just listen if the kids want to talk. But from what I’ve gathered, Trey’s family doesn’t have much money.
“Hey, Trey, buddy. It’s no big deal. I’ll grab some from the office. Be right back.”
I jog to Rhonda’s office and open the supply cabinet, taking out the bin labeled strings.
Back on the couch with Trey, I unwind the first one to begin the restringing process while he talks nonstop.
Rhonda says when I’m not here, he’s pretty quiet, which is hard to believe seeing how he’s hardly stopped to take a breath.
He’s told me at least five stories about a stray cat that’s been hanging around his house while I’ve worked.
When I’m finished, I hand the guitar over.
“Try it out.”
Trey strums a few chords and looks up, smiling. “Thanks, Liam.”
“You’re welcome. But you know Rhonda or any of the other volunteers could help you. I’m not here as often as they are.”
Who knows if he heard me, because he’s already strumming a melody, eyes closed. I know kids can be little shits sometimes when it comes to someone who is different than them. As far as I know, everyone here at the foundation is nice to Trey, but I sure hope school is the same.
I make my way around the room, checking in on a few faces I haven’t seen in a while.
Pausing at the group hovered around the phone, I step closer to see what they’re watching.
It’s a pianist whose fingers move so quickly across the keyboard, they almost look like rubber.
A heated debate is underway on whether he’s actually playing that quickly or if he’s edited the video to look it.
They keep pausing at certain intervals to try and catch an error in the editing.
After watching for several minutes, even I can’t tell if the videos are real or not.
I move on from this group when Stacey, another volunteer, calls my name. “Come listen to this song Anna wrote.”
Heading to the corner of floor pillows they’re perched on, I do my best to fold my body onto one. Damn, the floor is a long way down when you’re tall. I nod at Anna when I’m ready. “Show me what you’ve got.”
She begins to play a beautifully haunting song, telling of love and loss and how heartbreakingly difficult it is to overcome that loss. One particular line really hits harder than the rest. Till the waves drag me out with the tide. The waves keep on crashing and I can’t see past ’em.
This kid can’t be any older than fifteen or sixteen, and it guts me to think she’s already experienced a loss so great she can paint a vivid picture in my mind with her words. A picture I’m all too familiar with.
When she finishes, I’m regretting sitting on the floor, because I want to give her a standing ovation. Man, that kid is going somewhere. I chat with the two of them for a few minutes, and then stand, moving around the room to various kids who call for help.
Finally, I make it back to Rhonda, who now stands at her office door, wearing a satisfied smile, staring around the room.
“Lotta kids here today,” I observe.
Rhonda hums her agreement. “They keep on coming. At least a few new ones a week. Word seems to be getting around.” She glances over at me. “Having great volunteers doesn’t hurt either.”
I keep quiet at her praise, rolling my shoulders like I can shrug it off. For some reason I can be cocky and self-assured about everything else in life, but not with this. Working with these kids humbles me, plain and simple.
“You know,” she continues, turning her whole body so she’s facing me, straight on, arms crossed, eyes sharp behind those red frames.
Her posture alone tells me what’s coming.
“There’s always a spot waiting for you on the board, Liam.
Has been for close to six months now. Just say the word and it’s yours. ”
I let out a breath and look away. “You don’t want a guy like me on the board.”
Rhonda snorts. “Right, right. I forgot. Of course we don’t want a board member who’s committed, cares about our mission, and is great with the kids.”
I give her a flat look. “Rhonda.”
“Liam.”
“We’ve gone over this. I like how things are. I’m not a schmooze donors over dinner kind of guy.”
Rhonda puts her hands on her hips. “Exactly what kind of schmoozing do you think we do? It’s more like chatting over a cold beer.”
“Still. I know my role, and it’s with these kids. You know this.”
She nods in reluctant understanding. “Fine. Also,” she adds, lowering her voice, “Thank you for the donation.”
Discomfort burns hot at the nape of my neck. This isn’t something she ever brings up.
“Of course,” I say stiffly.
“I know this isn’t something we talk about, but donations were low last quarter. Yours really helped.”
My eyes snap to hers. “How much more do you need?”
“That’s not what I’m getting at, Liam. Your donation helped us reach our goal. All I’m saying is thank you.”
Surveying the room, I look from kid to kid, each and every one of them needing a place like this to exist. I don’t even want to imagine what a financial goal not met would mean.
“You’re welcome. And if it happens again, please let me know.”
“Actually, I think we’ll be in the black from now on. An anonymous donor set up monthly payments and the figure is”—she lets out a low whistle—“substantial.”
My eyes narrow. “You don’t know who it is?”
At this, Rhonda swipes me on the arm. “Liam, what part of anonymous don’t you understand?”
Shaking my head with a laugh, I leave her and make my way around the room again, doing what I can for each kid.
I hit the road a couple hours later, with promises to not stay gone too long. It’s a beautiful day to drive, windows down, sunglasses on. Fall is encroaching on summer’s territory, threatening to steal the show, but today feels perfect.
Before pulling out of the parking lot, I tap Cassie’s contact to call her, hoping her voice will keep me company on the drive home. She answers on the third ring and I switch it to speaker.
“Hello?” Her voice is sleepy, husky, like she’s just waking up, but it still sounds like a song I want on repeat, filling up my truck and drifting out the window.
“Hey there, sleeping beauty.”
There’s a rustling and Cassie clear her throat. “Is it really three o’clock?”
I chuckle. “Yes, ma’am. Rough night?”
Cassie groans into the phone. “In the moment it was fun. Today, on the other hand…”
“You need some ibuprofen and electrolytes. Do you have any? I’m not much help right now, but I can run some to you when I get back to town if not.”
There’s a sound of a mattress creaking and a cabinet opening and closing.
“I have ibuprofen. I’ll just guzzle lots of water.
” Then I hear ice clinking into a glass and water running.
At the sound, I’m overcome with the need to be the one getting her water and ibuprofen, pressing a hand to her forehead just for an excuse to touch her.
Domestic shit nobody puts in a song, but I’d take it any day over a night out in Nashville.
I sit with that thought, until I realize Cassie is speaking.
“I think my service cut out. What was that?”
“I was saying, I have a vague memory of calling you. Did I call you?”
“Yeah…well, FaceTime.”
“Please tell me I didn’t say anything too embarrassing.”
I smile even though she can’t see me. “Define embarrassing.”
She groans again, and I hear the bed creak, like she’s climbing back under the covers.
The mental image of Cassie in bed does something to me.
What does she sleep in? An oversized T-shirt or a cute little matching set.
Is her hair falling loose down her shoulders and back or is it piled up on top of her head?
I picture her curled on her side, phone propped on the pillow, eyes half closed, and I have to adjust my grip on the steering wheel.
“You were fine,” I say in response. “Adorable. A little menace. And for the record, I enjoyed the call.”
Cassie lets out a cute sound, a cross between a sigh and a laugh. “I’m blaming Josie. She was all like ‘let’s take a shot every time you—’” She breaks off abruptly, and I look at the screen to see if we’ve been disconnected. But no, she’s still on the line.
“Every time you…what?”
She hesitates. “Never mind. Anyway, how’s your weekend been? Are you headed home?”
I let the subject change only because Cassie is probably embarrassed enough as it is. But I file it away. Take a shot every time you…every time she what? I wonder if it had something to do with me? Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.
“Sure am. About two hours out.”
Cassie keeps me company while Highway 43 rolls by, Singing River getting closer and closer. She tells me all about her night with Penny and Josie, and I smile picturing her fitting seamlessly into their duo. I had a feeling she and Josie would hit it off.
Josie is Penny’s best friend, and she may as well be an extra daughter to my mom. She’s bold and vivacious, but when nobody’s looking, I see something else there. Something she tries to mask with snark and humor. There’s a very real chance she and Cassie have a lot in common.
Cassie and I are laughing about something Josie said when my phone beeps with an incoming call, Mom flashing onto my screen.
I may be a grown man of thirty years, but I love my mama, and I’ll always answer when she calls.
“Hey,” I interrupt gently. “My mom’s calling. Can we talk later?”
Cassie doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh, of course! Yes, take it. We’ll talk later.”
Pitching my voice into a lower register, I say, “Don’t tease me with a good time.”
“Bye, Liam,” Cassie says, probably with an eye roll and a grin. “You damn flirt.”
“Talk soon,” I say, and switch the call over to my mom.