Chapter 10 Seraphina #2
Hunter set down his taco and turned to Tyler.
“It’s usually three or four songwriters together in a small venue like a bar or just a back room somewhere.
You all sit in a circle on a little stage with your guitars and take turns playing your original songs.
You play one, then the next person plays one, and you rotate around the circle all night. ”
“Like an open mic?” Tyler asked.
“Kind of, but more intimate than that,” Hunter said.
“And the audience is there specifically to listen—not to drink and talk over you. They want to hear the songs and the stories behind them. Where they came from. What you were going through when you wrote them. It’s one of the few places in the music business where the song is the whole point.
Not the performance, not the image. Just the song. ”
“That sounds cool,” Tyler said.
“The most famous one’s The Meadowlark Café,” Ivy said.
“Tiny little place. Ninety seats maybe. Looks like nothing from the outside. But a lot of famous singers were discovered there. Which is where we were when Hunter spilled his drink on me. I’d just come to town and was doing whatever it took to stay afloat working at bars and coffee shops and then going to play my music wherever they’d let me.
That night, Hunter played one of his songs and I knew it. This guy’s the real deal.”
Hunter shifted in his chair, clearly uncomfortable. I understood it exactly. As much as I loved when anyone gushed over my books, it also made me feel a little embarrassed.
“And we’ve been best friends ever since,” Ivy said. “Been through a lot stuff over the years but one thing’s remained the same. As long as we have the music and each other, we’ll be just fine.”
“We say that now,” Hunter said, chuckling. “But we were really broke back then.”
“So broke,” Ivy said. “Hunter started selling songs a bit after that and he let me move into his apartment. I slept in the kitchen. Remember that place?”
“We thought it was luxurious back then,” Hunter said.
“We were just happy to have the heat on,” Ivy said. “But that’s when we really started collaborating. We sold a few songs we’d written together. And then, just seven years later, I finally got a break. A record deal. That was the beginning.”
“Seven years,” Tyler said. “That’s a long time.”
“I told my mama I’d not give up, and I didn’t,” Ivy said.
“And now you’re the biggest country music star in the world,” Tyler said. “That’s amazing. Inspiring too.”
“Couldn’t have done it without my best friend,” Ivy said.
“Tell me about the record you’re planning,” I said. “Tyler and I are dying to know all the details.”
The table animated immediately. Ivy leaned forward, her eyes glittering. She explained how she was leaving her record label to have Wes produce it instead. “We’re going rogue,” Ivy said.
“Heck, yeah,” Wes said. “I’m a little rusty, but it’s all coming back to me.”
“We recorded the acoustic single of Hunter’s new song already,” Ivy said. “We’ll play it for you live after dinner. Hunter’s nicknamed it ‘Seraphina’s song’ because she inspired it.”
“Ivy, you have a big mouth,” Hunter said.
“I’m honored,” I said.
We were finished eating by then and got up to clear the table.
Hunter and Ivy went to get their guitars, promising a concert in the living room.
Tyler and Wes went out to check on the ice cream.
I rolled up my sleeves and helped clean up the kitchen, feeling full, both emotionally and from Margaret’s fantastic tacos.
“This is really fun,” I said to Margaret. “Thank you.”
“We’re glad you’re here. Both you and that fine boy of yours.” Margaret gave my shoulders a quick squeeze and for a second I understood what it was like to have a mother.
Fifteen minutes later, we gathered in the living room. Wes settled into a chair by the fireplace. Tyler dropped onto the floor cross-legged. I took the end of the couch closest to Hunter’s chair.
Hunter had Georgia in his lap. Ivy sat across from him on a wooden chair she’d pulled from the corner, her Martin between her hands. They had clearly worked together for years. I could see it in the small adjustments as they tuned their strings, nodding to the other.
“Okay,” Ivy said. “We’ll do ‘Finally Home’ first. That’s the duet we wrote together last night. The one I want to record with Jack Wilder.”
“Do you know him?” Tyler asked, eyes wide.
“I’ve met him a few times at award shows and stuff,” Ivy said. “Very nice. Kind of quiet.”
“I know him from Nashville,” Hunter said. “Before he made it big he used to play smaller venues. Figured it was only a matter of time before he broke out.”
“I’m hoping he loves the song and wants to record it with me. But first, let’s see what y’all think.” She settled her guitar. “Okay. Here we go.”
Hunter played the opening chord progression and to my surprise he sang the first verse. His voice was gritty and lived in. Maybe not commercial enough for Nashville but it suited me just fine. I could listen to him all day.
Then Ivy came in for her solo verse. They reached the bridge and their voices blended for the first time. The outro came soft and unhurried.
The last chord faded.
Nobody spoke for a moment.
“That’s a hit song right there,” Wes said.
“Absolutely beautiful,” Margaret said.
“You have to imagine Jack’s voice instead of mine,” Hunter said.
“I love your voice,” I blurted out.
Ivy beamed. “Let’s play the other one for them.”
“It’s called ‘Or Something Like That Anyway,’” Hunter said. “First song I wrote in Willet Cove.”
“Seraphina’s song,” Ivy said, mischievously.
Hunter strummed the opening chord, and Ivy’s pure voice sang the first verse. A note on the table. A woman leaving. The words only boy told me it was about his mother.
The second verse—another note, another woman leaving, the same wound in a different handwriting. Dana leaving him for someone else.
And then the third verse.
She left a note in the winter air
Thousands of words and none of them rhymed
But I knew what she was saying
That aching hunger for love
I kept those pages near
Reached for them in the dark
Found the missing notes between the lines
All those things we never say
Those quiet confessions of a lonely heart
Or something like that anyway
I stopped breathing. It was about me. About my books that he’d read throughout a winter. The chorus came and then the bridge.
Can you teach me how to stay
I felt those six words enter my body. Were they for me? It seemed impossible, yet I knew. It was a question for me and only me.
I thought, Yes, I can teach you to stay.
The song didn’t end so much as drift away, the last chord and Ivy’s voice dissolving into the quiet room.
We all clapped, as if we were sitting in The Meadowlark Café listening to our own private concert with two of the most talented people on the planet.
“I knew Ivy’s voice was just right for it,” Hunter said, grinning, his large frame draped over Georgia.
“You got that right,” Margaret said.
“It’s going to be our first hit as an indie,” Wes said. “I’m pleased as punch.”
“I am too,” Ivy said.
“I’m thankful for the muse who brought it to me,” Hunter said, looking at me.
I smiled, aching with longing. To touch him. To wrap myself in his arms and teach him how to stay. Out loud I said, “Who knew being a muse was so easy?”
“For you, yeah,” Hunter said.
We stared at each other for a moment. I forgot there was anyone else in the room, until Ivy spoke.
“What did you think, Tyler?” Ivy asked.
My son had been unusually still and quiet during the music, his gaze fixed somewhere in front of him on the floor.
But he looked up when Ivy asked him the question.
“I’m in awe, to be honest. That Hunter could make a song out of just a line someone said to him is hard to imagine.
I don’t get how anyone does that, but I’m sure glad they do. ”
“It’s just a three chord song,” Hunter said. “Not the cure to cancer.”
“It’s more than that,” Tyler said. “A song like that makes people feel less alone. Understood on a level we can’t really explain.”
“Which is what art should do,” Margaret said. “You’re a smart young man.”
“Thanks,” Tyler said, cheeks flushing.
My son and his old soul.
“Should we check on the ice cream?” Wes asked.
“For sure.” Tyler unfolded himself from the floor and disappeared into the kitchen with Wes.
Margaret and Ivy excused themselves, both needing the bathroom, leaving me alone with Hunter.
He set Georgia aside and got up, crossing the few feet between us and offered his hand to help me up.
“That’s a really good song,” I said. “Both of them.”
“I’m just glad I’m finding my groove again.” He kissed me softly. “Thank you.”
“I want to teach you how to stay.”
“Good. Because I want to stay.”
Tyler’s voice called to us from the kitchen. “Ice cream’s ready.”
I had to smile at the excitement in his voice. Tyler might have an old soul, but ice cream reminded him and me that he was still a kid.
Hunter took my hand and we headed toward my boy and a bowl of that strawberry ice cream. But I didn’t need it to feel satisfied. That had already been taken care of by my favorite songwriter.