I’d been outside since I’d left my kids in the care of June, sitting on my couch in her tight jeans. My two excited daughters had sat on the floor in front of her as if June were on stage.
I paced the shop. I had to run to town, but the lesson was almost done, and I didn’t want June to be in the house any longer than necessary, if only for my sanity. I kept walking out of the bathroom and picturing her in the hallway, barely dressed with tousled hair.
Checking the time, I pivoted toward the door. Close enough. I stepped outside and Caramel, the orangetabby barn cat we’d inherited with the place, mewed at me. He was sunning himself against the side of the building.
“Catch any mice today, freeloader?”
He blinked at me.
“That’s what I thought.” The girls fed him too damn much. He had no need to hunt, but he loved their cuddles. So he could freeload all he wanted as long as he let them love on him.
Goldie trotted next to me. I sank my fingers into the dog’s fur. She’d been our first addition to this little home we’d built since we’d moved. Her wilder years were behind her, and hopefully that included her urge to eat anything inedible and toxic. I still had the vet’s emergency number as a top contact in my phone.
A wad of knots in my stomach turned to lead the closer I got to the house. Staying away for an hour had been torture. The urge to peek through the windows wasn’t because I had to check on the girls. They were fine.
Seeing June with her guitar again was an addicting hit of nostalgia. It was also necessary to remind myself that she had talent that was wasted in the middle of Montana. In two months, she’d be back in Nashville and, soon after, conquering the world stage. It was what she was made for.
But sometimes she needed a little push. The scared little girl inside of her was afraid of the unknown, but she wanted to be heard. I’m sure some psychiatrist could tie her need to be visible and financially successful to her parents’ accident, but it didn’t matter. She was who she was.
I quietly stepped inside the house. June’s soft voice mixed with mellow guitar notes.
“He wasn’t the guy who got away, he was the one who let me go.”
I stopped in the kitchen, my heart slamming against my ribs. I hated this song. I couldn’t change the station fast enough when it came on. Only now there was no knob. I was getting a live performance, but I couldn’t make myself walk right back out the door.
Two smaller Yamaha acoustic guitars were propped on the couch and the girls were on the floor, a rapt audience. June’s gaze flipped up to meet mine. She continued to strum the strings, her left hand moving along the fretboard, but she didn’t sing. She didn’t have to. I knew the words.
And I’m the girl with all the freedom in the world...
I hated the rest.
... but I only wish he’d asked me to stay.
That song haunted me through the streets of town. In my car. Even while I worked outside and had the radio on. Whenever June had a new song or album releasing, the hardware store loved to play her songs. Something always broke on the ranch, and I’d be in the damn store, her voice chasing me down the aisles.
A heartbeat of anguish filled her eyes, then she blinked. I shook myself out of my trance.
She flattened her left hand on the strings. “That’s it for today, but I have homework.”
“What?” Hannah said, aghast. “Homework?”
Bethany’s mouth hung open.
“It’s easy. Quiz each other on counting.” June held up a hand. “First finger?—”
“Index finger!” both girls yelled.
June nodded and tapped her middle finger with her thumb.
“Second finger.” Another answer in unison.
She wiggled her ring finger.
“Third,” they answered.
“The pinkie is the fourth,” Bethany added.
“Quiz each other on the frets and the strings. And if it’s okay with your dad, practice your downstrokes while counting.” June carefully set her guitar aside. The wood on this one was a deep mahogany brown. I hadn’t seen it before. My favorite was her denim-blue Dreadnought.
