His eyes once again locked on Brinton’s. She swallowed hard.
“And another extraordinary woman who inspired me to be brave enough to put all this into words. Bee, you inspire me every day. This one’s called ‘Guiding Light.’”
Brinton melted right on the spot. Perceptively, Emma Lou tipped her head on her shoulder.
He strummed the opening chords, the sweetness of a lullaby, with storytelling enlivened by unspeakable loss and perseverance. His eyes latched onto Brinton’s as he sang the buoyant chorus.
When I look to the sky each night, you’re my guiding light.
As soon as Jamie finished, the crowd of old folks swarmed him. He was attentive to each person, took his time, making them feel like he was as lucky to have the experience. Brinton never saw herself being so open to the world, but watching him made her want to try.
“Let’s head back for a drink,” Emma Lou said. “Some tea? Or something stronger?”
Back in Emma Lou’s living room, Brinton settled into the tufted blue plaid couch. Like the kitchen, family photos covered every inch of wall space. On the white rattan tablebeside her, Brinton recognized a picture of a young Jamie, still adorable while missing a front tooth, smiling with his parents on the dock at Crawford Lake. She picked up the silver frame, tracing a finger over Jamie’s exuberant face. Emma Lou triumphantly strolled in with two ice-cold mimosas in champagne flutes.
“That has to be my favorite photo of them,” Emma Lou said, handing Brinton a glass.
Brinton replaced the photo on the table. “I bet it’s hard to choose one.” They clinked their glasses and took a sip.
“You know, I’m so happy Jamie brought you today. You remind me of my daughter, God rest her soul.”
“I am so sorry for your loss,” Brinton said softly, hoping to show she meant it with every breath she took. “Jamie told me a little about her. Would you be open to talking about her for my article?”
Emma Lou nodded. Brinton retrieved her recorder from her purse, turned it on, and set it on the side table.
“She was a special woman. A little fiery—she was my daughter, after all—but so soulful. I think there’s a lot of her in Jamie too. People think it’s an easy road because of who his daddy is. But the more successful Jamie’s daddy got, the harder it was for him to keep the family together. My daughter refused to raise her son on tour buses, or in airports, or hotel rooms. And bless him, but Jamie’s daddy didn’t fully understand what she was going through with her…mental health. Nobody knew what she felt in that big house, alone, save for a small child.”
Emma Lou tightly clasped her hands in her lap. “My baby struggled, but she loved that boy until her last breath. I know Jamie and his daddy’s relationship ain’t perfect. A lot of it has to do with all the answers we’ll never get about what happened that fateful night. But she lives on in Jamie. I see it every time he picks up that guitar.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
After snapping photos with everyone who asked, including the Grumpy Grandpas, Jamie had lost all feeling in his face from forcibly smiling. He ducked into the living room to the sound of Brinton and Emma Lou’s laughter, as if they’d come up with a lifetime of inside jokes between them. His heart squeezed at the sight: his future and his past, colliding atoms that lit up his entire world. While Brinton wouldn’t ever meet his mother, he felt her presence—her unwavering grace—in the room.
She’d be happy he found Brinton too.
On the coffee table, Emma Lou had pulled out her infamous album of drooly baby photos—him in the tub and the good Lord knew where else.
Clocking the empty champagne flutes, he chuckled. “Y’all throwing a party in here without me? Not very hospitable of you.”
Brinton held up the album, open to a photo of him as a newborn. He was naked, wearing only a tiny blue cowboy hat as he lay on a white shag rug. “I think this should beyour next album cover.”
Emma Lou and Brinton broke into another fit of laughter, which didn’t bother him at all. He knew, for a fact, he had a great ass.
“What time should we head back?” Brinton asked once she settled down.
Jamie grabbed his phone from his backpack. He almost had a heart attack.
It was 10:34 a.m. His scheduled soundcheck started in thirty minutes. They should have left an hour ago. With traffic, it’d be a miracle if they made it on time.
Worse yet, Sammi and Tex had left him dozens of voicemails and increasingly hostile texts. Sammi’s spirited use of emojis alone belonged in aSawfilm. Nothing from his father, thank God. Or was that a harbinger of shit-eating to come?
His shoulders seized, and he turned off his phone.
“Shit—I mean, shoot. Please excuse my language, Mamaw,” he said, kissing her on the cheek and hoping to soften the stunned look on her face. “We’re late getting to soundcheck for tonight’s show. I’ll call tomorrow and let you know how it went.”
“Sure, sure. I love you,” she called. “And promise me you’ll drive safe.”
“I love you too, and we will.” He turned to Brinton, trying to stay calm despite the tightness in his chest, a Coke can crushed by a monster truck. “We gotta go right now.”
