Page 20 of Where the Music Grows

“Well, you’ve got the voice for it. And the heart, I’d wager.” She gestures to the fire. “Mind if I join you?”

“I mean...sure,” I say, still a little thrown by her sudden appearance. She settles onto the log beside me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“So, Jack, what’s the dream? Nashville?”

“No, no.” I laugh. “Nothing like that. I don’t really know what the dream is. I just know what it isn’t.”

“What isn’t it?”

“Dairy farm.”

She nods. “I see.”

I feel her looking at me. The guy at the store thought I was an underage runaway. “I’m eighteen,” I blurt out. “Almost nineteen.”

She smiles. “You’re just ready to tackle the world.”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Are you far from home?”

I don’t want to tell her too much. “Wisconsin.”

She nods. “And do you know where you’re going?”

I slowly shake my head. “No. Not really.”

“What are you doing out here, Jack?”

I take a deep breath. “I, uh, well, I ran out of money. I’m just thinking about what I want to do next.”

“Did you have dinner?”

I’m a little embarrassed. I’ve never been one for handouts. “I, uh, had some rolls. And I found blackberries. I suppose those are yours and I stole them.”

She bursts into laughter. “Honey, there are so many wild berries out here, I could never pick them all. Nor would I want to. But a boy, I’m sorry, a man like you needs more than bread and berries. You’re tall. What are you—six foot?”

“Six-two, ma’am.”

She grins. “Then it’s settled. Come on up to the house and I’ll get you some leftover casserole. It’s not fancy, but I don’t cook for anyone but me and I’m not picky.”

“I couldn’t impose,” I say.

“You’re not imposing. You can stay out here as long as you need to. You’re welcome to use the kitchen and bathroom if you’d like. Although, I bet living out here in the woods is a teenage boy’s dream.”

“Not mine,” I murmur.

She laughs and gets to her feet. “Come one. My house is just through there.”

I follow her through the trees and realize I was a lot closer to civilization than I realized. I’m real glad she didn’t come up on me when I took a little dip in the creek earlier. That could have been a whole different conversation.

Aggie’s house is a cozy little house with mismatched furniture and outdated kitchen appliances. The kind of place that feels lived-in, with books stacked on every surface and a cat curled up on the couch.

She waves me toward the kitchen. “Bathroom’s down the hall if you want to wash up. I’ll heat up some casserole.”

I use the bathroom and scrub my hands, just like my mom taught me when I was little and eating a meal at someone else’s table. When I return, there’s a plate of steaming casserole on the table and a glass of milk. She gestures for me to sit down. I try not to inhale it like a wild animal, but it’s a struggle. It’s good and I’m so hungry.

Aggie sits across from me, sipping tea. “So. Tell me your deal.”