Page 21 of Where the Music Grows

Between bites, I give her the edited version—left home, no money, just trying to figure things out. I leave out the part about Dad draining my account. And the slap. And pretty much everything else that makes it sound like I’m a runaway kid.

She listens without interrupting, refilling my milk when I finish the glass. When I finish, she leans back in her chair.

“Jack, you’re welcome to camp out there as long as you need.”

I stare at her. “Why?”

She shrugs. “Because everyone needs help sometimes. My parents bought this land back in the seventies—split it between me and my sister when they passed. I’ve got more than enough. I don’t even get out there all that often. I saw the smoke and was worried a fire had started.”

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “I swear I was real careful. I made a ring, and I was going to keep it really small. I just needed to boil some water.”

“It’s fine.” She smiles again. “You seem like a capable young man.”

I don’t know what to say, so I just mutter, “Thanks.”

She waves it off. “Now. About that guitar.”

“What about it?”

“You any good besides that one song?”

“I mean...decent, I guess.”

She grins. “Modest, too. I own a bar in town—The Hollow Log. Mostly a music joint. You could play there.”

“What? For real? Wait, a bar?”

“Not for a salary,” she clarifies. “But tips? All yours. And we get a good crowd on weekends. It’s a chance for you to get some stage time. Iron out the little quirks that come with singing in public.”

I’ve never played for an audience bigger than my brothers and family friends when I was younger. The idea sends a thrill through me.

“You’d let me? Even though I’m not twenty-one?”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s legal to perform underage in this state. Had plenty of bands come through who couldn’t legally drink their pay. Just don’t ask me for a beer or accept one. You get me in trouble with the liquor board, and me and you are going to have a problem.”

I’m grinning now. “No, ma’am. I wouldn’t think of it. When can I start?”

“How’s Friday?”

“Perfect.”

She laughs at my enthusiasm. “Don’t thank me yet. Crowd can be tough. Real tough, especially on the weekends when the locals have a little too much to drink. I’ve got a guy who keeps the riffraff out most of the time, but they always find a way in. I think there’s going to be more than one cowboy around here who isn’t going to be happy to see you coming.”

I frown. “Why? Trust me, I don’t want their jobs.”

She cackles. “Oh, honey, have you looked in a mirror?”

I’m pretty sure it’s a rhetorical question.

“I’ll take my chances, Miss Aggie. I promise, I’ll be good.”

“Then I look forward to hearing you play.”

She sends me back to my tent with a container of leftovers, a jug of water, and a blanket for the chill. I walk back through the trees to my truck. I spread the blanket over the top of my sleeping bag and climb inside. I can’t stop smiling. I had been pretty damn close to the lowest I’ve been in a while, and then Aggie appeared.

A real-life angel.

My mind races with thoughts of Friday. Playing at a real bar—a real stage. It’s everything I’ve wanted and nothing I ever thought I’d get. But there’s a knot in my stomach too. What if I mess up? What if no one likes my music? What if they laugh at me? I shake my head, trying to push the doubt away. This is my shot. I can’t waste it.