Page 26 of Where the Music Grows

“That’s too young for a boy to lose his mother. Do you have brothers? Sisters?”

“Two older brothers. Caleb and Michael. Caleb’s two years older than me and Michael is a year older than him.”

Dinner is ready in no time. The pasta’s better than I expected, and Aggie makes appreciative noises between bites.

“Are you having any regrets about leaving?” Aggie asks.

I shake my head. “Not a single one.”

She studies me. “Not even missing your brothers?”

That one stings a little. “I miss them. Just not the rest of it.”

Aggie nods like she understands. “Farm life’s not for everyone.”

“It’s not that. It’s that it was never my life. Just the one I got stuck with. I wanted to go to college, but my dad said that was stupid. He didn’t think it was important for any of us to waste money on a piece of paper when he was teaching us all we needed to know about farming.”

Aggie sets her fork down and looks at me. “Your dad sounds like a man who’s scared of losing what he’s built. But that doesn’t mean you have to live in his shadow, Jack. You’re carving out your own path, and that takes guts.”

“It’s just...hard, you know? Feeling like I’m betraying him by wanting something different.”

“Betrayal?” She shakes her head. “No, hon. Living your truth isn’t betrayal. It’s survival. Your dad might not understand it now, but if he loves you, he’ll come around eventually. And if he doesn’t? Well, that’s his loss.”

“I hope so. I don’t want to burn bridges with him or my brothers. They’re all I’ve got left of family.”

“And you might find more family along the way,” she says gently. “Family isn’t always blood. Sometimes it’s the people who believe in you when no one else does.”

I glance up at her, and for the first time in a long time, I feel seen. Really seen. “Thanks, Aggie. For everything.”

“Of course.”

“You remind me a lot of my mom,” I say. “She would have liked you.”

Aggie smiles. “I think we probably would have gotten along very well. She encouraged you to play?”

“She taught me,” I reply.

“Ah, I understand a bit more.”

“When I play, it’s like I’m finally doing what I’m supposed to. I can’t explain it, but it feels right. Like putting on a pair of boots that fits right or old jeans that you’ve broken in. It’s just...right.”

“I get it,” she says. “That’s how you know it’s right. It might not be easy or comfortable at first, but nothing in life worth having is easy. That’s boring.”

I laugh, scraping the last bit of sauce from my plate. “Easy is overrated, huh?”

“Exactly,” Aggie agrees, leaning back in her chair. “Now, tell me—what’s next for you? You’ve got a week under your belt here. People love you. You’re making some money. But I get the feeling this isn’t your endgame.”

I hesitate, thinking about my answer. “I don’t know. I mean, I want to keep playing. Maybe write more songs. See where this takes me. But it’s not like I have a plan or anything.”

“Plans are overrated too,” she says with a wink. “But if you’re serious about music—and it sure seems like you are—you might want to think bigger than this little town.”

“Bigger how?”

She shrugs. “Open mics in the city, maybe. Recording some of your songs. Getting your name out there. You’ve got talent, Jack. Real talent. Don’t let it rot in the woods.”

The idea both excites and terrifies me. “I don’t even know where to start with that kind of stuff.”

“You start small,” she says firmly. “You keep playing here, but you start looking for other places to perform too. Build up a following. Get comfortable on stage. Then, when you’re ready, you take the leap.”