Page 77 of Where the Music Grows

I wish I could tell her, but it’s not my secret to tell. “Good,” I say.

She nods, a knowing smile on her lips. “Good. That’s very good.”

“I’ve got a song I need to iron out,” I tell her.

“You look like a man ready to burst.”

“Aggie, I need to make as many tips as possible tonight.” I lean against the railing. “It’s important. I can’t tell you why, but I need I promise you it’s not for nothing. I’m not going to blow it. Can you help?”

She looks thoughtful. “I’ll make a special drink—’The Heartbreaker.’ A dollar from every drink sold goes straight to your jar.”

I grin. “Perfect. Thank you! I promise, it’ll be put to good use.”

“I’m counting on it,” she says.

I rush into my room. I grab my guitar and settle on the bed, flipping through my notebook until I find the song I started for Jinnie weeks ago. It was good, but I’m about to make it better. That’s the good thing about not being a signed artist. I can do whatever I want with my songs—including changing up the lyrics.

I liked the song before, but it always felt unfinished. I scribble on the paper, the melody bouncing around in my head.

The words flow easier now, the melody softening into something sweeter, more hopeful. It’s so much better than the first run. I play through the song once. I cringe. It’s not what I hear in my head. Not yet.

I strum a few more chords, adjusting the tempo, trying to match the rhythm that’s been playing in my mind since last night. The lyrics feel raw, honest—like they’re finally saying what I’ve been too scared to put into words. I scribble down a few more lines, crossing out others that don’t feel right.

By the time Aggie knocks on my door to tell me dinner’s ready, I’ve got the bones of the song down. It’s not perfect—not yet—but it’s close. I set the guitar aside and head to the kitchen, where Aggie’s dishing up a plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes.

“You look like you’ve been wrestling with something,” she says, sliding the plate across the counter.

“Just figuring some things out,” I say.

“You’ve been strumming in there all day.”

“This song is important,” I tell her. “It matters.”

She smiles softly. “I can’t wait to hear it.”

“I hope it’s as good as I think it is,” I admit with a laugh.

“Oh, you know it will be.”

She finishes her dinner. “I’ll see you at eight.”

“I’ll be there,” I tell her.

After she leaves, I start practicing once again. I’ve played it through a dozen times, tweaking chords and lyrics until my fingers ache. This is it. This is the song it was always supposed to be. I clean up the kitchen and hop in the shower. I hope Jinnie will be there tonight, but I know it’s not easy for her to get into the bar.

Tonight’s going to be special.

I want Jinnie there.

The Hollow Log is packed before I even step on stage. Aggie put out the word that tonight was going to be bigger than ever. That woman is too good to me.

Every table is full, the bar three-deep with people ordering Aggie’s “Heartbreaker” special. She winks at me from behind the counter, already stacking bills in my tip jar. She doesn’t know what the money is for, which makes it even more special. She’s just taking my word for it. She trusts me to do something important with the money.

I hope Jinnie will tell her the truth one day, but even if she doesn’t, that’s okay. I’ll know I used the money for something good. I step on the stage, my usual tea and water with me. I take a few seconds to tune the guitar and adjust the mic stand.

The crowd tonight feels a little more subdued. Not bored, but this isn’t the typical weekend people who are feeling rowdy. That works for me. I’ll save my vocals and play to the mood.

I sit down and strum the guitar until I have the attention of the crowd. There’s still some light conversation as people enjoy their drinks. I start with some of my usual songs. The crowd is warming up. And I’m stalling. I really want Jinnie to show up.