Page 8 of Where the Music Grows

The second it’s out, I regret it.

Dad’s face goes still. I never bring her up around him. I know he loved her. She was his sun, moon, stars, and everything else. He’s never figured out how to move on. He decided that was his one and only shot at love and happiness. I’ve always respected that. I don’t know the first thing about love and can’t possibly understand what he’s feeling.

“Your mother’s gone. And so is your college spot. You’re staying here. End of discussion.”

He walks out, leaving an air of finality. I shake my head, knowing it’s pointless to argue. Instead, I go to the broom closet to sweep up the broken mug.

What the hell am I doing?

Instead of heading out to the field, I grab the keys to the old Ford. It was a hand-me-down truck. Michael and Caleb both learned to drive with it and they beat the hell out of it. When it was finally my turn to lay claim to the truck that had been my dad’s way back in the day, I spent some time and money trying to fix it up.

I drive into town, dreading what comes next. George looks up from the counter when I walk in. His smile fades when he sees my face. “Rough morning?”

“You could say that.” I twist my baseball hat in my hands. “George, I...I gotta quit.”

He doesn’t look surprised. Just nods and reaches under the counter. “Figured that might happen.”

He pulls out an envelope and hands it to me. I check inside and find my last week’s pay, plus some extra.

I shake my head. “I didn’t work this week.”

“Consider it a bonus. You’re a good kid, Jack. Don’t let him make you think otherwise. You’ve been a huge help.”

My throat tightens. “Thanks, George. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you notice. This has been coming to a head for a while.”

“I know. I’m proud of you for sticking it out for as long as you did. Your dad is a good man, just needs a Ghostbuster.”

I smirk. “Yeah, or an exorcism.”

He claps me on the shoulder. “Go make your mom proud.”

“Thanks, George.”

I get home and don’t bother going inside. I go straight to the barn to get busy with chores. The last thing I want to do is have another argument with my father. I don’t stop to go in for dinner. Michael tries to convince me to come in before he and Caleb head to the bar, but I stay out. I wait and watch my father’s bedroom light. When it goes off, that’s when I go inside.

All my work in the barn has given me plenty of time to think and plan.

I know what I’m going to do.

My dad will always control what I do as long as I stay here on the farm. As long as I let him. Call me a coward, but I’m out.

I creep upstairs and grab my duffel bag. I start stuffing it—clothes, my notebook full of songs, the photo of Mom and me at my kindergarten graduation.

Then I see it.

Her necklace. The one with the tiny silver guitar pendant. She wore it every day. I took it from her jewelry box a long time ago. If my dad knew it was missing, he never said anything. I stick it in the side pocket of my backpack.

She’d want me to have it.

It was the closest thing to a good luck charm that I had.

I scribble a note for Michael and Caleb: Gone south. Don’t worry. Tell Dad... hell, I don’t know. Tell him whatever you want.

I hesitate, then add: I’ll call when I can.

The screen door creaks when I push it open. The night air is thick with the smell of hay rain in the distance.

I throw my bag, along with my guitar, onto the passenger seat. I grab some old camping gear from the shed. I don’t know where I’m going, but I know where I’m not staying.