Page 3 of Echoes of a Southern Song

“If you decide you guys want to give it another go, please tell me,” I say. “Give me a heads up. Don’t just ghost me or lead me on.”

She stops swinging and looks me directly in the eyes. “I’m not going to get back together with him. I can promise you that.”

I nod, feeling a weight lift slightly, though my chest still feels tight. She’s still got a husband out there. One who doesn’t want to let her go. I’m not afraid of a fight, but I need to know it’s one worth taking on. “Good. Because I’m not great at sharing.” I try to keep my tone light, but the truth is, the thought of losing her to him—or anyone—makes my stomach twist.

“You don’t have to share me, Jack. Not with him or anyone else.”

We start rocking again, the rhythmic creak of the porch swing and the distant chirping of crickets coming out. I can’t help but think how different this is from the life I left behind.

“What are you thinking about?” Jinnie asks softly, breaking the quiet.

“Just how different everything is now,” I admit. “I mean, I know it’s only been a little over a month since I left Wisconsin, but it feels like a lifetime ago.”

She nods. “Sometimes life changes fast when you’re finally where you’re supposed to be.”

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “It does.”

She leans her head against my shoulder, and I wrap an arm around her instinctively. It feels natural, like we’ve been doing this for years instead of weeks.

“You hear from your family lately?” Jinnie asks after a while.

I grimace. “Caleb texted last week. Dad’s still radio-silent.”

“Still mad?”

“Probably always will be.” The words come out harsher than I mean them to. “He wanted a farmer. Got a guitar player instead.”

Jinnie’s thumb strokes the back of my hand. “His loss.”

A car’s headlights cut through the gathering dark, pulling into the driveway. Aggie’s car pulls to a stop.

“Well, look at this,” she calls, grinning as she climbs the porch steps. “My two favorite people, serenading the mosquitoes.”

“Hey, Aunt Aggie.”

Aggie drops into the rocking chair across from us, groaning as she kicks off her shoes. “Damn, my feet are killing me. Remind me why I run a bar again?”

“Because you love bossing people around,” I say.

“True.” She winks at Jinnie. “How’s the bakery?”

“Good! Busy.” Jinnie’s voice pitches higher than usual. “We got a wedding order for next month—two hundred cupcakes.”

Aggie whistles. “That’s great, sweetheart.”

I watch Jinnie closely as they chat. The way her fingers twist in her lap. The way she carefully steers the conversation away from anything personal—especially the lawyer, especially Sam.

Aggie doesn’t seem to notice. But I do.

Later, after Aggie heads inside with a yawn and a promise of pancakes in the morning, I catch Jinnie’s wrist. “Hey.”

She stills. “Yeah?”

“You could tell Aggie, you know. About the lawyer. She’d understand.”

Jinnie shakes her head. “I know. I’m not ready.”

I want to push, to ask why, to demand what she’s so afraid of. But the look in her eyes stops me. It’s none of my business. This is her problem to solve. I’m doing what I can. That’s all I can do.

So I pull her close instead, tucking her under my arm. “Okay.”

We sit like that for a while. I can feel the steady rise and fall of Jinnie’s breathing against my side. It’s calming, this quiet. It’s easy to forget the chaos of everything else when it’s just the two of us like this.

“I should go,” she says. “I have to open at the bakery.”

“I’ll walk you home.”

Together, we cut across the property to her tiny house. I don’t ask to come in. I know she needs to sleep. I give her a kiss and promise to see her tomorrow before walking back to Aggie’s house. When I crawl into bed, I can’t stop thinking about this other man in town who has a claim on Jinnie.

I don’t like it. I’ll play three shows a day if I need to. Whatever it takes to raise the money she needs for her lawyer.