Page 78 of Beneath a Tennessee Sky

Chapter Twenty-Five

Jack

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I WAKE TO A HEAVY WEIGHT on my chest. I pop one eye open to see Max sitting on me. His glare tells me he’s not happy. Truthfully, I don’t know if the cat is ever happy. He tolerates me but I know he doesn’t really like me. Then again, I don’t think he likes anyone.

“Get off,” I mutter.

Jinnie giggles against my neck. “Max, go away.”

“He’s pissed,” I say.

“I know.”

“How does he know what time it is?” I ask.

“All animals have internal clocks.”

“Yeah? You asked them?”

She laughs and rolls to her back. “I don’t have to. He’s not used to me sleeping past seven.”

She gently pushes the cat off my chest.

We’ve been back at her place for a week. I feel almost human again. Aggie has been making us dinner almost every night. She was aghast to see me... her word. Said I lost too much weight and looked like a scarecrow. She was going to fatten me up one way or another.

I’m just so happy to have my feet on solid ground. Nowhere to be. Nothing to do except heal. That’s Jinnie’s word. She says I’m healing.

I think I am.

“I’ll start coffee,” Jinnie says.

“Or we could just stay in bed all day.”

“We could, but we need to finish that song,” she reminds me. “Your adoring fans are anxious to hear the whole thing after we teased it.”

“I can’t believe I still have fans,” I say.

“You have true fans,” she says as she climbs over me. “People who actually like the music and not all the bullshit.”

“That makes me happy.”

And I am. For the first time in months, the music feels like mine again. There’s no sequins, no stupid nicknames, no Liz whispering in my ear about marketability. Just me and my guitar and Jinnie’s sharp eye catching every lyric that doesn’t ring true. Since we’ve been back, melodies and lyrics have been pouring out of me. I have so many ideas, I can’t get them on paper fast enough.

It’s this place. And her. I feel like I can breathe again.

Jinnie walks into the kitchen. I can hear the coffeemaker going and then smell the pungent scent of cheap coffee. And I can’t wait to drink it. None of the stupid ten-dollar drinks or espresso so strong it makes my toes curl.

“Babe!” Jinnie calls out. “You are blowing up!”

“Is that good or bad?” I ask without getting out of bed.

This is the REAL Jack Hayes.

Finally someone keeping it honest.

My grandfather farmed corn for fifty years and he’d love this.