Page 23 of First Moon

“Jack’s tall,” June said to her sons. “Which I didn’t see coming.”

“Same,” Beau said. “I thought you’d be like Tom Cruise. Small enough for a James’s brother’s shirt pocket.”

“Yet here he is, looking like a real man and not just one he plays on TV.” Mother and son exchanged a glance that told me volumes about their relationship. He lived to make her laugh, and she lived to laugh at whatever came out of his mouth.

“Come on in,” June said. “I’ve got iced tea and some fancy cheese.”

“I love fancy cheese,” Beau said, taking his mother’s arm.

“It was on sale,” June said.

“Course it was,” Beau said.

“It’s stinky, but it tastes mighty good,” June said.

We climbed the porch steps, boards creaking beneath our boots. The porch ran the length of the house, deep and shaded, with white railings, two rocking chairs, a porch swing, hanging ferns, and an old wooden bench that had probably held countless muddy boots, grocery sacks, and children. The front door stood open, screen door latched against the frame. From inside came the smell of roasted chicken and yeast rolls.

Once inside, I could see a long hall, polished wood floors, framed family photographs climbing the wall, and a glimpse of a kitchen at the back of the house. White cabinets with open shelves and a rustic painted island. Sunlight fell across a basket of vegetables that clearly had come from June’s garden.

This was not just a house. This was a way of life. And I didn’t feel at all how I thought I would. I’d imagined nerves, maybe struggling for something to say. Instead, I felt jealous. What I would have given to have grown up in this house with this family.

“Y’all go out back,” June said. “The boys and I’ll bring everything out.”

“Can I help?” Ivy asked.

“No, we’ve got it. You relax,” June said. “Waylon will be here in a few minutes.”

“We saw him on the football field,” Ivy said.

“He works those boys hard,” June said. “As you can probably guess, we take our football real serious here in Tennessee.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

Gus led us out back. A long table had been set up beneath a covered patio near the side of the house, strung with lights that I imagined would come out when evening came. It had been set for dinner, with plates and silverware and flowers in Mason jars.

Ivy and I sat next to each other while Gus pulled two beers out of a cooler filled with ice.

“Your mother’s bringing tea but I think it’s an excellent evening for a cold one, right?” Gus asked, setting the beers in front of us, then reached back for another before sitting across from me.

“You still drink beer, honey, or are you too big city for that?” Gus asked. “All yellow wine now?”

“Daddy, white wine’s not illegal,” Ivy said.

“Only overpriced,” Gus said.

June and the boys came out with a tray loaded with different cheeses, crackers, and salami. Beau set a sweating pitcher of tea on the table. The boys grabbed beers before joining us at the table. June tutted disapprovingly and poured herself a glass of tea. Then, everyone started asking me questions. To my surprise, a lot of it was about my music. They were all fans, according to June. “Have been since that first song of yours hit the radio. “Blue Guitar.” Still one of my favorites.”

“We watched you on the singing show too,” Beau said. “All of us cheering you on from the living room like you could hear us.”

“Maybe I could,” I said, eyes stinging.

“Were you scared to sing on television?” June asked. “You were so young.”

“I was terrified.”

“His best friend growing up entered him without him knowing,” Ivy said, reaching for a piece of cheese.

“I remember the story,” Gus said. “When they went on that hometown day or whatever it was.”