Page 4 of Second Chance

4

Road Trips

[Denton]

“Denton Chance? Well, fuck me.” The strong hand of Hank Paige connects with mine for a firm shake. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him—any of them. With Kit Carrigan’s death, and the band falling apart around her diagnosis, I mentally walked away long before I quit.

“It’s been a long time,” I state, and Hank nods to agree. It’s an awkward moment. How did I spend more than twenty years with this guy, call him family, and not know what to say?

“Did you hear Tommy settled down?” I hadn’t heard. Tommy and Kit Carrigan are family by blood, my cousins as their mother is my mother’s sister. Hearing his name reminds me why I’m at Hank’s garage in the first place.

“I hadn’t heard,” I say, swiping a hand over my hair. “I don’t talk to family much.” Hank’s eyes narrow at me. It seems to be my MO. Dumped my family. Dumped the band. Dumped my friends. I’m pathetic.

“He got married last New Year’s, and I got married this summer.” My mouth falls open. I’m stunned. Speechless. Lawson Colt, aka Thomas Lawson Carrigan—songwriter, guitarist, breaker of hearts—is married as well as Hank, drummer extraordinaire who was so focused on one woman he couldn’t think straight. What has the world come to if these two fell in love?

“Wow…just wow. Congratulations, man.” I reach out again to shake his hand and tug him to me for a Hollywood hug—chest bump, slap on the back, and step away quickly.

“Thanks,” Hank mutters, scratching up the back of his neck. “It’s been amazing.”

Another tense moment passes.

“So, what can I do for you?” He tips his chin, noting my car in the lot outside the window. The Beast. A 1967 Ford Shelby GT500 Super Snake. White with blue striping. Nice midlife crisis car, his pop joked. Ha, I replied when I bought it some twenty-years ago. This baby will keep me young forever, I teased back. Suddenly, though, I feel very old at forty-five.

“I’m going on a trip, and I want to make sure she’s sound to handle a long ride.”

“Oh yeah, where you going?” Hank asks, reaching for a tablet and motioning for me to follow him out the waiting room door.

“I’m heading home.” The words feel thick and strange in my mouth. Hank’s head shoots up, and he looks at me.

“Everything all right?” Without asking for clarification, he reads in my expression which home I mean. Blue Ridge, Georgia. A train stop through the scenic Appalachian Mountains of northeast Georgia. I don’t deserve the concern in his tone or the empathy in his eyes. We haven’t been friends for a long time.

“My mother’s dying,” I say aloud for the first time. My mother is dying. It hasn’t really hit me. It’s still a simple statement.

“I’m sorry, man. Does Tommy know?”

I shake my head. I should have kept in touch with the guys, but when I walked away, I didn’t want to ever look back. It’s the same way I felt when I left Blue Ridge. Only now, I’ll be barreling backward in time—a ride in reverse—and I’m curious how much of the past remains.

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I decide to road trip home to give myself time to adjust to my decision. Not to mention, I haven’t cruised the country in forever. It’s how I originally got from Georgia to California. I couldn’t wait to graduate high school and escape my small town. I had big dreams, and they took me across the states, where I picked up a few stranglers on my way. My cousin Tommy Carrigan begged me to come get him in Texas. We always promised each other when we were ready to blow, we’d go together. And I went—the day after commencement. A new beginning, the word suggests. Only I thought I’d have someone else along for the ride.

I hate the fact Dolores’s phone call brings along a wave of memories. Backroads. Bonfires. Late nights. The wrong girls. My best friend had the right one, and I let him have her.

I take a long pull off the blunt between my fingers. Been a long while since I smoked, but today I need the hit. I’ll claim it’s medicinal. The highway before me is empty like my head should be. Instead, my mind wanders like the deserted pavement ahead of me, curving and swerving.

I wonder if she was really happy with him.

I laugh out loud, knowing full well the answer. Of course, she was happy. He gave her everything. The house. The kids. The steady income.

Mati Harrington, now Rathstone, didn’t need the income. Blue Ridge royalty, her parents owned a microbrewery, producing illegal beer way back when, until finally getting it legalized around the time her grandfather inherited the family business. She had more money than most. A real socialite, except she renounced being a princess. A tomboy at heart, her mother hated that her two best friends were boys.

Chris and Denton. Can’t you pick a better set of friends?

I can almost hear the screechy drawl of her mother’s voice in my head, and I take another drag of the sweet weed. Elaina Harrington was no sip of Southern sweet tea. Then again, she was practically my second mother, offering safe harbor to Dolores and me as she knew all our secrets. The wealthy all lived on the same lane—Mountain Spring Lane. A mouthful to say, it was shortened to The Lane. Nothing less would be acceptable for the mayor of Blue Ridge than to live between the notorious illegal brewers and the local lodge owners. Old money was old money. History was history, and Kip Chance wanted to be part of history in Blue Ridge.

He made his mark. I snort without humor. He made many.

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