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The sun beats hot against the backyard, the sparkle of the river in the distance, the soft sway of wildflowers in the breeze. Luke throws open the double doors of the formal dining room and looks around for the beer he misplaced. Seth comes in with a bottle of wine, while Emmy Lou, Jace, Griff and Alabama stand on the deck in animated conversation. By now, there’s a small village of people in their home. The long wooden table seats twelve, but Sal sets it for nine.
She surveys the room, smiling in utter happiness. She loves the chaos, the bickering, the bullshitting. The only thing she’d add to it would be—
Stop, she thinks to herself. Stop thinking about babies.
She thought she had steadied herself after her talk with Luke, but it keeps poking its damn head in her thoughts.
Luke stands, arms crossed. A frown on his handsome face. “I’ve lost two damn beers since we started.”
“That’s your goddamn right at a BBQ,” Seth cackles. He appears beside Sal, pouring her a glass of wine.
“You’re a terrible enabler,” Sal says to Seth’s mischievous grin. She points to the mantel. “Your beer, Luke.”
He tosses her a wink and grabs it up.
“I’ll get the food,” Sal says.
“Here, I’ll help you,” Alabama offers, coming up alongside Sal and following her down the hallway.
Inside the kitchen, Sal arranges cornbread on a platter while Alabama grabs condiments from the fridge. Sal’s stomach burbles in hunger, the scent of honey butter and macaroni and cheese scenting the kitchen. She blinks, realizing she hasn’t eaten a thing today. Besides the coffee. The sangria. The wine. Liquid lunch is right.
Alabama leans back against the counter. “I didn’t want to say anything with Emmy Lou there, but how are you doin’? With everything?” Her words are loaded and Sal understands what she’s asking.
Besides Lacey, Sal’s confided in Alabama about the fact that she and Luke were having a hard time trying for a baby. Though the tabloids, including the Star—especially the Star—doubt their friendship, claiming it was to garner sympathy for Alabama or to sell records for the Brothers Kincaid, Sal knows the truth. She and Alabama are friends. And only they know the real story.
Sal takes a great gulp of her wine and shrugs. “The same.”
Alabama winces. “Ugh. I’m so sorry, Sal.”
“Don’t be.” Sal grabs the pitcher of iced tea and the bowl of mac and cheese. “I appreciate you asking.”
A bright blast of music fills the house, the crackle of the record player signaling Luke means business. Soon, it’ll be dinner, then more whiskey, then guitars around the bonfire.
Food in their hands, Sal and Alabama exit the kitchen, taking a left down the hall to the dining room. At their appearance, Seth barrels toward her, taking the heavy jug of iced tea from her hands. Seeing Sal, Luke whistles to get the attention of the buzzed group on the porch.
“Like wranglin’ cats,” Alabama drawls as Griff steps inside, raising his aviators.
Everyone gathers, Luke taking his seat at the head of the table, Sal to his left. Beside Sal, Griff, then Alabama. Across the table, Seth, Emmy Lou, Jace. In silence, everyone digs in, filling their plates, lifting heavy platters, passing bowls. Emmy Lou nudges Seth for the bottle of wine, giggling as he pretends to fight her for it.
Sal looks around the table, soaking up the strange sense of normalcy of being homebound for a few months before everyone goes back on tour again.
“How was the gig in Shreveport?” Luke asks, pointing to Griff with his beer. “Heard you barely made it out of there in one piece.”
Griff glowers, spearing a hunk of mac and cheese. “Fuckin’ press. They cut the tour bus off tryin’ to get a damn picture. Nearly ran us off the road.”
“What do you expect?” Jace says. “Gotta get their picture, blood or bust.”
“Played a whole lick on my guitar, so it wasn’t a total loss,” Alabama adds, lifting her wine glass to her lips.
Luke’s eyes widen. “No shit.”
Sal grins, leaning back in her chair to look at Alabama. “Good for you.”
To Griff, Luke says, “We’re workin’ on a song with you next week, ain’t we?”
“Lookin’ forward to it, Kincaid.” Griff cuts a look at Luke, his lips twitching in amusement. “Although, I don’t know if y’all need the competition. With me there, the Brothers Kincaid might be on their way out.”
Luke chuckles. “Fuck you.”
