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“Well, I don’t know this Rob person, but anyone who steals another man’s girlfriend can’t be all that great. You have your pride and integrity. Don’t ever let people like that make you feel differently.”
I nodded, amazed by her clarity, but also knowing it didn’t make me feel any better. “You’re right, but it’s not that easy.”
“Oh, I know. Trust me, I do.”
“If I had a girlfriend or wife or house or something, it would help,” I said. “Instead, I’m alone and still driving my 1997 Honda.”
“Hondas are good cars,” Jamie said in a serious tone. “I mean, 1997. A car that lasts. There’s something to be said for that, right?” She jumped to her feet. “I have the perfect song to play for you.” She headed toward a cabinet next to the television with her hard-heeled gait. A woman with purpose, I thought. I’d noticed that the very first time we ever spoke. She wasn’t a woman who needed a man or authority figure to tell her what she should do or how she should act.
She yanked open the cabinet to reveal a vintage record player and stacks of records. “Have you ever heard that Guy Clark song—”
“‘Stuff That Works,’” I cut her off, unable to contain myself. “I love that one. My mom left me all her old vinyl records, and I listened to them to feel close to her, and then I fell in love with the music.”
She froze, her expression distraught and empathetic. “That’s really sweet. And sad.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said. “But at least I had those records after she died. I was so lost and lonely.”
“A little boy who lost his mother at ten? No wonder,” she said.
We locked eyes for a moment before she returned to the records. She flipped through the covers until she found what she was looking for and deftly put the old vinyl record on the turntable. Guy Clark’s gruff voice filled the room. The man could stir all kinds of emotions in me. I’d always thought if we met in real life, he’d understand my love of Dickens perfectly. Maybe he’d even see their similarities in storytelling?
“I’ve never met anyone else who knew this song,” I said. “Under thirty anyway.”
“I loveDublin Blues—the whole album is to die for.” She tented her hands as if paying homage.
“That one has ‘The Cape,’ right? One of my all-time favorites.”
“Oh yes. And this one too.” Jamie held up another album to show me:Old No. 1from 1975. “‘L.A. Freeway’ reminds me of how happy I was to get out of Southern California. I needed to breathe, you know, and the smog and those brown mountains. Ugh.”
“How did you find Guy Clark?” I asked, unsure if I was really understanding this correctly. “It’s unusual for someone our age, is what I mean, not that you’re incapable of recognizing good music.”
Her expression softened and her eyes grew dreamy. “My grandfather. Pop Top.”
“Pop Top?” I asked.
She laughed. “Yes, Pop Top, like the lyric in ‘Margaritaville.’ When I was little I thought Buffet was saying Paw Paw and I couldn’t understand why he was singing about my grandfather. Once he explained to me that I’d heard the lyric wrong, he said I should call him that from now on. Which, obviously, I agreed with. Pop Top introduced me to Jimmy Buffet and a lot of other things my mother thought were inappropriate. Not that she didn’t adore her father, even though they were so different. She’s very buttoned-up and he was more of a flip-flop-wearing margarita lover. Their relationship was never the same after she married my father. She told me just recently that Pop Top had tried to talk her out of marrying him, and thank goodness he hadn’t or Trey and I wouldn’t be here.”
“What didn’t your grandfather like about him?” I asked, curious.
“Pop Top thought my dad was a cheater and a liar and treated my mother terribly. He was right.”
“That sucks.” I was surprised to find that I’d forgotten all about Arianna and her stupid gazebo and Rob. This woman in front of me was a wonder, and I found no room to feel bad in her presence. I wanted to bring the conversation back to something she’d said earlier. “About California and getting out—I felt like that too. Which is one of the reasons I came here. Like I said before, I thought I might never get out of there alive.” I laughed to show her I was joking.
“Do you want me to start this from the beginning?” She gestured towardDublin Blues, which had finished with “Stuff That Works” and gone on to a song about Hank Williams.
“Sure.” I couldn’t help but smile back at her. She was adorable. “I didn’t know you liked music so much.”
“I do. Almost as much as books, even though I have no talent of my own.” Jamie joined me back on the couch. “I bet there’s a lot we don’t know about each other.”
“I think you’re right. Why haven’t we done this before?”
“Pride. Awkwardness. Embarrassment.” She said this with a totally straight face but then laughed, the hearty kind that seemed to come directly from her stomach.
“Well, we shouldn’t let that night ruin what could be a great friendship,” I said.
“Agreed.” She drew her legs up under her and grabbed her glass, took a sip, and then set it back on the table. “You know what I think we should do?”
“What’s that?” I was almost afraid of her answer. She was the type who shifted the very plates under which one built a life and home. An earthquake that changed everything forever.
