Total pages in book: 212
Estimated words: 207966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1040(@200wpm)___ 832(@250wpm)___ 693(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1040(@200wpm)___ 832(@250wpm)___ 693(@300wpm)
***
The place finally emptied out a little after midnight. And it did so with the air feeling thick for me. Not only was the air thick, I was also uncomfortable in my own skin. Amped, like something was coming I needed to be prepared for. I couldn’t decode that feeling but knew it had everything to do with my hostage.
It was a good time today. Though I was very aware of her all day long and not just because I was babysitting.
After the food, a couple people left with their kids, but most stayed for time by the fire after Ma set the rest of the kids up with a movie inside. The adults were surrounding the pit on lawn chairs with a cooler of beers, mixed coolers, Cokes. Ma also set up the coffee urn to the side with her chocolate fountain and a whack of snacks along with what was left of the pies.
Archer’s brother Duke hauled out his beat-up old acoustic guitar and played a couple campfire tunes I’ve heard him play before, but then after urging from one of the girls, Duke launched into Wildfire by Michael Martin Murphey.
I knew that song well, too well, remembered popping it into my father’s cassette deck in his big rig when I’d go on runs with him as a kid. The last time I was around their fire, Duke played it, so I went in the house until it was done. Ma did the same. And we didn’t talk about it, but I knew we were both thinking the same thing. I knew my mother remembered that cassette tape. And by the way she looked at me from the other side of the pit tonight, I figured we were both about to get up and find something to do until it was over. We exchanged one of those Jimmy Garcia glances. They never lasted long, but the glances were loaded. Loaded with ugliness. We never talk about him. Time doesn’t heal all wounds; sometimes the sting hits out of nowhere.
I was about to get to my feet when a bunch of people joined in, including Gianna. And then it was just Gianna singing, because everyone else stopped, staring at her, exchanging looks with one another in awe. And there went the hairs on the back of my neck and my arms again. And I didn’t get up and walk away like I planned. Neither did Ma. I sat and listened to her voice, to the emotion in it, feeling it like a sock to the chest.
She didn’t realize she was singing alone straight away, getting lost in the song as Duke strummed away, a big smile on his ruddy face. When she opened her eyes and noticed all eyes were on her, she clamped her mouth shut.
“Keep goin’ darlin’,” Duke gently encouraged.
She looked embarrassed, cleared her throat, and then she kept going, staring into the flames.
She kept singing to be polite, even though she was obviously uncomfortable. I guess I could’ve saved her from it, but didn’t want her to stop.
And by the end of that fuckin’ song, I’d throw down money that there wasn’t a set of lungs around that fire that didn’t feel clogged. Two of the women from Ma and Archer’s bar had tears in their eyes. And my ma had her eyes on me with a big smile on her face. Like she’d been watching me watch that girl sing, thinking not only did Gianna singing mean I could listen to that whole song for the first time in almost two decades, also that she was even more sure she was gonna get her grandbabies after all.
And fuck me, but the strange thought occurred to me that she might not be wrong about that.
After it was over, Duke tried to encourage her to sing some more. She politely declined, looking embarrassed. He sang another few songs, but the vibe was lost, and the group started thinning as people went home.
***
“You okay?” I asked, leaning into the kitchen seeing her wrapping up some half-eaten pies with aluminum foil, helping Ma clear up.
“Yeah,” she said, but she was lying.
I didn’t know if it was her gut she was lying about or if she was embarrassed about having a captive audience while she sang. Maybe both. Because as beautiful as she sang that song, she looked like she’d rather be anywhere else while she did it.
When we were finally alone in the room I slept in for those few months after I got out of the joint, I knew something was shifting between us. Something that made eye contact feel different. That same something was making my blood run hotter than usual.
I dropped my bag and hers as well as her girl shit tackle box on the couch in the bedroom.