Twang (26 page)

Bobby Lee was sitting in the middle of the den when we got home. His hair was shiny clean, and he had on a fresh T-shirt. Every lamp was turned on, and there were flowers everywhere. Daffodils spilled out of a milk jug on the telephone table, and a bouquet of calla lilies and phlox was nestled in a bucket
on the hearth. Irises in Mason jars lined the mantel and the windowsills and sat on the kitchen countertops.

“Ohhhh,” sighed Jennifer. “This is
beautiful
.” She was holding a Walmart bag, twirling around with her green eyes wide.

“Glad you like it,” Bobby Lee said. I was shocked that he’d done all this, and for a moment I had the sensation of being inside a dream, one about a funeral home, but maybe that’s because I was holding a pot of roses Jennifer had given me and they had that heavy, sweet scent of burying folks. I set them down on top of the tin box where we keep the kindling.

“It is mighty pretty,” I said. “Every cloud has a silver lining, and this here’s our reward for all that rain that kept us indoors.”

Erastus scampered over to put his nose on Jennifer’s knees. “There you are, sweetie pie!” she squealed, kneeling down. “I brought you something.” And then she leaned over and actually
kissed
that dog on top of his head! It wasn’t just a little air peck, either.

“Where’s your mother?” I asked Bobby Lee, but he didn’t answer so I went on in the kitchen to put my casserole in the oven and mix up the biscuits. I’d already put bacon drippings in the butterbeans, so all I had to do was heat them and the beets. The tea was made, and I’d bought a bag of Pecan Sandies for dessert. I could hardly wait until we were sitting around the table, eating my good casserole.

While I was kneading the dough, I made up my mind to conduct my own interview with Jennifer about her new song. Seemed like every time Bobby Lee put on The Big 98, there she was, singing about a father who’d crushed his little girl’s heart. The song made out like the girl triumphed in the end by cutting him right out of her life, but every time I heard it, I remembered Jennifer’s voice trembling and pitiful as she answered Big D’s questions.

Once the biscuits were in the oven, I showed her the guest room at the end of the hall. “I put a washrag and a towel on your bed, hon, and soap and such is in the shower. Just help yourself to anything in the kitchen.”

“Thanks. But I don’t believe I’ll—”

“I generally rise at six, but I had a mind that tomorrow we’d . . .” Now it seemed there was something I needed to tell the girl. Something to do with the morning, but all I could think of at the moment was making sure I kept a close eye on the biscuits. I tried to think of things to do with the morning to see if that wouldn’t jar my memory—feed chickens, make coffee, let Erastus out the back door.
Coffee . . . Chickens . . . Erastus
 . . . I was getting mighty frustrated. I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth hurt, and finally, as I was stirring the butterbeans, it came to me.

“I have a splendid idea!” I called to Jennifer. “In the morning we can get up early and sit outside to have our coffee and watch the sun coming up on the Mary Franceses. Irises are the state flower. Did you know?”

“Um, yes,” she said, coming into the kitchen to wash her hands. “I believe I’ve heard that somewhere.”

I began breathing a little easier now that matter was settled. I figured the odd expression on the girl’s face came from the fact that she was just stunned at all the good things coming her way all at once. I peeled the tinfoil off the casserole to sprinkle on the last half cup of cheddar and a bowl of crushed Ritz crackers mixed with melted margarine. When it was back in the oven, the kitchen started smelling like hot buttery cheese.

Tonilynn had come home, and she stood in the den talking a mile a minute. It sounded like she was real surprised to see Jennifer. I poked my head in to tell Bobby Lee to go ahead and put on some gospel music. He was just as agreeable as he could be, scooting right over to the cabinet where my albums and
the record player stay. “This one?” he asked, holding up my Louvin Brothers album called
Satan is Real
.

“Yessir.” That one has such a pretty cover I wouldn’t mind hanging it on the wall. Charles and Ira Louvin are wearing white suits and they’re surrounded by big bright flames to look like hell, and behind them is a huge, cross-eyed statue of the devil. Every time I see it, I am struck by how sneaky the devil is.

I set out forks and knives to the beautiful harmonies of the Louvin brothers singing, “The River of Jordan.” When they got to “The Angels Rejoiced Last Night,” I had to run in the den and hush everybody. “This is one of my favorites,” I told them. “And I want y’all to hear the words.” The reason I said this is that the song is about a father who holds Satan’s hand, gambling and treading down the path of sin. Finally, when the mother dies, she asks him to raise those children right, and he accepts Jesus as his savior.

“Wasn’t that uplifting?” I said when it was over. I touched Jennifer’s wrist and she jumped. “Did you know Charles and Ira Louvin write most of their own songs like you?” I encouraged. “I heard you talking to Big D about your new song.”

“Oh.”

Bobby Lee cleared his throat. “When’s supper, Aunt Gomer?”

“Reckon we’ll eat in fifteen minutes or so. Plenty of time to visit.”

“Jennifer brought me a present.” Bobby Lee held up a little plastic bag.

“That’s real nice,” I said. “Candy?”

“No. It’s fishing lures—rubber catalpa worms.”

“Fake worms? You don’t need fake worms!”

“I do too!” Bobby Lee was practically shouting. “I’ve been itching to see how they compare! I told you the other day I
wanted to get me some artificial catalpa worms and compare them to the real thing.”

Well, I didn’t remember that, but there were plenty of times I didn’t remember where I put my handbag or what I’d eaten for supper the evening before. When I told it to Myrtice, my prayer partner at church, she said everybody did that, even young folks, and it was nothing to worry about. They were all looking at me, waiting. “Well,” I said, “those folks in China can make just about anything they set their minds to.”

Little Jennifer sat there biting her lip. Soon as the Louvin Brothers started singing “There’s a Higher Power,” I managed to get my thoughts back on track. “Whenever I’m feeling down, I get out my gospel albums, and I turn up the volume and close my eyes and listen until I’m lifted right up out of my troubles. ‘Just a Little Talk,’ and ‘Fourth Man’ by the Statler Brothers make me feel like I’m walking on clouds. It’s powerful stuff. Do you listen to gospel music, hon?”

Jennifer blinked. “Sometimes.”

“Well, that’s good. Partickly if folks have trampled your dreams like you said on the radio.”

“Aunt Gomer,” Bobby Lee said in this dark tone. He shook his head.

“I’m just telling her what helps get me through
my
trials and tribulations. I knew when I heard Big D doing that exclusive interview about ‘never-before-heard stories behind the songs’ and Jennifer was telling about her inspiration for ‘Daddy, Don’t Come Home,’ she needed something to elevate her spirits.”

Bobby Lee grimaced, but I ignored him.

“You’re more than welcome to borrow any of my albums, hon. It just broke my heart to hear you so sad on the radio. Just broke my heart.”

“Thank you. I’ll remember that.” Jennifer twisted her hands together in her lap.

“You’re more than welcome. I’m going to pray and ask the Lord to carry you through your hurts. He’s helped me deal with a lot of hurt in my life, and as the Good Book says, he’s no respecter of persons. Your Heavenly Father’ll help you deal with the issues you have with your earthly father. Didn’t you tell us one time you wanted him dead? Or did I just dream that?”

“She told Big D she’s managed to cut her father out of her heart entirely.” Bobby Lee said through his teeth.

“Her words may’ve said that, but her
voice
certainly did not.”

“Look, Aunt Gomer, if you’re so smart, you ought to know there are some things that don’t make for pleasant conversation.”

“Tonilynn,” I said, “are you going to allow Bobby Lee to talk to me like this in front of our guest?”

“Far as I’m concerned, he’s right, Aunt Gomer. You’re meddling in stuff that isn’t your business.”

I was so embarrassed I couldn’t think of a thing. The Louvin Brothers were singing the last song on the album, “I’m Ready to Go Home,” and that’s exactly how I felt.

“Please y’all,” Jennifer said after a bit. “Stop fighting, and I’ll tell you the real story about ‘Daddy, Don’t Come Home.’ ” She took a shaky breath and closed her eyes. “The lyrics, everything I said to Big D about the song, was the honest-to-goodness truth. At one point anyway. I thought I’d managed to cut my father out of my heart because I never let myself think of him. For a long time, I did pretty good.

“But then, and this is the awful part, when I started digging up memories to write the song, the hurts came flooding back fresh. And I got furious all over again.

“I try to tell myself that I’m my own woman now. That I’m strong and I ought to rise above it all. The way he did me ought just to be fuel on the fire of my ambition! I don’t need his or my
mother’s approval in my life! I’m a million times richer than they are.

“I just don’t understand,” she continued with this trembly voice, “why my mother never saw the bad things about my father. Why she can’t see them now! I guess she’ll deny them to her dying day. She doesn’t care about me.” Jennifer’s face crumpled, and Tonilynn tugged a tissue from her handbag on the floor and pressed it into her hand.

I could feel my heart clench up just like a muscle cramp. “Oh, child,” I said. “That must’ve been awful.”

“Yeah, it was. Is.”

“I remember you telling us you didn’t have nobody you could turn to. Well, you’ve got us now.”

For a moment Jennifer said nothing. I think she was trying to decide if she should continue her story. Finally she said, “Thank you, Aunt Gomer. But I wasn’t completely honest with you earlier, because I
did
have someone.”

“Is that a fact?”

“When I got to high school I met a wonderful man. At first, I would shuffle into the music room, so anxious and awkward and pathetic I couldn’t hardly swallow, and each day I’d leave a little stronger. My teacher, Mr. Anglin, said stuff that transformed my crazy self into something that made sense. I absolutely lived for chorus.

“In tenth grade, I still didn’t have any friends my own age, but I didn’t care anymore because Mr. Anglin was my teacher, my best friend, my parent, and my mentor, all rolled into one. But he didn’t seem like a grown-up. He was slim like a teenage boy, and he had this head full of wild, curly hair with no gray, and he didn’t grump around drinking coffee in the teacher’s lounge like all the rest of the teachers did. Every day me and him talked after class because it was my last period.

“One day, we were sitting on the stage to one side of the chorus room, and we could hear feet moving fast on the gym floor next door because the boys’ basketball team was practicing. There were tons of loud hoots and hollers. Boys just letting off steam after being in class all day, and Mr. Anglin said to me, ‘If we could bottle some of that testosterone, we’d be rich.’ I was sort of shocked, because besides when he was singing or playing the piano, Mr. Anglin was a pretty meek, mild kind of man. Then he shocked me even more. ‘Speaking of getting rich, Jennifer, I’m on fire to help you get ten songs absolutely perfect. We’ll make a demo, and we’ll take them to the record labels in Nashville, Tennessee. I knew the first time I heard you that you were destined for something bigger than Blue Ridge. You’re born for stardom.’

“This was my dream, you see, and I could hardly believe I had somebody dreaming it with me! I got brave and started carrying my song notebook to school, and Mr. Anglin helped me polish stanza after stanza, shine up choruses.

“Sometimes an idea for a new song or a tune would hit me during history or algebra, would make me want to literally jump out of my skin. My hand could hardly get the lyrics down fast enough. I’d be humming melodies during class.”

She paused, and Bobby Lee said, “I’m curious. Do you get the words or the melody first?”

“Most times, I hear the words first, and then I get the music. Back then, it was like Mr. Anglin’s faith in me was literally pulling songs out whole. Words and melodies were pouring out constantly. It was almost scary.”

Jennifer stopped and I realized I’d forgotten to breathe. Tonilynn and Bobby Lee were sitting up on the edge of their seats too. “So, what happened?”

“Well, I focused on that spotlight shining on the stage of the Ryman where Mr. Anglin told me I’d be standing. Every
school day, we’d work on my songs, on the demos, and I just knew my dreams were going to become reality.

“One day I came home from school feeling, well, the only word I can come up with that fits is ecstatic. Mr. Anglin and I had just finished recording my demo. He’d pronounced it absolutely perfect, and it felt like nothing could go wrong.”

When Jennifer paused this time, I about couldn’t stand it. She nestled her hands down into Erastus’s neck fur, laid her head on his back and sighed from the depths of her soul, as they say. Thankfully, after a minute, she sat up and continued. “Mother warned me to keep my voice down soon as I came skipping through the front door with a song on my lips. ‘Your father’s home,’ she whispered. ‘He’s out back.’