Read The Perfect Love Song Online
Authors: Patti Callahan Henry
The Perfect Love Song (11 page)
“Yes,” Charlotte said, wishing she meant it, wishing she really did think it was great.
J
immy left the studio and walked into the cold Nashville afternoon. The setting sun bit into his eyes, the wind speaking in words he didn’t understand as it whipped around the corners of the tall buildings. He was alone, and the victory
of that interview didn’t taste as sweet as it would if he had someone, just anyone, to share it with.
immy left the studio and walked into the cold Nashville afternoon. The setting sun bit into his eyes, the wind speaking in words he didn’t understand as it whipped around the corners of the tall buildings. He was alone, and the victory
of that interview didn’t taste as sweet as it would if he had someone, just anyone, to share it with.
And that is the thing about wonderfulness or awfulness or anything at all, really—what is it if you can’t share it?
Jimmy dug into his pocket, pulled out his paycheck. He walked down South Broadway, passing boot stores, bars, and restaurants. New bands and sultry-eyed singers wearing cowboy hats stared at him from bar posters taped crookedly to front windows. He stopped and stared into the front door of Tootsie’s, where a band was setting up and a bouncer placed his stool at the front door, preparing for the evening.
“Hey,” the bouncer said.
Jimmy nodded at him. “Who’s singing tonight?”
“I’m not sure,” he said, slipping his baseball cap on. “Want me to check?”
“That’s okay. Just curious.”
“They’re all the same to me,” the bouncer said. “Just another guy in another cowboy hat trying to get discovered. Singing songs about love and loss and broken trucks. The new ones all sing about being a country boy.”
“Or about Christmas.” Jimmy smiled at the bouncer, making fun of himself.
“Yeah, this time of year, that too. Christmas songs. Country Christmas songs about snow and being home
and . . . Like I said, it’s all the same to me. Just give me a decent guitarist, and I’m all good.”
and . . . Like I said, it’s all the same to me. Just give me a decent guitarist, and I’m all good.”
“I’m with you, man.” Jimmy began to walk away and then turned back. “Hey, where’s the closest jewelry store?”
“Two doors down on the right.”
“Thanks,” Jimmy said, knowing now exactly what to do. The bouncer was right—it was all the same. What made this fame any different? What made him different? What made the song different? Charlotte.
It was time to tell her the reason—the only reason he was now a different man.
The bell clanged as he pushed the heavy door to enter the store. A woman in all black with more jewelry than one person should wear together came to the glass counter. Jimmy glanced around the store at the gold necklaces and huge carved belt buckles, at the dangling earrings and gaudy rings made of gold and colored stones bigger than a golf ball.
The woman approached Jimmy. “May I help you?”
“Yes, I’m looking for an engagement ring.”
She placed her hand over her heart. “Oh, this is my favorite. Finding engagement rings during the holiday season. You proposing on Christmas?” she asked.
Jimmy laughed. “Until about four seconds ago, I didn’t even know I was proposing, so I haven’t decided that part yet.”
“Wow.” She pointed to a case at the far side of the store. “Follow me.”
Jimmy walked behind her until he stood over a case of at least fifty diamond rings. “Oh, I guess I should have given this more thought. I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t know anything about . . . this.”
“That’s why I’m here,” she said, slipping a key from a chain and opening the case. She placed a black velvet tray full of rings on top of the counter. “Do you have a budget?”
“Yes,” Jimmy said and quoted the exact amount on his first paycheck.
She smiled. “You sound firm.”
“I am because I have to be,” he said and smiled.
“Great. Well, here are the princess-cut solitaires. Or would you like oval or with baguettes?”
“Are you speaking English?” he asked, but smiled.
“Let’s start here—tell me what you see on her hand.”
“A diamond.”
“All right. Anything more specific?”
Jimmy stared at the tray, the diamonds becoming one mass of glittering confusion. He closed his eyes and tried to picture Charlotte, where he’d ask, what it would mean to her. His eyes flew open. “Okay, I’ll be proposing in Ireland over Christmas. Does that help?”
She laughed. “Yes, yes, it does.” She reached inside the case and pulled out a single ring. “This is called a Claddagh ring.”
Jimmy looked down at the platinum ring—the heart with the hands surrounding it, the crown above the heart, and a round, brilliant diamond set into the center of the heart. “Yes,” he said, without knowing the word had formed itself and been spoken. He looked at the woman. “Yes, exactly yes.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
We live our stories over and over in every
generation, at the edge of every sea.
generation, at the edge of every sea.
—MAEVE MAHONEY TO KARA LARSON
C
harlotte stood at the entrance to the Verandah Nursing Home with Kara. This was the place where Maeve had once lived, where Kara’s life had been changed by a single story. That is one of my favorite things about life changes—how they don’t always occur in the place and space we think they should occur.
harlotte stood at the entrance to the Verandah Nursing Home with Kara. This was the place where Maeve had once lived, where Kara’s life had been changed by a single story. That is one of my favorite things about life changes—how they don’t always occur in the place and space we think they should occur.
Charlotte placed her hand on Kara’s arm before she opened the door. “You think Jimmy is okay?”
Kara released her hand from the doorknob, her other hand holding boxes of shortbread. Handmade garland was draped over Charlotte’s forearm. Kara shivered. “Of course I do. Why do you ask?”
Charlotte shrugged. “You know he’s never been alone on the road—he’s always had Jack and the band.”
“You talk to him every day, right?”
Charlotte nodded.
“And he seems fine?”
She nodded again.
“Then what’s wrong?”
Charlotte fiddled with the garland. “I can’t name it. I don’t really know.”
Kara brushed pine needles from Charlotte’s hair. “You just miss him. It’ll all be fine.”
“Yeah.” Charlotte forced a smile and opened the door to the nursing home. “You’re right.”
When the two of them entered the home, they were, as usual, overcome with the scent of disinfectant and baby powder. They walked back to the living room where the residents were watching
Miracle on Thirty-Fourth Street
.
Miracle on Thirty-Fourth Street
.
Mrs. Anderson looked up from her puzzle and smiled at Kara and Charlotte. “Well, well, look who the cat drug in,” she said with a lisp.
Charlotte looked at Kara and whispered, “I’ve never understood that saying—‘what the cat drug in’? What does that mean?”
“I think it means that they didn’t expect us.”
The remaining residents turned. Some waved; others ignored them. Mr. Potter stood up in his walker and half-walked, half-rolled toward them. “Hello, ladies. I’m assuming you came to see me.” He smoothed back the four hairs left on his head and winked.
“Well, I know I did. I’m just not sure about Kara here, what with her being engaged and all,” Charlotte said.
Mr. Potter laughed and then spoke in that rough voice that told of his smoking years, of a scarred throat. “Well, what gives us this pleasure today?” he asked.
“We brought garland for the living room and a tin for each of you.”
Mrs. Anderson looked up from her puzzle again. “What’s in that tin? Did you ask permission from the front desk? I’m allergic to pine nuts, you know. And Dottie over there is a diabetic. And Frances, well, she can’t eat anything that’s been anywhere near shrimp.”
Kara smiled. “It’s shortbread. Just butter, sugar, and eggs.”
Mrs. Anderson shook her head. “Now, how am I gonna watch my girlish figure if you’re bringing me these treats?”
Kara placed the bag of tins on the table. “Well, you’ll have to take that up with Maeve Mahoney. It’s her recipe.”
“Ohhh, you stole a family recipe?” Mrs. Anderson shook her finger at Kara.
“Borrowed,” Kara said.
The nursing attendant entered the room and paused the movie. “Hi, ladies. You need any help?”
“I think we got it . . . but if you could just let me know if someone can’t have shortbread . . . ”
Soon the room was decorated as if Mrs. Claus had visited, and Kara and Charlotte walked out of the nursing home feeling fuller and stronger and more joyful than before they’d walked through the doors. This is how giving is. I know logic tells us that giving means having less, but that’s not the way it is. Giving means having more. It’s just the way it is. As Kara and Charlotte know.
T
he concert in Knoxville was sold out. Jimmy’s nerves almost got the best of him, but he sang the song as if Charlotte were in the front row.
he concert in Knoxville was sold out. Jimmy’s nerves almost got the best of him, but he sang the song as if Charlotte were in the front row.
On this night he opted to stay in the bus while the band and crew went out. Sometime in the middle of the
night he heard them come home, but his sleep was deep and silent.
night he heard them come home, but his sleep was deep and silent.
Until the dream.
He walks out of a tour bus the size of a house, clouds low and dark. He pushes and yet can’t move forward. Finally, he breaks free and attempts to walk toward the concert hall, yet obstacles are placed in his way—a gap in the sidewalk, a policeman not allowing him past, a wild fan grabbing at him. He pushes hard against it all, his head down, his muscles aching, his heart thumping to get to the concert hall, to the stage. Nothing else matters—not the crowd or the police or the gash in the earth, a gash big enough to swallow any man alive.
He awoke in a sweat, sitting bolt upright in bed. He felt he’d been sent a message, but not sure of what it was, he stretched back into his bed and closed his eyes.
He ignored that nagging sense of something important—ahya, one should never ignore that nagging sense. But he did. Oh, he did.
T
here is this saying that time is relative. A very smart man said this, and it’s true—it’s all relative to what you want and when you want it. It seems to move slowly when you want something or someone, and it appears to fly at the speed of light when you’re exactly where you want to be, doing exactly what you want to do with exactly whom you want to do it. There are also those times when it seems to stand still, to stop completely, as if time itself is holding its breath to see what will happen next.
here is this saying that time is relative. A very smart man said this, and it’s true—it’s all relative to what you want and when you want it. It seems to move slowly when you want something or someone, and it appears to fly at the speed of light when you’re exactly where you want to be, doing exactly what you want to do with exactly whom you want to do it. There are also those times when it seems to stand still, to stop completely, as if time itself is holding its breath to see what will happen next.
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