Lost in Tennessee (5 page)

Thick wood fully trimmed every room, a detail sinfully omitted in most new homes. The craftsmanship of generations gone by lived on in each window and doorway, in the infinite trail of baseboard, in the crown molding that encircled the living room.

The soft gray of the living room’s wood floors nearly matched the color of Butch’s eyes. A long couch, comfortable armchair, and a few mismatched tables filled the room. The pale walls sported darker patches where pictures used to hang. The brickwork of the fireplace and woodwork of the mantle could be photographed and featured in one of her architectural magazines.

Kate checked the phone that sat on the floor, plugged into an outlet. She had lucked out that Butch had the same model of phone and an extra charger. With her battery full, the screen lit up, announcing she had missed twenty-one calls. Tom left most with a few from her uncle and cousins. Notably—but not surprisingly—none belonged to her father.

Kate unplugged the phone, pacing as she dialed. “Hey, Tom, it’s me.”

“Kate.” Tom said her name in a long exhale. “Where have you been? I called you a dozen times. You know your father didn’t mean the things he said.”

“It doesn’t matter. The project is only a few days behind schedule. I can make that up. It will come in on budget and be the show place of the county. I don’t need my father’s approval. Just his money.” Maybe if she said it often enough, she would believe it.

“Don’t say that. You know he loves you. He’s just worried.” Newspaper rustled. Sunday morning. Tom would be sitting on the couch reading.

Most Sundays, Kate sat across the room in her favorite chair, sharing the newspaper sections with him. Though they spoke every day, she missed him and the little habits they shared as cousins, roommates, and business partners.

Kate walked the length of the room, then the width, not speaking until she returned to her starting point. Tom never understood the double standard Kate lived under. If she didn’t perform as well as the boys, her father dismissed it as girls not being as capable as boys. If she out shined them, her father chastised her for showing off. Tom made excuses for her father and didn’t understand that by doing so, he enabled her father’s attitudes.

“He would never have said those things to you. He never would have said them to me if I were a boy. Look, that’s not why I called. I’ve had car trouble.”

“Where are you?” His voice tightened.

“I’m at an inn—”

“What’s it called? I’ll come get you.”

“It’s called Elderberry Farm, and you are not driving down from Michigan to get me. I got a bad flat, no big deal. A mechanic is bringing me a spare tire. What I need is a recipe. I want to make dinner for Butch to thank him for his help.”

“Butch?”

Kate rolled her eyes at the wealth of suspicion poured into the name. “He runs the inn.”

“Why do you need to thank him? Aren’t you paying him?”

“He’s gone out of his way to help me with the car. I thought I would do something nice.”

Tom paused before answering. “You’re not there alone with some strange man, are you? Haven’t you seen
Psycho
?”

Kate couldn’t admit she liked Butch. Statements like that would bring her cousin down to Tennessee in a state that would make the Tasmanian Devil look calm. She had been a little girl when Tom, older by four years, had appointed himself her guardian. There were plenty of times when having a headstrong guy like Tom on her side worked in her favor. For the times that didn’t, Kate learned that discretion, along with exaggeration and avoidance, could get her to her desired end. “Jeez, Tom. Give me a little credit. Butch is older, he’s going through a divorce, and he’s nothing to look at.” Kate crossed her fingers behind her back to cover her fib. “Now, are you going to give me a recipe or not?”

“Fine, but if you really want to show your thanks, take him to a restaurant. I say that as someone who not only loves you but has eaten your cooking.”

“Oh, you’re so funny. Just wait until the next time you bring a woman home. I’m breaking out the baby pictures.” Kate sat on the chair and scribbled Tom’s recipe for chicken parmesan on a scrap of paper she found in her purse. A shadow fell over her. She looked up into Butch’s flat stomach. Her eyes followed the hair from the tapered hips to the trim waist to the defined chest and finally settled on a very bitable mouth. Kate moistened her lower lip, wondering what he tasted like.

Tom barked in her ear. “Kate? Are you still there?”

Kate flinched. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Bake it at three hundred fifty degrees until the cheese is browned and bubbly. Do you have it?”

Kate looked into Butch’s eyes. They laughed at her as he pulled on a navy blue T-shirt. He had seen her reaction to him, and now he laughed at her. She gave him her meanest glare, the one that made her cousins run. Instead of retreating in fear, Butch reached out and touched his index finger to the tip of her nose. The friendly gesture left her with her mouth hanging open.

Butch settled against the door frame and unabashedly watched while Kate finished her conversation.

She shifted to business mode under those too-watchful eyes. “I’ll be back at the motel tonight. I have a call with Cicada at nine in the morning. Follow up on the veneer submittals for me. The panels have a long lead time, and we can’t afford a delay.”

“I know, Kate. I’ll take care of it. I’ll see you soon. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Tom.” She stowed her phone and the makeshift recipe in her bag and walked out of the living room.

Butch stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Tom?”

Kate nodded, keeping her eyes neutral. “My partner. I’ll shower now.”

Butch dropped his hand. “I left fresh towels in the bathroom.”

B
utch whistled as he whipped ten eggs into a frenzy. Upbeat and sassy, the ditty had his bare feet tapping a beat. Words and phrases flooded his head.

Long nights, cool nights, hot nights. No. Dark nights. In the dark of night, that big moon high made me believe she could be mine. In my truck, her pretty little smile made me want to lose my way. Right turn, left turn, right turn, wrong turn, doesn’t matter which way I go. They all lead straight to you.

Kate’s version of fun centered on action. She sat and listened to the glory day stories, encouraging the storytelling until the trout reached the size of a whale but then that high-energy body of hers wanted to play. He would never forget the sight of her on that dead bull. There had to be a song in there somewhere. After bull riding, they played pool and darts. Of course, every stud in the barn took a look at the new filly, but Kate didn’t oblige. Each one she turned away left with a smile on his face. After each one, she came back to him. She would turn a little phrase with her Michigan accent and ask him to translate a local saying or a dozen other things that made him laugh. The band rocked the joint, and Kate bounced to the beat in her seat or behind a cue stick, but she didn’t dance. Getting her onto the dance floor, now that would be an experience. He would have to think on how to do that. Wait, what was he thinking? She was leaving when her car was fixed. He’d likely never see her again. But still, a man could hope. Couldn’t he?

“Wow, this smells great. What can I do to help?” She pulled her hair back into a wet pony tail, leaving her freshly scrubbed face exposed.

Butch turned the eggs into the frying pan he’d used to fix the bacon. “There’s orange juice in the refrigerator. You can set the table. We’re minutes away from breakfast.”

Kate rummaged through his cabinets for the place settings. She hadn’t bother to ask Butch where things were kept. She already knew where the glasses and plates were, and she poked around for silverware as though she were on a treasure hunt. “This stemware is gorgeous.” Kate held up a delicate, rose-colored wine glass like it was the Holy Grail. After a moment of admiration, she selected a second glass, set them on the table and filled them with orange juice.

Butch flexed his biceps and took the frying pan to the small table where he dished out the eggs and bacon. “That was one of my grandma’s good glasses. We weren’t ever allowed to touch them as children.”

Kate picked up her plate and pushed half of her portion back onto his. “With good reason, I’m sure. Are you an only child?” She sat down and dug heartily into her breakfast.

“I have an older brother, Jeb. How about you?”

Kate slathered jelly on thick toast. “I was raised with my three cousins, who are more like my brothers. We all lived together: my father, uncle, cousins, and me.”

Butch tried to read her face, but she had closed down. “What happened to your mother?”

“It’s just me and the boys. Your friends are nice. Is Trudy your girlfriend?”

“No. We’ve never dated. She’s been one of my best friends—”

“Since second grade,” Kate finished with a grin. “That part I remember.”

“Her family owns the farm next door. She, Hyde, and I ran together all through school. How are your eggs?”

“Fantastic. Do you eat like this every day?”

“No. I usually just have coffee.”

“Did you do this for me? I appreciate it. Really. I’ll cook dinner, if you don’t mind if I hang around for a little while. I need to put your tractor back together. I can make chicken parmesan. My specialty. Is there a grocery store nearby?”

Butch made breakfast because he wanted to. He’d laughed more in the day he’d known her than he had in a year. Cooking breakfast for a beautiful woman, even one he hadn’t slept with, was a simple pleasure. He liked feeding her. He liked the way she bounced in the chair and her little humming over the sustenance he provided. He liked the idea of her staying around but yesterday she had been so determined to get on her way. Why the change? “Aren’t you in a hurry to get home? Yesterday it seemed like you were pressed for time.”

“I’m not going home. I’m working on a project nearby. I lost a few days last week and needed to catch up. I couldn’t afford to lose the day yesterday, but then I decided screw that. Work is going to wait for me whether I get to it today or tomorrow. I really appreciate you helping me and I’m going to take the time to show you. Well, unless you already had plans for the day. Then I can hit the road once I change my tire.”

“Stay. I enjoy your company.” Butch said it faster than he meant to. He prepared to backpedal when he noticed her wide-eyes.

Color tinted her cheeks. She tried to hide it by ducking her head. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. I enjoy your company, too.”

Pretty, vivacious, smart. Butch couldn’t believe her. Every one of those boys last night had to say something sweet to her. She hadn’t hidden from them, the way she did now.

The front door slammed, and Hyde called out. “Butch? Kate? Y’all here?”

“Kitchen,” Butch yelled back. “You eat yet? I can put on a few more eggs.”

“Nah, I’m good. Well, maybe a glass of juice.” He poured a glass and leaned against the counter. “I took a look at your car.”

“Did you find a spare?” Kate asked.

“I did but I’m afraid it’s not gonna get you back on the road. When the tire shredded, it damaged the wheel well. Even with the spare, you can’t drive her.”

Butch watched Kate’s face fall. All the expression leached out, leaving her blinking. Butch squeezed her hand, letting her know he wasn’t going to abandon her. “Can you fix it, Hyde?”

Hyde nodded. “I’ll tow her back to my garage and see what we got. I’ll have to work her in around my other customers. Likely take a few days.”

“She’s my baby, Hyde. I’ll pay for the parts and labor to get her fixed right.” Kate squeezed Butch’s hand, turning her gaze to him. “Can I ask you for another favor? Would you drive me to my motel? I can catch a ride to work and then use my company truck. I brought the Shelby down for after hours, not as my primary vehicle.”

Kate held on and Butch didn’t believe she did that often. He didn’t think she noticed they held hands but she didn’t hesitate to turn to him. Her trust and confidence soothed his damaged ego. “No problem. Hyde, what do we need to do?”

“I brought the tow truck so I can take her now. Anything you want out of her?”

Kate pulled her hand back and sighed. “Those boxes. I guess we shouldn’t have bothered to re-pack them.”

T
he second floor of the old house contained four bedrooms and a single bath. Butch slept in the largest room his first night home but the sun lit the eastern-facing room and made sleeping through the early morning hours impossible. He did his best song writing after the sun set and had no interest in being awake before lunch. The second night, he slept in a smaller but western-facing bedroom and made the biggest room his studio.

With a pencil in his mouth, he picked out the melody he heard in his head. He had to get it out. The tune rattled around his brain like a pinball game, lighting up cortexes and lobes as it tried to find an out. He picked a few bars, then scribbled on the lined music sheets. Pencil back in mouth, he re-picked the bars, then added another couple notes to the sheet. Working and reworking weren’t chores. They were joys.

Creaks and footfalls came from the stairway, announcing company. No one snuck up those stairs. Butch had tried and Jeb before him, but you couldn’t get from bottom to top without stepping in at least one spot that ratted you out.

Trudy stepped into the room in a sunny pink dress. “Morning, Butchy. I didn’t think you’d be up this early.”

Just hours after Butch returned to Tennessee, Trudy appeared on his doorstep. She had been out visiting a friend when she saw his truck. The California plate stuck out, even if the truck didn’t. Trudy came by most days just to check on him. She did that, took the time to check on people. He often wondered why she chose to be single. She had offers, Butch knew that because he’d gotten his shoulder cried on, figuratively speaking, when Trudy said no. If she had an aversion to a husband, she had a good reason for it. Her childhood had too many nightmares and not enough fairy tales. It had been a blessing of sorts when her father fell into the creek, drunk, and drowned. Trudy had been fifteen.

Butch stretched his back, still sore from the night on the floor. “What time is it?” The room didn’t have a clock. It didn’t have a bed or a phone. It did have three guitars, an equal number of music stands, one amplifier, a folding chair, a torn up bar stool, and a table covered with paper, picks, and capos.