Shakingmy head, I felt like an asshole. “Actually, I didn’t know she performed atall,” I admitted, and felt like an even bigger asshole than I did two secondsbefore.
Mama’sface fell in shock. “Getouttatown. Are you serious?”She wasn’t helping my self-degradation at all. “She’s beensingin’since …” Her lips twisted and pinched, as she searched for recollection. “Well,I guess it’sgottabe sincey’allwere in college. Who knew she sang so beautifully? She’s even better thanSarah, if you can believe that.”
Icould believeit, actually.
Molly’smother had a set of pipes on her, and from my flimsy scraps of memory, I didremember that Molly had inherited the gift. She’d always been shy andself-conscious though, and if she was ever caught singing, she’d immediatelyclam up. She’d always been so afraid of ridicule. I guess high school didn’thelp much with that, either,andanother wash of guiltspread over me like a second skin.
Whileso many of my memories were faded, the one in which she worried about beingalone remained vivid. She knew what was going to happen, from the second welearned we’d be separated, and I was the one who promised it wouldn’t happen.And yet, what the hell did I do to ward off the inevitable?
Absolutelynothing.
***
“Whatcan I get forya?” The bartender’s nametag readDonnie, but given his burly exterior, I had a hard time thinking of him as aDonnie. Donald, maybe.Don, definitely. ButDonnie? I had to bite back a chuckle asI nudged my chin toward the row of taps.
“Whatchagot on tap?” With a sigh of preparation, he ranthrough the list of beers and IPAs, and I considered the options before askingfor a Blue Moon.
“Yougot it, boss,” he replied, and I tapped my fingers against the bar as he pouredmy drink.
Witha glance over my shoulder, I surveyed the crowded room. Scattered tables dottedthe floor, while dimly lit booths lined the perimeter, and I could only see asmall handful of vacant seats. I knew from my own days of playing the LocustLounge that the crowd was a little excessive for a Monday night, and I wonderedif they were all here to see Molly.
“Hereyou go,” Donnie cut through my assessment, and I turned back to him as he placedthe tall glass down in front of me.
“Thanks.”I laid a few bills on the bar, and asked, “Is it always this packed?”
Heswept his gaze over the crowd. “Sometimes. Usually depends on the live music.”
Ihad my answer, and I nodded. “I see …”
“Youever see Miss Dyer play?”
“Can’tsay that I have.”
Donnielooked absolutely shocked by the admission. “Boy, are you in for a treat. She’sgonnablow your socks off, I guarantee that.”
Ihoped so as I smiled and nodded. I wished him a good night and headed out tofind myself a seat, finally grabbing one at a table with three other guys. Withhospitable acceptance, they welcomed me with the lift of a glass or a nod ofthe head as I sat down.
Heavinga sigh, I pulled my Rangers hat off and dropped it to the tabletop. I wasexhausted and drained from being sick, and just having a mixed bag kind of aday. There’d been too many highs, too many lows. But when Iactuallyranthrough the course of events—run, Ali, lawnmowing, Molly, shower,Locust Lounge—the only low I could really find was my time spent at Ali’splace.
Ali’s place. Istudied the beer as I turned the glass between my hands, collecting thetrickling condensation as it ran into my palms. Ali had her own apartment withplenty of space for a roommate.Forme. And how was it I was only just nowrealizing howabsolutely ridiculousthat was? Wecould’ve been living together since she’d started renting the place a couple ofyears ago. But instead, I was still living at home, waiting and waiting for herto finallywannabe with me—completely.
If it’s not broke, why fix it?
Herwords came back to haunt me in my moment of doubt and I couldn’t honestly sayif she was right about that. I’d agreed at the time, just to feel her hands inmy hair. But now, alone in the busy darkness of a dive bar, I wasn’t sure.Hell, I wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Thirty had done that to me, I guess.Maybe Ali was right. Maybe things were fine. Maybewewere fine. Maybe she and I were just destined to be that coupleliving separately from each other until death do us part. No marriagecertificate and no kids.
ButI still wanted that, and how the hell was I supposed to just turn it all offfor the sake of being with her? And if I couldn’t have those things with her,did I really want to be with her after all?
ThankChrist, that’s when the spotlight lit against the bar’s bricked back wall,bringing the microphone into view. I sat up straighter, cleared my head, andwhen Molly walked out with the neck of her acoustic guitar gripped in hand, myheart lost its footing, slipped, and lodged itself somewhere in my throat. Thelight illuminated her features, drawing my attention to her face. Her eyemakeup was heavy, dark and sooty. Her lips were colored a pale shade of beige,a washed-out companion to her skin, and her hair hung like drapes, framing herface in long, loose curls. The flowing black skirt and skintight tank top shewore left little to the imagination, and as she stepped toward the microphone,I noticed she was barefoot.
Withher guitar, decorated with stickers and a colorful strap, she looked like adisplaced contradiction. As though she’d stepped out of the sixties orseventies, still looking for a ride to San Francisco but with black daisies inher hair.
“Wow,”I uttered, embarrassing myself with the whispered revelation of my stupidbrain.
Oneof my table companions turned and grinned. “Right?”
Witha quick glance around the darkened room, it occurred to me that the bulk of thecrowd was comprised of ogling men. The observation tempted my fists to clenchwith protective instinct for my childhood best friend, when I realized I wasn’tmuch better than any of them. Gawking and dumbstruck.
“Hey,y’all. My name’s Molly Dyer, and I’mgonnaplay some songs for you thisevenin’,”she spoke into the mic. “This first one’s called ‘Fireflies & Firelight.’”
