CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Clay started his journey at the crack of dawn and made it to Atlanta by mid-morning. Katie had told him she was leaving a key to her condo under the front porch mat and had given him instructions on how to turn off the alarm. Instead of pining the day away in her home waiting for her to get off work, he decided to surprise his mother with a visit. They enjoyed lunch together and started an impromptu game of canasta with some of her friends in the game room that overlooked the gardens. It was reassuring to see his mama happy and healthy in her new environment, enjoying the activities and friendships she had made within the safety of the elderly community. The guilt he had felt moving her there was slowly dissipating as he watched her laugh and giggle among her friends each time he visited. To see his mama flourishing after the devastating loss of Big Daddy was an answered prayer.
They strolled down the hallway to her suite, arm in arm, the faint aroma of her perfume a sweet reminder of his youthful days living at home.
“Tell Katie I said hello,” she said unexpectedly.
Clay stopped in his tracks. “How’d you know I’m in town to see her?”
Birdie Watkins tilted her head back so she could look her son in the eye. “Sweetheart, you didn’t drive all the way to Atlanta on a Friday morning to come and see me,” she chuckled as she pulled him forward and they continued walking down the hall.
“Mama, that’s a terrible thing to say. I would come and visit you every day if I could.”
“I know.” She patted his arm reassuringly with her wrinkly hand.
When they got to her room, she motioned for Clay to sit in one of two wing-back chairs positioned by a large, bay window.
“Now that we’re alone, tell me what’s been going on. Are you and Katie an item now? I have to admit, I really like her.”
Clay looked away, embarrassed. “I like her too, Mama. I like her a lot.”
“That’s wonderful. I’m happy for you.” She paused. “There’s something else on your mind. Something that doesn’t have to do with Katie. What is it, son?”
Clay looked at his mother with wide eyes. She knew him like no other. It was some kind of power that all mothers had, he supposed. Having Birdie Watkins as a mother was a blessing, for sure. She always seemed to have just the right words to comfort him in times of struggle—her words of wisdom a welcome navigation tool he used when trying to make hard decisions. He had contemplated talking to her about the whole Ryman offer but hesitated, knowing that it might bring up sad memories of his daddy. The last thing he wanted to do was make her melancholy.
“What is it, honey?”
He ran his fingers through his hair before leaning his elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands back and forth. “Buddy made me an offer at Warner Music.”
“An offer doing what? Writing more hit songs for the stars?”
Clay shook his head and met her eyes with a look of uncertainty. “Writing more songs for myself…and going on my own tour, as an artist. He wants to introduce me at the Warner Music anniversary special in September. Mama, the anniversary special is taking place at…” He took in a deep breath, images of his daddy coming to mind as he said the words. “The Ryman.”
Birdie breathed in quickly through her nose and closed her eyes. A small smile graced her lips, and when she opened her eyes back up, they were glistening.
“I don’t know if I can do it,” Clay whispered, his voice tinged with emotion. He felt small and vulnerable in front of his mother, trying to navigate the overwhelming feelings of uncertainty that jostled inside him. He needed some motherly words of wisdom as he tried to make one of the most significant decisions of his life and career. He just wished his daddy was sitting across from him too.
Birdie grabbed a tissue out of a box sitting on a small side table next to her chair and wiped at the corners of her eyes. “Do you remember the first time you sang in front of Big Daddy and me?”
Clay sat up and immediately recalled the moment she was referring to. It was many years ago, a few days shy of his thirteenth birthday. By this time, he had been taking guitar lessons for several years and had filled up notebooks full of song ideas. He hadn’t dared to perform them for anyone, especially his family, secluding himself in his room to practice and create. One of his mother’s favorite cousins had recently passed, and he had wanted to cheer her up. Sitting by the window in his bedroom, he had watched a small bird bathing in the birdbath his daddy kept filled up, surrounded by the begonias and azaleas his mother tended. Inspired by the pure beauty of the happy bird flitting about in the water, he wrote a song and titled it, “Little Bird.” He dedicated it to his mother and performed for the first time in front of his parents in their living room after supper one night. The imprint of their beaming faces and the sound of their applause was forever stamped on his heart, his parent’s encouragement and support a key element in his development as a songwriter in his formidable teenage years.
“How could I forget that moment, Mama? It was pretty incredible.”
She nodded. “You have always brought so much joy to our family. You can touch people, very deeply through your songs. You and I both know how proud Big Daddy was of your talent—how he thought the whole world would be blessed by your music—how he wanted you to go all the way…”
“All the way,” Clay repeated in a whisper.
“You’re more than ready, honey. Believe it or not, you were ready ten years ago when you set off for Nashville with more confidence and ability than anyone I ever knew.” Rising from her chair, Birdie approached him, cupping his chin tenderly and lifting his head to look up at her. “I love you, son. Your daddy loved you too, more than you could ever imagine. I believe he’s watching out for you. And with a daddy like yours watching out for you, you got nothin’ to worry about.” She bent forward and kissed his head. “You’re ready. Never forget how much your mama and daddy believe in you.”
Clay felt his eyes brim with tears and nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” He stood and hugged her, relief washing over him. The boost of confidence from his mama made him feel that much closer to making his decision.
***
The sight of Clay’s pickup truck sent a herd of butterflies to Katie’s stomach. He was here—in her condo. Quickly, she pulled down the vanity mirror and smoothed back the stray hairs coming out of her tight bun. She grabbed her purse and practically ran across the asphalt, up the brick stairs, and through her front door.
“Clay? I’m home!” She threw her purse onto the side table and locked the front door. When Clay peeked his head from around the corner of the family room with a massive grin on his face, her breath hitched. He sauntered toward her, looking relaxed in loose denim and a black t-shirt.
“Hey, Pretty Girl. Don’t you look all dressed up and professional?” They were nose to nose, the heat between them palpable. “How are you?” he whispered, the warmth of his mouth floating over her top lip.
