“And that’s the truth, I’m too old for that crap. Crawling on the ground, under cars, in the dirt. . .” His voice fades as he shakes his head. “That’s what those damn auto clubs are for.”
Starla rolls her eyes, letting them come back to me. “He likes to barricade himself in this room and pretend he can’t do the things he used to. I think he’s full of it.”
“I would too if I had a room like this.”
“Ah, see, he gets it.” Shaking his finger, he walks to one of his shelves and pulls off a record. “I like you already. Why don’t you have a seat.” Tipping his head toward a ratty, old leather recliner, he sits the record on the player by the shelves.
Giving me a nudge, Starla’s lips curl at the corners. “Grandpa is a famous roadie. He’s spent an entire lifetime traveling with bands and getting to meet some really awesome people.”
“Oh yeah, like who?” I ask.
“Howlin’ Wolf, Chuck Berry, Coleman Hawkins, lord, I can’t even think of them all right now.” Moving the needle to the vinyl, he rests it down so gently.
There’s some scratching at first as the record pops and cracks. Then the music begins to play. My ears perk at the sound, and my head begins to bounce lightly.
A deep bass is rolling out of the speakers, the drums are kicking in, and the guitar is on fire. A man begins to sing, his voice hypnotic and raspy. I’m feeling myself getting swept away, riding the notes into a trance.
“Who is this?”
“Muddy Waters.” Her body is swaying to the beat as she closes her eyes and rolls her head on her shoulders. “Does your father like jazz?”
“My father isn’t a jazz kind of man, he’s not really even a music man.”
Starla stops moving, her mouth falls open slightly and she lets out a light giggle. “That makes me wonder how he ever made it in the whiskey business at all. Jazz and whiskey go hand in hand, I bet your grandfather was into jazz.” Standing still, she gives me a playful smile as she turns to her grandfather. “Grandpa, can I get Bolt a glass of your special stash?”
Roy sneers, and I swear I can see his soul through his smile. “Pour him a double.”
And as I sit drinking whiskey with Starla and her grandfather, listening to the blues, sitting in a torn up recliner, with a plastic cup from The Dollar General, I’m starting to understand what she meant about the unnecessary shit in my life.
Her family has nothing, yet they laugh and smile like their pockets are full. My family has everything, but we never feel this close. We never laugh like they laugh, or smile like they smile.
I’m slowly starting to see what it means to be happy.
And it isn’t what I thought it would be at all.
Wow, I’ve been living life with blinders on.
10
Bolt
“Are you ready?” Yale stands in the doorway of my office, hands tucked under his arms. “Because I’m excited for this. So if I’m this excited, you must be ecstatic.”
I don’t want to talk about anything. Ecstatic is the last thing I feel. My mind is so fucked up I don’t even know how to explain what I’m feeling, and I don’t really want to. There’s no advice that he can give me, because he doesn’t have a damn clue. This girl has somehow twisted herself around my brain, making it so I can’t think straight.
When I close my eyes, she’s there.
When I dream, she’s there.
When I think about what I want, she’s there. But she’s not supposed to be. She was never supposed to be.
And now I can’t get her out.
“Not now, Yale.”
“Come on, Bolt, you should be smiling from ear to ear. Everything here is all set for when you’re gone, I made sure of it. They all know what to do. You can relax, get ready for the big day.” He takes a few steps inside, relaxing his shoulders back as if this is going to be just another business trip. “Tomorrow your father gets to meet his daughter-in-law.” Making big, exaggerated, air quotes with his fingers, he curls his lips up happily. “I honestly can’t wait to see his face once he does. This is brilliant, Bolt, seriously brilliant.”
“Yale, enough!” Balling my fists, I slam them down on the desk. Yale’s body goes stiff as he stares at me. “Not right now, all right? I have a lot on my mind. This whole thing is just fucking crazy. I’m not sure what the hell it is I’m doing.”
“Sir, if I can—” Walking the rest of the way to my desk, he sets his hands on the back of the chair and digs his fingers in. “Your father had no right to put you in this position. But your idea, it’s the ultimate work of a puppet master. You’re pulling all the strings. You, not him. You’re the one in charge. This is the right thing to do, we both know that.”