The Jealous Kind (Holland Family Saga 2)

“Sweating through my clothes,” he replied.

“You’re going to do fine,” Valerie said. “I learned this in speech class: Don’t look at any person in particular. Look at the back wall. Everyone will think you’re looking at him or her.”

That was how Valerie talked. She never made a grammatical error; every word she used gave a sentence a more specific meaning than it needed. As I looked at her profile in the twilight, and at the glow on her skin and the happiness in her eyes, I knew I would never be able to separate myself from her, no matter what else occurred in our lives, even death. I felt as though we were already one flesh, one spirit, lovers who were almost incestuous, like brother and sister, companions unto and beyond the grave. It was a funny feeling to have.

“What are y’all singing?” I asked.

“?‘Keep on the Sunny Side’ and ‘Blue Moon of Kentucky’ and a couple of others, if we don’t get thrown out.”

“That’s swell, Loren,” I said.

“You reckon I can do it?” he said.

“We’ll be in the front row,” Valerie said. She didn’t need to say anything else.

He went through the back door of the building with my guitar case, and Valerie and I went through the front and sat down in the bleachers that surrounded the basketball court. In a few minutes the building was packed. Children ran around on the court with balloons on sticks while the musicians set up on the stage. The people sitting by us were sun-browned and had the rough ha

nds and narrow features of people for whom privation and hard physical work were as natural as the sunrise. Their clothes were wash-faded and starched and ironed, their eyes full of expectation and pleasure at attending a function that for them was a communal validation of their lives.

Loren’s band came out on the stage. If he was nervous, he hid it well. Because of his height, he had to lean down to the microphone when he sang “Blue Moon of Kentucky.” The spotlight bathed him, his moist hair black and shining, his cheeks sunken, the range of his voice like Porter Wagoner’s. The audience began to applaud slowly, and then they went crazy. I don’t think anyone was more surprised than Loren. He looked around him as though they were yelling and stomping their feet for someone else. He went immediately into the Carter Family’s theme song, “Keep on the Sunny Side.” Then he did Hank’s “Lovesick Blues.” Then he did “I Saw the Light” and came back for five encores.

Valerie looked around. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“I’m going to call Biff Collie tomorrow. Biff’s a good guy.”

“Who?”

“He’s a disk jockey and the master of ceremonies at Cook’s Hoedown.”

“You did this, Aaron.”

“Nope.”

“Loren pretends he has everything under control, but he has no confidence at all. He told me you showed him his first chords. You don’t know how much that meant to him.”

At the intermission, we bought hot dogs and Cokes at a long table covered with food. Loren came through the crowd with my guitar case, shaking hands with people, nodding, embarrassed by their praise and affection. He slipped the handle of the case into my hand. “I’ve got to go outside.”

“What for?” I said.

“My head feels like it’s full of helium. I’m about to faint.”

“Have a hot dog,” Valerie said.

“I did okay, huh?” he said.

Valerie and I both grinned.

“You liked it?” he said.

“What do you think?” I said.

Then the girls were all around him. Valerie and I went outside. The western sky was as red as a forge. A purple MG turned off the state two-lane and drove across the grass and parked not far from the church bus. Grady Harrelson got out and looked over his shoulder, then stared at us without moving. I didn’t know if he was self-conscious about his British sports car or afraid of the class of people he found himself among.

“What’s he doing here?” I said.

“I don’t know, but Loren had better not see him,” Valerie said.

“Loren said something?”