Chapter 20
Joe sits on the picnic table where it seems as if only yesterday he had spent the afternoon with Cara. Leaves once green are turning orange and yellow signaling a new season, asking its audience to embrace its new beauty. Most days the unexpected and unlikely romance with the woman in the big sunglasses and the floppy hat simply brings a smile at the memory. But other days, he misses her.
Meanwhile, Oliver contemplates life from his own porch swing. He sits and thinks how beautiful the day as he sips an afternoon cup of coffee. His life is good and he is very grateful.
"I need to fix the squeak in the screen door," he says as Shane comes out to join him.
"I kind of like it," said Shane, with a soft smile as she joined her husband, rubbing his back.
"Have you talked to your dad?"
"Yes, he's coming to dinner. I told him Bill, Rita, and Norman would be here."
"How was he?"
"Fine. He's fine."
"Would he tell you if he wasn't?"
"I'm not sure," chuckled Oliver. "He said everything he wants is right here in Denver. Then he hesitated and said - but she is a beautiful memory."
"Wow. He's a good man."
"Yes he is. Do we have time to just sit a while?" asked Oliver.
"Always."
Once again lovers walk through the park, college students toss a football now instead of a frisbee, little boys and girls go down the slide. Joe slips his guitar from its case and begins to play. Two chords in, he stops – searching for the song that meets the moment. He sighs. His heart goes back to the night they first danced at E Phlat. He begins to pluck that plaintive Hank Williams' standard.
"You are out of tune my friend," Joe sang, substituting words to the familiar tune. He twists the tuning pegs. "Almost. Not quite."
"Why won't you get in tune today, I want to play this song," Joe mumbles, once more substituting lyrics to the tune. He adjusts the pegs once more. Pop. Thud. He chuckles and shakes his head at the broken string. "Oh well. Come on buddy. Let's go get you some new strings."
Joe packs his guitar and walks to his truck. Pulling out his cell phone, he checks for the nearest music store. There is one about ten minutes away in the Cherry Park area. "Luck is on my side. Ok, let's see what The Right Note has."
The Right Note is a music store located in a strip mall. It is a long, narrow shop with a large, single music note as its logo painted on the window. Joe pushes open the aluminum framed door that triggers bells playing the pitches do, mi, so, mi, do to welcome each customer.
Joe slowly enters. It seems no one is there. Guitars hang all along the wall to his left. A couple of pianos and racks of music fill the center. To his right is a long glass case filled with small musical instruments and musical paraphernalia of all sorts.
"Hello, anybody here?" he calls.
"Oops, sorry," she replies as she steps out from a room at the back of the store.
All Joe can see is a pair of red Keds, the bottom her of jeans, and a large cardboard box. Joe quickly steps forward and places the cumbersome load on the counter. The woman who had been hidden behind her load laughs, her blue eyes sparkle with joy.
"Thank you. Welcome to The Right Note. I am Molly Reifman. May I help you?"