After we were finished at the laundromat I shoved my dry, clean clothes back into Evan's duffel bag, and we left. Daniel drove around for

awhile, pointing out the Ryman Auditorium to me.

"That's where the Grand Old Opry was held at until about 1974," he told me, pulling over in front of the building and parking, so that I could see better.

I rolled the window down, ignoring the blast of cold air, and looked at the Auditorium.

"Have you been to the Grand Old Opry since you've been here?" I asked him.

"Yeah. Six or seven times."

"Wow," I said, looking at him as I rolled up the window again.

"I better get back and get some lunch, so Red and I can get to rehearsal," Daniel said, as he pulled out into the lane of

traffic.

"Okay." I hesitated. "Is there a library around close by?"

"Not too far. Why?"

"I wondered if I could maybe check out a couple of books. I've pretty much looked at all your musician magazines."

"Gettin' bored, huh?" he guessed, correctly.

I didn't want to admit to being bored, and having Daniel think I was being a complainer, so I shrugged, and said,

"I was practicing the piano awhile yesterday."

"Where you? That's good."

"Yeah."

After a couple of moments, he said, "We can go to the library tomorrow, if you want to."

"Okay. Thanks."

After a few minutes, I worked up my nerve, and said, quietly, "Daniel?"

"Hmm?"

"When am I going home?"

Daniel turned to look at me, and then looked back at the highway in front of him again.

"That's not set in stone yet, I don't think," he said.

"Oh."

He looked towards me again. "Are you ready for home?"

I knew he meant home, and everything that went along with it. Facing everybody, and owning up to what I'd done. Trying to make

amends. All of that.

"I'm scared about it," I admitted.

He nodded, as if he understood.

"I mean, but I'm missing it, too. The sunshine, and the dogs. And-" I hesitated. "Everybody."

"They're all missin' you too."

"Maybe not," I said.

"You know they are," he corrected me.

I bit my lip, and picked at a spot on my jeans. "I hope so."

He didn't say anymore for a couple of minutes, and I asked, "When I do go home, are you going to take me?"

"You think you're gonna go on a Greyhound by yourself?" Daniel asked, sounding irritated. "I think that's been done already, right?"

"I meant, if you were going to take me, or if somebody from home was coming to get me?" I said.

"We're still talkin' about all of that."

"Oh," I said, and then subsided into silence.

We were nearly back to the little house when Daniel asked me, "Did you talk to Ford last night?"

"Yeah," I said, perking up a little at the mention of Ford.

"He doin' alright?" Daniel asked.

"I think so. He was studying for a calculus test."

"The boy is motivated," Daniel said.

"I wish I could be more like Ford sometimes," I said. "And Guthrie, too. Ford's always so focused, and Guthrie's so-" I hesitated, thinking

of the right words, "so happy-go-lucky."

"Ford was born old," Daniel said. "Steady. And Guthrie, well, he got that from mom. She used to just fly around, singing all the time."

We were on the street of the house, and Daniel pulled up behind Red's parked truck, and stopped, shutting off the engine. Instead of getting

out, he sat there and turned towards me. "Wishing to be like somebody else, that never works. You're who you are. You have the talents and personality that

are just yours, and nobody else's. You're smart. You have a lot of things going for you, and that's pretty darn special."

"You think that? Even after what I did?" I asked.

"I know you're smart, if that's what you mean."

"Thanks, Daniel," I said, feeling humbled.

"You're in too much of a hurry," he said. "I understand that, because I was like that, too. Adam and Brian used to come down on me for it

all the time. You're gonna have to learn to stand still, and let things get better. Before you react and do somethin' wrong. Just settle down a

little, squirt, and everything will work out."

For a moment, I couldn't swallow, there was such a lump in my throat. I felt my eyes fill with easy tears.

"What's the matter?" he asked me.

"You called me squirt," I said.

"So what?" he asked, obviously puzzled.

"You haven't called me that since I got here," I pointed out. I bit my lip. "It's just nice to hear it again. Really nice."

Daniel shook his head a little. "Crazy kid," he muttered, taking off his ball cap and putting it on my head, yanking it down over

my eyes.

7

After a lunch of stew that Red had pulled out of the freezer, it was rehearsal time. Again, Daniel said I could tag along. I

was glad about that. Even going to the laundromat earlier in the day had been a break, getting out of the house. I wasn't used to staying

inside all the time the way I had been the last couple of days.

Once we were at the club, the band set up for rehearsal, and I sat in my spot, at the front table, drinking ginger ale again.

Once back home, the time sort of dragged until it was time to eat supper. Daniel made homemade macaroni and cheese,

with green beans from our garden, that Hannah had sent with him the last time he was home.

When Daniel and Red were heading out for the evening, Daniel was reminding me again to lock the door behind them.

I told him I would, and he paused to look at me, his dark eyes serious.

"Did you call Brian back?" he asked me quietly.

I shook my head.

"How come?" he asked.

"I'm afraid, Daniel."

"I know you are, but you need to suck it up," Daniel said, and he was all stern again, like he'd been the day before. "Brian called.

He wants to talk to you. You need to give him the respect for that, and call."

I sighed a little. I could tell Daniel was going to stop leaving it to me, and start ordering me to call home.

When I didn't respond, he reached out and tugged on my braid. "Are you listening?"

"Yes," I said, sighing again.

"Okay." He said, 'See you later', and followed Red outside.

I clicked the lock into place, wandering into the kitchen. I cleaned up, wiping everything down, and sweeping again.

Then I went to take another long, hot shower. I couldn't get over what a novelty it was to have an unlimited amount of hot

water that way. It would be so nice if our house had a hot water heater like this one. The thought of home, and our

comfortable, somewhat-shabby house, made me catch my breath.

Well, I had every intention of calling home. I really did. I was just trying to figure out a way to insure that Brian himself would answer

the phone. Or Clare. Or Guthrie.

I didn't want Evan to answer. Or Hannah. And definitely I didn't want Adam to answer. Just the thought of talking to Adam

make my knees feel weak. I was conflicted about talking to Crane, if he should answer. I wanted to. I wasn't really afraid to

talk to Crane. But yet, another part of me wanted to postpone him, as well.

It wasn't like I really wanted to talk to Brian, either. I mean, I was super scared of what he was going to say. But, since he'd called

the night before, and left that message about wanting to talk to me...well, that sort of put him at the top of the list, I guess.

But instead of calling right away, I sorted thru the sheet music, and sat down at the piano again. I did some scales and then

tried playing a few of the songs. I was really out of practice. After awhile, though, I found myself sort of melting into the music and

enjoying it. I needed to keep it up at home, I thought.

It was nearly eight-thirty by now. I put the sheet music away, and lowered the lid on the piano keys. Then I sat there, staring at the

phone. I picked it up, and then put it back down again.

"Coward," I muttered to myself.

Then, just as I was reaching for it again, it began to ring. I snatched my hand back as if the phone receiver was hot.

It rang three times, and then the answering machine clicked on.

After Daniel's recorded greeting, and instructions to leave a message, there was a slight hesitation, and then a little clearing of

his throat, and then Brian's voice.

"Hey. I reckon you're at work, Dan'l. And Harlie, I figure it's after eight there now. I wanted to talk to you." There was just

a moment or so of quiet, and then he said, "I guess you're not there. Alright, then, but I'm not kidding about wanting

to talk to you." I could hear him sigh a little. "Bye."

I reacted before I lost any nerve that I had left. Which wasn't much.

I picked up the receiver. "Brian?" I said.

There was a moment, and then he said, "Hey," in sort of a surprised tone.

"Hi." I said.

"Are you alright?" he asked then, and I thought his voice sounded sort of funny. Stilted.

"I'm okay," I said, subdued. I really had to idea where to go with this, or what to say. Should I jump right in with

apologies? Or wait for him to let me have it?

My knees felt as though they were practically knocking together. I sat down in the nearest chair to the phone.

"What were you thinkin'?" he said then. His voice was quiet enough, but there was an angry undertone to it.

"I wasn't thinking at all," I said. "Only about myself."

He was silent then, until I felt compelled to speak into the silence.

"I know my words don't mean anything right now, but I-" I hesitated. "I wish I hadn't done it."

"Me, too," he said, sounding grim.

I was quiet then, trying not to start crying.

He was quiet, too, and then said, "So it's eight there?"

"Yeah. About eight-thirty. What time is it there?" I asked.

"Six-thirty."

"Oh. What was the temperature there today?" I asked.

"It got up to 68, I think."

"It's so cold here," I told him, and then wondered when he was going to stop making small talk with me, and tell

me, in minute detail, exactly what he was going to do to me when I got home.

"Is it?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said, and then tapered off into silence again.

"A lot of people are hurtin' here at home over this, Harlie. Hurting bad," he said, and I could hear the fury in his voice, that he was trying to control.

I didn't think saying that I was sorry was the right thing. It would sound so-well trite. I didn't know what to say. So I said what

came out first.

"Sorry is just a word," I said. "But I am. Sorry, I mean."

Brian made sort of a 'hmmm' sound.

"I'm ashamed about it, Bri," I said, and then I started to cry. Quiet crying. Not heaving sobs.

I could hear him sigh heavily. "Well. That's a start, I guess."

"Yes, sir," I said, in misery.

Brian doesn't like to be called sir, so us younger kids have never done it. Even when he was thundering and angry at one of us.

And now he said, "What's with the sir?" sounding irritated.

I thought for a moment, choosing my words.

"Because," I said. "You deserve it."

There was a silence again, and when he spoke, I could tell that I'd surprised him a little.

"Alright," he said. "Well, there was a time or two during this whole mess, that I wasn't listenin' so good when you tried to talk to me."

It was hard to swallow for a moment. He was taking some of this blame onto himself? Wow.

Then, "You headin' to bed soon?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah."

"Okay. We'll talk again later, alright?"

"Alright." And by now, I was crying louder, hiccupping. I knew he could hear me, too. I wished he would keep talking to me. I wanted to

tell him that I loved him, that I would do everything I could to make all this right, but I didn't say any of that. I was overcome

with a shyness.

"'Night." he said.

"Goodnight, Bri," I said, still crying, and then when we'd both hung up, I burst into full out tears and flung myself onto

the couch.

7

I cried so long that I had a headache. I went to look thru the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, finding a bottle of Tylenol and

taking two of them. I did my shot, and then I went to Daniel's room, curling up on the bed, feeling miserable.

I covered up with the heaviest blanket that I could find in the hall closet, feeling as though I couldn't get warm.

I tried to sleep, but couldn't. Between the pounding of the relentless headache, and my tormented thoughts, there was

no rest.

I was still awake, and still crying off and on, when I heard the front door opening and then closing, and Daniel's voice mixed

with Red's.

After a few minutes, I saw Red pass by on his way to his own room, and then I heard footsteps in the hallway, and the

bathroom door opening and closing, and the sound of the shower. I waited until I heard the bathroom door open again, and

then I said, quietly, "Daniel?"

Daniel appeared in the open doorway, the hallway light behind him, rubbing his wet hair with a towel.

"What're you doin' awake?" he asked, sounding surprised.

"Couldn't sleep," I said. "How was the show tonight?"

Daniel came into the room a little further. "It was good. Big crowd."

"That's good."

He came the rest of the way to the side of the bed.

"Why can't you sleep?" he asked.

"Headache," I said.

"Do you need a snack?" he asked.

"It's not that. It's from cryin'," I admitted.

"Oh." He sat down on the edge of the bed. "It didn't go so well with Brian, huh?"

"It wasn't him," I said. "Not really. He was actually pretty nice."

"That's good."

"It's just-" I hesitated. "There's so much I want to say to them all, and yet, there's not really any right words. Does that make

sense?"

"It makes perfect sense," he said.

He reached up and touched my forehead, as if checking for fever.

"Crying doesn't cause a fever, Daniel," I said, lightly.

"Smartass," he said. "Did you take some Tylenol?"

"Yes."

"Alright. Well, no more cryin' tonight, then. You can live to cry again tomorrow," he said, misquoting an old Western movie.

"Okay," I said, as he tucked the blanket up tighter around me.

He said goodnight and went out, closing the door behind him. I laid there, though, in the darkness, and sleep still didn't come

for a really long time.

7