A Nashville Collection by Rachel Hauck Read Free Book Online Page A

ought to be sticks.”
    I pick up the guitar. What was the tune I played last night up in the attic?
    â€œYou can’t stop her, Bit,” Granddaddy says.
    â€œYou should know, shouldn’t you?” Momma’s words are harsh, but Granddaddy’s mild expression remains unchanged.
    â€œDifferent time, different girl.”
    I glance up. “Different time, different girl? Granddaddy, what—”
    â€œWhat about Ricky?” Momma fires at me. “You’re going to break that boy’s heart.” She fusses with the same wild curl that never does what she wants.
    â€œRicky’s a big boy, Momma,” I say. Although he wasn’t in church this morning, which means he’s fishing in the Tennessee River, which means he’s not acting like a big boy but a pouting baby.
    â€œI think we ought to be getting home.” Grip stands. “Let you folks sort this out.”
    Take me with you, Grip.
    Jeeter whispers to me. “Stick to your guns.” He presses a napkin into my hand with a telephone number scrawled on it.
    â€œJeeter,” Momma hollers after him. “I’ll thank you to mind your own business.”
    Something inside snaps. “Same to you, Momma.”
    She steadies herself by gripping the porch post. “Do you think you’re going to waltz into Nashville and magically find the courage to sing before a crowd of strangers? To talk to important people about your songs?” Momma’s cheeks are flushed and her jaw is tight.
    â€œBit, simmer down,” Daddy says in a low tone.
    â€œDon’t tell me to simmer down, Dean.” She looks at him with pleading eyes. “Robin . . . Nashville . . .”
    Wearing her debate face, Eliza says, “It’s Robin’s life. She should do what she wants. You seem fine with me going to England. Why can’t you—”
    â€œIt’s not the same—” Momma clams up and starts stacking dirty dishes.
    With my head down, I echo my resolve. “I’m going, Momma.” Once decided, the idea of staying in Freedom cuts off my air and suffocates my dreams.
    With her arms loaded down, Momma goes inside. Seems I’ve won the battle but not the war.
    The tension on the porch evaporates as Granddaddy follows Grandma in the house, their heads bent together, muttering, and Daddy talks NASCAR with Uncle Dave and Ty. I bend over the guitar, playing, half listening to Eliza, Arizona, and Dawnie talk about the English summer, half wondering what’s going on inside Momma’s head.
    Eliza is saying, “My real goal is to meet a Greek tycoon, fall madly in love, marry impetuously, and sail around the world on his yacht.”
    I lift my head. “Don’t you need to be in Greece to find a Greek tycoon, Liza?”
    Arizona laughs. “I was thinking the same thing.”
    â€œSemantics, ladies, semantics. What you don’t know is that I plan to meet him in Paris.”
    â€œParis?” Truth is, if anyone can sweep a Greek tycoon off his feet, it’s my lovely southern sister. Her blue-diamond eyes and innocent smile make the boys go gaga over her as if they’ve found a rare treasure. But they always get their heart broken no matter how gentle Eliza lets them down. I’m already worried for the Greek tycoon.
    The screen door creaks open as Granddaddy returns. “It’s not much, Robin Rae, but Grandma and I want to help out.” He holds out a check.
    â€œWhat’s this?” I read the amount. “A hundred dollars?” I gape at him. “Granddaddy, no, I don’t want your money.”
    â€œYou’re giving her money?” Momma steps through the screen door. The garbage bag she’s holding shakes and crackles. “Daddy?”
    â€œIt’s just a little egg money, Bit. A hundred dollars. Don’t get all rattled over it.”
    Daddy slips his arm around Momma and holds her real close. She is shaking.