Nashville 3 - What We Feel (9 page)

And I want to believe him. I really do. I’m just not sure how to start.

FOR THE NEXT three weeks, we practice as hard as I’ve ever imagined working. Thomas and I give notice at our jobs and, thankfully, neither place insists that we work it out. When Thomas asks me if I’m okay with Holden moving back in, I have no good reason to say no. He drives to Atlanta two days after our talk in the kitchen and arrives back in a rental car twenty-four hours later with Patsy in the front seat next to him.

Hank Junior is so happy to see her I don’t think he quits wagging his tail for a week. He follows her everywhere, as if he’s afraid if he lets her out of his sight, she’ll disappear again.

We rehearse twelve to fourteen hours a day, polishing our performance until we’re nailing every song, word for word, note for note.

And for those three weeks, Holden is right about everything being okay. No one has time to think about anything other than eating, sleeping, and getting ready for the tour. When we get home every night, I fall in bed and sleep like Rip Van Winkle.

My biggest worry is what to do with Hank Junior when we’re gone. Since Holden has the same concern about Patsy, he, Thomas and I brainstorm options one morning while we’re waiting for Beck in his dad’s studio.

“We can’t leave them in a kennel for six weeks,” Holden says, taking a sip from the coffee the housekeeper, Nelda, made for us when we arrived.

Thomas makes a choking sound. “Yeah, right. CeCe would check
herself
into a kennel for six weeks before she’d leave Hank there.”

I raise an eyebrow at him but there’s no point in denying the accusation. We all know it’s true.

Beck walks in, his hair still wet from the shower. He kisses me on the cheek and says, “What’s up with the pow-wow?”

“Just trying to figure out what we’re going to do with Hank Junior and Patsy while we’re away.” I hear the worry in my own voice because with every passing day, I’m more stressed by my lack of a solution.

Beck sits down next to me and pours a cup of coffee. “They could stay here with Nelda.”

I lean back and look at him, not sure if he means it. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” he says. “She loves dogs.”

“But what about your dad?”

“He won’t mind. They’ll give Nelda someone to cook for. When dad’s gone anyone left here gets overfed and then some.”

“That would be amazing,” I say, leaning forward to give him a hug.

Holden gets up from the table to pour another cup of coffee, his back to us. “That’s incredibly nice. Thanks, man. Really.”

“No skin,” Beck says.

“All right then,” Thomas says. “Let’s get to work.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Holden

The tour begins in San Francisco. Three days on the bus across country, and we’re all ready to be there. I’ve spent most of those miles trying to focus on anything but the fact that Beck can’t keep his hands off CeCe.

I get a lot of reading done.

Keeping my eyes on the page and my head in someone else’s story is about the only distraction that works.

We arrive in the city on the morning of the first show. After grabbing a few hours of sleep in an actual bed, we leave for the venue where we can practice on stage and get a feel for the acoustics.

The place feels absolutely enormous. We’ve never played anywhere that would hold half this many people, and looking out at the thousands of empty chairs, I start to wonder if we’re really up for this.

“I see what you’re thinking.” Thomas walks up behind me and claps a hand on my shoulder. “No reason to go there now.”

“This could be a major fail,” I say.

“Glass half-f, please.”

“Don’t tell me you’re not wondering what we were thinking.”

“Okay, so the thought crossed my mind,” he concedes. “But we’re here. We’ve done our homework.”

“Could I get an infusion of some of your confidence, please?”

Thomas snorts. “Since when do you need confidence?”

“Since we decided we could pull off opening a show for a country music legend.”

“We can. Have you heard us?” He pulls his iPhone out of his shirt pocket, swipes the screen, taps it twice and one of our songs begins playing. Thomas waits a minute and then it turns it off. “That sound good or what?”

I have to admit we sound pretty good. “Let’s just hope we hit that tonight.”

“Faith, man. Where’s your faith?”

“Working on it.”

“Stay away from CeCe until you get it in place. She’s already a bundle of nerves.”

Just then, she and Beck walk onstage. She looks as serious as I’ve ever seen her. She bites her lower lip and glances out at the sea of seats in front of the stage. Her eyes widen.

“Okay,” Thomas says. “I think it’s time for a pep talk. Y’all get on over here.”

He waves us to the end of the stage. We all sit down in a line, facing out to where all those faces will be looking at CeCe and me, and Beck on her other side.

“Anyone here dreamed about this as long as I have?” Thomas asks.

No one says anything for a few moments, and then CeCe admits, “Yes.”

Her voice has a tremble in it. Thomas reaches over and covers her hand with his.

“Anyone else?”

“Yeah,” I say.

Thomas looks at Beck. “How about you?”

“I’ve pretty much wanted to be my dad for as long as I can remember,” he says in a low voice.

The admission surprises me. It’s not something I would expect a guy like Beck to say.

“So, okay,” Thomas says. “We all agree this is important to us. And we don’t want to screw it up. The only way that’s going to happen is if we forget we’re anywhere other than at home in Nashville, practicing the way we’ve been practicing for weeks. We’ve got this. Y’all know we do. Every song. Every word. Every note. We’ve got it. Right?”

No one says anything for a long string of moments. Somewhere behind the stage, I hear equipment being unloaded from the tractor-trailer trucks. The whine of a forklift. The clank of metal cases. Conversation and laughter from the guys working hard and fast to get it all in.

CeCe draws in a deep breath and says, “We’ve got it.”

“Beck?” Thomas says.

“Yeah, man. We’ve got it.”

My best friend looks at me, one eyebrow raised.

“We’ve got it,” I say. “We’ve got it.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CeCe

I am so scared I actually feel my knees trembling.

Two minutes until we’re out there in front of thousands of Case Phillips fans, who will pretty much decide with the first song whether we’re worthy of being on this tour or not.

My heart is pounding so hard I feel its throb like a bass drum in my ears. I wish with everything inside me that my mama could be here tonight. It’s not that I don’t understand why she isn’t. She’s terrified of flying, and driving across country isn’t something I can imagine her doing. She’ll be at the show in Annapolis, Maryland, and that’s good enough. That doesn’t make me crave one of her reassuring hugs right now any less though.

The four of us are standing to the side of the stage and we’re all wearing varying expressions of “Is this really happening?”

The crowd tonight is two thousand or so, one of the smaller venues for the tour, but the largest by far I’ve ever sung in front of.

“I’m not sure I can do this,” I say. Only then do I realize I’ve said it out loud.

Holden steps up and dips his head in close to mine. “Where’s a place you’ve sung that made you the happiest?” he asks, his voice low and calming.

I don’t turn to look at him. I lace my hands together in front of me and think hard. The memory, when it comes, is sweet and poignant. “In church on the Sunday my granny was baptized. She was eighty-three. She asked the pastor if I could do a solo of “Just As I Am”.”

“Yeah?”

I nod, letting myself remember what a wonderful day that had been. “By that point, she couldn’t walk very well, and it took a lot of courage for her to step down into that water. Watching her and singing the words to that song at the same time made me understand what it really meant. I was so proud to have been a part of that day.”

“Don’t you think she’d be proud of you now?” he asks in a low voice.

I let my gaze meet his. “I do,” I say softly.

“Then think about that tonight when you’re out there singing. Nothing else but that.”

“Thanks, Holden,” I say, and for a moment, just a moment, I let myself remember why I fell in love with him so quickly. This way he has of anchoring me in the middle of a storm I am sure is big enough to overtake me. I trust him to know the way, to lead me out. I can’t explain the why of it. I just know it’s true.

“Welcome to the San Francisco Bayside Coliseum and the Case Phillips’ Brand New Me Tour!”

The announcer’s shout-out is loud enough to soften the roar of the crowd.

“This is one ticket you’re going to be so glad you bought. First out tonight, a new group Case has been talking up all over Nashville, and when you hear them, you’ll understand why! Folks, let’s give a big California welcome to Barefoot Outlook!”

“Yee-haw!” Thomas whoops. “Here we go, y’all!”

He leads me across the stage, one fist pounding the air, the other hand clasped in mine as if he knows there’s a good chance I’ll run. From the corner of my eye, I see Beck and Holden taking their places, picking up their guitars.

Thomas and I reach for our microphones, and he dips into the first song of our set – “What We Feel.” I wrote this song and I know it like I know my own face in the mirror. I’m supposed to come in on the chorus but my mind has gone completely blank. I know what Thomas is going to sing before I hear the words but I can’t think of how the first line of the chorus begins. He’s into the pre-chorus now. I feel the impending arrival of my turn to join in like a roller coaster about to reach the top of the first hill, aware that the bottom is going to fall out at any second.

My face feels frozen and I can’t make myself smile. Thomas glances over at me, his eyes questioning. I know he wants to help. There’s nothing he can do.

Someone steps up behind me just then, puts an arm around my shoulders, and I realize it’s Case. I’m sure he’s going to signal me off the stage, take my place, but he starts into the chorus with Thomas, still holding onto me.

The crowd erupts at the sound of his voice, screaming and whooping their surprise at his appearance.

And suddenly the words are coming back to me. Case must feel my relief because he shouts out, “CeCe McKenzie, folks, this girl’s got couuuuntry!”

And as if he’s just handed me the baton in a relay race, I swoop into the second verse with the same level of confidence I had reached during our rehearsals of this song.

The audience begins to clap and stomp out the rhythm as I go, and all of a sudden, I’m having more fun than I’ve ever had on stage. My heart feels like it might burst with gratitude for Case’s generosity.

He joins us on the chorus again.

It’s what we feel

That makes the memories

It’s what we feel

That gives us history

The part that’s real