Page 28 of She's My Kind Of Rain

After ambling around for a few more minutes, we take a seat on the front steps that lead into the Parthenon.

“So you said you were from Tansy Bay. Where’s that?”

“Indiana. Basically a little old town with nothing in it, especially compared to here.” She smirks, even though there seems to be a bit of something left unsaid in her tone.

“So, was moving here always part of the plan?”

“Actually, not even a little. I just lost my job at Wellington Music Group—that was a local record label that my mom’s friend co-owned. They decided to sell to a bigger company and there were no other jobs locally that had anything to even do with music. I couldn’t picture being happy doing something thatdidn’t include my passion, and long story short, I’m here on a whim. I made the decision less than twenty-four hours after getting the news.” She tucks a loose piece of hair behind her ear, offering me a bashful look.

She’s so pretty it’s hard for me to control my urge to kiss her, but I ignore the desire. I want to know more about her, and if this is deeper than a crush, we should have plenty of time to do that.

“A whim, hey? What made you want to be in the music industry so badly?” I ask, genuinely curious at her making such a huge decision to move so quickly.

“My dad. Hewas…a singer.” Her eyes become glassy and her expression swiftly changes to sadness.

Damn, I didn’t mean to overstep. Just my luck that I would ask something that clearly brings up some pain. “I’m sorry, we don’t have to talk about it. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, it’s okay. Honestly, I’ve bottled it up so long it probably is a good idea to actually let it out.” She shifts her leg and it bumps into mine. I place a hand on her lap, hoping that she finds it comforting. A smile tugs at her sad expression. “The other night when you sang that song, it was like I’d seen—well, heard—a ghost. My dad played that song for me a lot growing up and I haven’t heard it since he died. We lost him seven years ago, but he’s the reason I took this chance.” She rubs her eyes with the back of her hand, then scootches closer. “He gave up the dream to become a singer professionally because he didn’t think he could be famous and have enough time for a family. Some part of me feels like since I had nothing tying me down that maybe I could live out this dream,hisdream.” She lifts her hands for a moment, gesturing in the air, claiming the space around us. “Nashville seemed like the best place to do it.”

Her head falls forward and a few silent tears run down her cheeks. I squeeze her thigh lightly, reminding her I’m here,hoping it’s enough to give her the courage to keep sharing if she wants to. I can’t imagine what losing a parent must feel like. But if it’s anything like the loss I felt—still feel, to be honest—when I think of Pops, I can understand her pain.

She places her hand on mine and continues. “My parents had the kind of love I dreamed of having one day. Love that you would give up anything for, even if you didn’t have to. My mom would never have asked him not to go after his dream, but I think for him, the moment he found out she was pregnant his mindset just shifted.” Her lips curve upward softly, her gaze warming. “He was my best friend and the person I shared absolutely everything with. I wanted to be just like him for as long as I can even remember, and music becameourthing instead of just his.”

I nod, not wanting to interrupt her as she lays her heart out to someone she has only just met. I wonder if she’s usually so open, or if something about me makes her feel inclined to share. Either way, I’m grateful she feels comfortable enough to tell me. Honored, actually, because for some reason I really want to know more.

Like I said, music was the center of our world.” Her foot begins to tap slightly. “We’d always have these bonfires at the house and Dad would bring out his guitar and sing for us all.

He always wore his heart on his sleeve, but in those moments, you could feel every piece of him radiating joy.”

I can feel the lead up with every word she speaks.

“I asked my dad if we could have a bonfire the day I lost him.” A steady flow of tears trickle down her cheeks once more, but she pushes forward, almost as if she needs to share this moment the most. “I knew he’d say yes, he never said no.” A soft smile shines through her tears, but disappears just as fast as it came. “My life had been so filled with love and joy I never knew what it would be like for that to be gone…until I saw the look of fear in my dad’seyes.” She starts to tremble and I scooch closer to her, wrapping my arm around her lower back. “He had a stroke. I tried to get him help, I tried to save him, but he died right in front of me, and part of me died right alongside him.”

She lets out a sob, and I can literally see her heart shatter into a million pieces and I can tell it’s not for the first time. She didn’t just lose a parent, she lost her spark.

18

DAISY - JUNE 25, 2004

I knewthe time would come when I would have to elaborate on my dad’s passing and why I came to Nashville with little to no plan, but I never really imagined I’d be sitting on the steps of a monument with a little bit of liquid courage and the biggest crush I’ve ever had while talking about it.

There’s never a good time to talk about death, but, I figure now is as good of a time as any to explain my reaction to the song Sawyer chose to sing when I first saw him. The words just start pouring out of me, something about talking to him feels easy—though it could be the fact that I drank more than I should have, or that the song feels like some kind of connection we both share. Either way, I feel like I can tell him anything. At least in this moment.

At first, the words flow from me rather easily, but the more I speak the harder it gets. I’ve bottled up this pain for so long, that now as I finally share it, there is no holding back all the tears. With every word I speak, I become closer and closer to the realization that my life had been beautiful and perfect in every way before I lost my dad. Something I didn’t mean to take for granted, but I did.

As I sit here, crying in Sawyer’s arms, I think about how many more times I should have told my dad I loved him, or how many times I acted out of line—as kids do—and what I wouldn’t give to take those moments back. To spend one last time with my dad as he sang his heart out, as he slowed the room and made everyone listen, just like Sawyer recently did.

I don’t even know why, but I want Sawyer to know me, to truly know who I am in the hope that he will understand what my dad means to me and how much music means to me because of him.

My entire world had shattered into a million broken pieces when he’d died. I had watched the life drift out of the one person I’d always aspired to be. The person that held me when I was sad. Made me feel okay when I wasn’t. The person that helped shape me into who I am before he himself had even known who I was.

Only the sound of my sobs fill the space between us. I lean my head into his chest, and he holds me as I cry. And it is not out of pity, I’ve known and seen pity since my dad’s death. No, this is pure, genuine compassion. I can feel it deep in my soul. My tears slow, and I realize how much I needed this moment, and how lucky I am that I am being met with compassion instead of avoidance.

I dry my eyes and take a huge breath while Sawyer releases his hold on me.

“Thank you for not being freaked out by all that.” I laugh softly, a hint of sadness still in my tone.

“Feelings aren’t anything to shy away from. I don’t like seeing how sad this makes you, but I do like knowing every piece of you.” He leans in and kisses me on the cheek. “Thank you for trusting me with your heart.”

---