Page 8 of She's My Kind Of Rain

“Look, Mom. I ju?—”

She cuts me off before I can even try to justify my bold decision. “Daisy, before you waste your time trying to convince me that this is a good decision, don’t.”

I feel the wind deflate from my sails, preparing myself for mom’s attempt to convince me not to leave.

“I already think that going to Nashville is wonderful. Your father would be so proud of you for taking a leap of faith and trying something new.” She pauses for a moment to think.

Her words bring a smile not only to my lips, but also my heart.She approves?No convincing me to stay here? No argument? My heart squeezes with joy.

“If you ever change your mind,” she continues on, “you can come right back here, no questions asked. I have nothing but confidence that this is the right move for you, and I will do my best to help you in any way that I can.” She offers me a soft, warm smile. “Now, how are you going to get there? Do you need a ride to the airport or are you going to drive? What about a placeto live? I would like to make sure your ducks are in a row so that I know you are safe.”

Stunned, I feel the weight of the world lift off my shoulders. Mom has never been one for leaps of faith, but rather consistently playing it safe. This can’t be easy for her, yet she’s giving me every reason to move forward, and it means more to me than I can ever express.

“Well, I told the realtor that I would be there tonight because I didn’t want to lose out on a really nice place. So I’m going to drive and hope that I find the house in time,” I answer a bit too honestly.

She lets out a nervous laugh. “Absolutely not. I’ll drive with you and then fly back. I’ve been on this trip many times with your dad, I could most likely drive it with my eyes closed.”

Relief sweeps over me with the idea that she is going to help take the stress of getting lost all alone off my plate, but guilt lingers. “Are you sure you’re okay with coming, Mom? I know this is a lot to ask, especially with such short notice.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to, honey. One good part about owning my own business is that I can close whenever I want, and, luckily, the timing is perfect. I don’t have any big orders that my team can’t handle while I’m away. Trust me, I need an adventure just as much as you do.”

We head out of town, leaving Tansy Bay in the rearview, and something about that feels therapeutic. The weight of the last day and a half lifts off my shoulders, and excitement now replaces the sadness I’ve been feeling.

We discuss the rental I found and my job offer as a coffee barista before conversation shifts to all the fun opportunities that there might be, including the potential interview at Telluride Records, where not to go—since apparently my mom is an expert on Nashville—and whatever else comes up in passing. Anytime the conversation slows, we crank the music and sing to the Country station, just like we used to when we would go on long trips with my dad. I can’t remember the last time Mom and I have done anything like this, if at all, but I can’t ignore the happiness I feel, getting to embark on this new chapter of life with her at my side.

Several hours—and a few pit stops—later, we pull up to a small white two-story house in Green Hills. The front door is painted a bright canary yellow and each window has a flower box filled with Begonias and Marigolds. A beautiful honey-toned wood porch resides off the back and the entire scene is wrapped in a cute little white picket fence. We both let out audible awes as we take in all the little details, agreeing not a single adjustment needs to be made—it’s perfect. I never even dreamed of living in a house like this back home, let alone in the Country Music capital of the world, but here I am, and I’m happy to be here.

A tall, beautiful woman with strawberry blonde hair is waiting with keys in hand. Dressed in a simple black and white polka dot dress and white flats to match, she’s nothing like the realtors from Tansy where jeans are found to bebusiness casual.

“Good evening, I’m Brittany Mullen, the realtor ya spoke with earlier. How was the drive?” She has the slightest southern drawl and the enthusiasm of someone a little too happy to be passing over rental keys after regular business hours.

“Long, but actually really fun.” I turn and smile at my mom.

“I’m happy to hear it! I have all the rental papers drawn up. I’ll just have ya sign here…” She gestures to the paper she has clipped to her clipboard, “And grab the check for first and last month’s rent as a deposit. Then I’ll leave ya to it.” The slightest southern twang comes out in her voice.

“Absolutely. Thank you for all of your help, and for meeting us late in the day,” I say, accepting the keys and handing over the check I had already written after speaking with her on the phone this morning.

“You ladies have a lovely day. Please call if there’s anything else I can do for ya,” she says, moseying down the sidewalk toward her little blue sports car to leave.

I turn to my mom, excitement bursting from every seam. “I can’t believe I’m holding keys to my very first place, or that it just so happens to be in Green Hills, Tennessee instead of Tansy.”

“I’m glad I get to be a part of it, sweetie.” She smiled brightly, all but vibrating with her own excitement. “Now what are you waiting for? Let’s see the inside!”

Looking from her, to the keys, to the house, I make a slight squeal, then run up the stairs to the front door. I place the key in the lock, listen for the click, then swing the door open, enamored by the beautiful interior of my new place. The walls are painted a happy shade of yellow and the artwork on the wall directly in front of me is a field of daisies. My heart fills with joy at the sight, and I can’t help but feel as if this is where I’m meant to be.

4

SAWYER - MAY 7, 2004

I now knowwhy I don’t have any lifelong friends. Why, by accident I have made it easy to keep people as acquaintances and no more than that. It’s not because all people suck, hell, I almost wish it was, but rather the fact that unlike me, most people do things that make themselves uncomfortable on purpose.

Rhett hadn’t been kidding when he said he wanted to make me famous, and I won’t lie, the idea of it hasn’t left my head since he said it, but I never expected to actually be on a stage this soon. I thought maybe I would just practice at a park, with one or two people occasionally strolling by to get me used to performing for strangers. Little did I know, my friend would find me a stage the very week he moved in, then surprise me with the news the moment we walked through a random bar’s door.

Well, I’m surprised alright, and also sick to my fucking stomach with fear.

With a name likeGator Ray’s,it should have been a telltale sign that this place would be off-putting, but my desire to give singing a shot has outweighed my gut feeling. I pace backstage waiting for my turn. Cigarette smoke fills the air, and I’m half tempted to crack the backdoor to take in a deep breath of something that doesn’t resemble the stench of an ashtray.

Circling, I try to convince myself to pretend this is just like any other day and that I’m out on the site or with Pops passing time. I notice a table filled with refreshments sitting close to the emergency exit and since the bar is a total dive, a majority of those refreshments just so happen to be used bottles of alcohol. I look over the selection as if I even care to be picky right now and land on tequila, because it seems to be the only bottle that isn’t open. I pour a double shot and slam it, repeating that step again for safe measure and praying like hell that it will kick in before my slot is up. I walk back over toward the right wing of the stage and peer out into the crowd—where Rhett stands staring at the current performer—and then back to center stage where a twenty-some year old girl with blonde hair sings her heart out. Her performance is going well, even though she sounds nervous, but everyone appears to be either enjoying it or ignoring her, so I hope that means they won’t mind my nerves either.

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