Page 33 of Just Business

It’s early, the sun barely rising against the periwinkle sky as I lace up my shoes for a run. Stepping outside, I breathe in the humid air and stretch my hamstrings, jogging in place until my blood begins to stir. It’s been a while since I’ve run consistently, and with each beat of my feet on the pavement, fragments of the old me tingle back to life while someone entirely new emerges alongside him.

People in town have started to greet me when I run past, utterly unfazed by my presence here. To this community, I might as well be another citizen of Singing River. Henry, at the barber shop, always steps out to chat, asking how I’m doing and never failing to offer me a haircut, but I politely decline. The two older men sitting in the same spot every morning at the diner always nod at me from their booth by the window.

This morning, I jog down a street I haven’t been down yet. When a light blue metal building snags my attention, I slow to a walk as I approach. A rusted sign simply says Mike’s Mechanic Shop, and I think about Penny’s Honda with that old ass spare tire. I make a mental note to give Mike a call.

When I return to the apartment, I grab a shower, get dressed for the day, and head to the studio. I’m the first one here and I let myself in with the spare key Penny gave me. Since I’m alone, I take a moment to revel in the wonder of this place. The songs recorded here aren’t obscure ones; they’re songs everyone would instantly recognize. I couldn’t have made it this far in my career without the shoulders of musical giants to stand on, many of whom have stood in this very spot, and the thought almost knocks the breath from my lungs.

The doorknob rattles behind me and Greg walks in, twirling his drumsticks. After this week, it’s evident he’s the patriarch of this group. All of them—Penny included—look to him for leadership and advice. Greg must realize I’m lost in my thoughts because he busies himself, preparing the studio for the day. After he’s gotten all the monitors and amps turned on and started a pot of coffee, he comes to stand beside me.

“You know, Penny used to be different.”

“Different?” I ask, looking over at him. Based on her stories, I can tell she’s changed, but I’m curious where he’s going with this.

He nods his head, smiling. “She was full of life, brightening every room she stepped into. She was the sun and everyone felt lucky to be in her orbit, ya know?

I nod, silently thinking that not much has changed. Gravity is continuously pulling me to her.

Greg continues. “Lisa might say this is Penny’s story to tell, but I’m sharing it anyway. I don’t know how much she’s told you about Charlie and Susan, but Susan died when she was twelve. Charlie was overcome with grief, and it’s like she went out of her way to be that sun for him. The only time I ever knew of her crying was the day of the funeral. Lisa always says Penny was afraid if she fell apart, she’d lose both of them.”

He’s quiet for a minute, like that’s all he’ll say on the subject, but then he goes on. “It took a lot of encouragement from everyone to convince her to go off to college. And Charlie, man, was he proud. I’ve never seen a prouder papa.”

Mine and Penny’s conversation from the other night snags in my mind, but I suspect I’m the only person who knows the real story, so I keep my lips sealed.

“When Penny returned and realized how far down the bottle Charlie was, we all watched her slowly become a dimmer version of herself. She thinks she’s fooling everyone with that happy face she wears when anyone is looking. She’s never said it, but we all figure she carries a lot of guilt because she wasn’t here to keep an eye on him. Pretty sure that’s why she works herself to the bone.”

I toss Greg’s words around in my mind. The stories Penny has shared with me make it clear she used to be full of life, but it hadn’t dawned on me that she might be blaming herself for her dad’s death or the condition of the studio.

“Greg, I think she and I are more alike than different.”

He reaches over and lays a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Well, son, that’s kinda where I was going with this. I’ve seen a little of her old spark shining through all week. You’ve been good for our girl. She took on a lot when she took over the studio, and it's rare to see her do anything for herself anymore.”

His last words are a distant buzz in my ear. I’m hung up on that one phrase.Our girl. I know he means the band’s girl, the town’s girl, but for a second I allow myself to believe that she’s also mine.

“Our girl’s been good for me, too.” I meet his eyes; my words hanging in the air with an understanding silence. “Hey, do you have any fishing poles?”

Greg’s eyes widen at my sudden change in subject, but he catches up quickly. “Sure do, but that garage of Penny’s is packed full of Charlie’s rods and reels,” he says. “His lures are probably dry-rotted by now, but you can buy some worms or chicken livers at the tackle store.”

“Thanks, man. You think she’d like that—to go fishing?” Something foreign has come over me, and it takes me a second to realize what it is. Nerves. I’ve stood on a stage in front of thousands of people, and I’m nervous about asking a girl to go fishing.

“Will you be there?”

My face must show my confusion because Greg laughs. “You’d have to be an idiot not to notice that she enjoys being around you. Yes, son, she’ll like going fishing with you.”

Liam walks in, interrupting us, and we get ready for the day. This week has flown by, recording one song after another. I’ve never felt this way about an album. My first album had original songs on it, but I was young, and it reflected in my amateur writing. Now, it’s like something magical is happening.

At times, I’ve almost sworn gossamer wisps of magic were hanging in the air, too faint to touch, but there all the same. Between this town, with its river that sings, this studio with the ghosts of musical giants, and Penny and her band, my songs sound better than I ever dreamed they could.

We don’t break for lunch, eating as we record, because we’re laser-focused on finishing up the first half of my list, but I decide to call it a day early since it's Friday and we’ve made incredible progress in such a short time. Plus, I’ve got a fishing date to go on—if Penny wants to go, that is. I wait until the guys all leave and walk over to where she’s sitting on the floor, tidying up a Rubbermaid tub of cords and mics.

It’s been years since I’ve asked a girl out on a date, and I’m pacing a ditch into the carpet, thinking of how to ask her. Life on the road hasn’t left much room for dating. But is this even a date? No, I know damn well if I call it that, she’ll give me that whole “just business” spiel again, regardless that all signs point otherwise.

Finally, Penny looks up from the mess, amusement dancing in her eyes. “I’m getting secondhand anxiety here. Spit it out, whatever you’re wanting to say.”

I take in a fortifying breath. “You wanna go fishing? It’s still early and Greg said your dad’s rods and reels are still in your garage.” There, that was easy enough.

She drops the cords back in the box, her amusement morphing to tenderness that hits me right in the solar plexus.

“Austin”—Penny clutches her heart, her lips breaking into a smile—“I’d love that!”

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