Page 26 of Georgia: Britain's Story: Part 1
“Nope,” and she laughs. “I couldn’t tell you a single current country artist or song, but Georgia didn’t raise a fool. I cut teeth, literally, to Alabama and Reba McEntire and George Strait.” She takes a brief pause. “I actually haven’t listened to any country music since I left here. Too many memories.” She wrinkles her noise at that last sentiment. Then, as if on cue, an old Alabama song starts to play. I just nod my head in a reply.
From one of the booths at the side, Sandy stands up and starts moving the empty tables to the sides of the room. I nudge Britain’s arm to alert her to the movement. She looks up and sees me and her eyes go wide with excitement.
“Oooh, it’s happening,” she says in a whisper laced with anticipation. Jim leaves his booth and leads his wife, Sandy, out to the dance floor. They pick up dancing like it’s as natural as breathing. They move across the floor perfectly in time to the rhythm and each other as Jim twirls Sandy, eliciting a gleeful laugh. They’re in their early 70’s now, but still move like a pair of 20 year olds. Guess that’s what it's like when you’ve been partners for four decades.
Britain repositions herself with her back to the bar, beer in hand to watch as a few other locals slip out of their booths and off their stools to join in. She looks beyond thrilled sitting there, drinking her beer, swaying lightly with the music as the others dance. And I’m sitting there smiling at her like a fool.A damn fool.
NINE
Britain
Even though I agreed to come tonight, I was still harboring some reluctance when I got in the car. But somehow Liam knew exactly what to do to soothe my anxiety. When he put his hand on my leg, and kept it there, a feeling of rightness pulsed through me and all my anxiety was gone. I decided then that I was going to try my hardest to enjoy myself in the moment. If happiness is truly a choice, I was going to try my hardest to be so. Try and relish what was in front of me. I know there’s a chance this could be a once in a lifetime encounter and I’ll never see himthiswayagain.
I don’t know what I expected when he asked to get dinner. Whatever it was, though, it was definitely not this. We’ve been sitting at this little mountain town bar for an hour now, watching the regulars dance, drinking beer, laughing, and it’s all been oddly perfect. I haven’t been on a first date in like 17 years, but if I had to choose a date to ease back into it all, this would be it. Sweats and beer, an amazing sandwich, and excellent people watching.
I have to remember this isn’t a date though. While Liam has touched me unnecessarily numerous times tonight, and even though I enjoy the feel of his hands on me, I don’t think he means anything by it. I think that’s just his nature. Just his way of expressing a comfortable familiarity.
Sandy, who Liam tells me is the ringleader of the regulars and owns the coffee/gift shop, just finished a line dancing lesson to “Boot Scootin’ Boogie.” She’s making her way over to Liam and me now, and I’m hoping like hell she doesn’t try to rope us into participating.
“Sugar, this is the most fun I’ve had on a Tuesday night in at least a decade! You come by the shop tomorrow. Your morning coffee’s on me, babe,” she says, her voice raspy and well-worn, comforting.
“Oh, that was all you! I enjoyed watching the line dancing. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen anything like it, and you were great.”
“Oh don’t play coy, I know you picked out every one of those songs. You got taste, baby.” My cheeks blush over the oddly nice comment. “Now don’t forget to come get your coffee, okay?” She gives my leg a firm pat, shoots a wink at Liam, and struts back to her booth for a tall glass of water.
“Well Bambi, looks like you’ve made an impression. I’ve lived in Spearhead for nine years, and she’s never given me a free coffee before,” Liam says.
“Me neither,” Rick seconds, then turns his attention to me. “Come back and play DJ anytime, got it?” I nod without sound. I still get uncomfortable accepting compliments or attention sometimes.
“Well, my playlist isn’t over yet. We’ll see if you still feel the same once it’s done.” I know the next couple of songs are a good bit different from the line dancing hit list that's fueled the night so far. I think I need something a bit stronger than beer to sit here and listen to them.
“Rick, could I get a shot of Patrón, please?”
“Sure thing, sweetheart.” He turns to Liam in question, and he nods his head yes. The Britain of an hour ago was feeling a lot bolder than the Britain of right now.
Rick sets down our shots in front of us and Liam turns to me while gesturing to the shot and asks, “Is this your attempt at trying to get me to dance?”
I laugh. “No, I swear. Umm, the last couple songs that I chose were all of Georgia’s favorites.” I pause, “I thought, it was a nice thing to do when I chose all the songs that her and I listened to growing up, but now, I’m actually feeling a bit sad about it.” I shrug my shoulders and just keep going, “I know that probably sounds weird, maybe lame. I mean, they’re just songs, right? But these last ones, they’re the ones she would play on repeat. All. The. Time.” I lift the shot glass up to cheers and say, “To liquid courage,” while he says “To Georgia,” at the same time as me. We lock eyes and take our shots.
“You know, you remind me a lot of her,” Liam says to me, softly. “The two of you look nothing alike.”Obviously, my mom was a tall, tan, brunette knockout, and I’m pale, and light, and a little soft around the edges. “But there’s something about you, and her, the both of you. It’s a lightness in your demeanor, your mannerisms, even your gait is the same.”
I know he means this as a compliment, and most people who knew my mother would say the same. But knowing my mother how I did, being told I’m like her doesn’t hit the way it's intended. I don’t want to let him in on that so I just nod my head in thanks and agreement with a slight smile on my face.
“You weren’t at her funeral,” he says to me. His tone is gentle, and I know he’s not accusing me or judging me.
“I couldn’t.”
“You mean, you wouldn’t.” It’s not a question.
“Fine, I wouldn’t. I wasn’t ready to seeeveryoneback then.”
“I get it,” he says, and reaches his hand out to grasp mine, giving it a squeeze then running his thumb over the top.
The first of the songs starts playing, and I flinch a little bit. It’s weird, when you haven’t heard a song for so long, yet it’s so ingrained in you that you still know every word. “The Chair” by George Strait is floating through the air now, bringing down the overall mood and noise level in the bar. I notice several couples slip on to the dance floor for a slow dance.
Before I realize it, Liam has slid his fingers between mine and he’s pulling me up and guiding me over to the dance floor.Oh no, no, no, no.
“Liam, I really can’t dance,” I say in a low voice, trying to put the brakes on this trainwreck.
