Page 3 of Bone Dust

“Do I look like a woman?” He issues a deadpan stare. “By the way, I got to ask; you alright being here? Because, if you aren’t comfortable, get on home.”

As my AA/NA sponsor, Sam’s right to be concerned. No sane, recovering, alcoholic, addict would hang out in a bar but then, I lost my sanity long ago. “I’m good.”

My assurance pleases him, and he bobs his head. “Good to hear. I’d never be one to ask a man to put himself in a place where he’d be tempted beyond his limits, and you’d never lead me to believe you could stay here if you couldn’t.”

“No worries, my friend. I haven’t had as much as a sip since the night I OD’d.”

“Well then, I’m satisfied. It’s been a couple of years for you. I’m sure a near-death experience has made you evaluate how drinking and drugs affected you, but you never know what might trigger a person, and I wouldn’t want to chance someone’s sobriety for the sake of being in my bar.” Confidently, he nods.

“Yeah, though that night scared the shit out of me, I’ve worked too long and too hard to get to where I am with my life. I’m bull-headed, but I’m not a fool.”

“Everybody’s different, Ian. I’m the same as you. I haven’t had a drink in over fifteen years, and I’m in this bar nearly every night.” He clamps his hand on my shoulder and the move reassures me that I always have someone in my corner if I feel I’m going to fall off the wagon. I have no doubt that, if I need him, Sam is there for me.

He looks toward a doorway at the other end of the bar. “I’ve got to check some things in the kitchen. Keep listening to Savi, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Savi, huh? He calls Jeri by her given name, and Savannah by a nickname. The man’s full of contradictions.

I watch him go. Once he disappears behind the swinging door, I tune back in to Savannah. Somehow, she looks familiar, but I’m thinking it’s a coincidence. Looking at her I see a glimpse of my Momma. Her name was Susannah, and her hair was nearly the same length and color.

Momma didn’t play an instrument, but she had a soft, lyrical voice, and was a gifted storyteller. She’d regale all kinds of tales, complete with dramatic gestures and voice inflections. She told me stories of the devils who chased her and the angels who saved her. As we hid beneath blankets of makeshift angel wings, she said the canopy “kept the devils away”. Every day she reminded me that “we’re all sinners” and the enemy was “a lion seeking to devour us”. She scared the bejesus out of me with her talk but told me not to be afraid. She said we were protected by invisible warriors; angels carrying swords made of lightning bolts. Unfortunately for both of us, the demons found momma. Years later, they found me.

Applause cuts through my ancient memories with a rusty blade.

“Y’all are great. Thank you so much.” Savannah’s smile is so wide that I can almost feel her joy. She flips her hair over her shoulder, revealing a slender, swan-like neck. Her movements are graceful, dainty, and sweet. She grips the guitar neck, clutching it in a soft embrace, and as she sings Aerosmith’s “Crazy”, the knot between my shoulders unravels. I drift into a relaxed state along with the captivated crowd. It’s been a long time since I’ve been out to hear live music. Not only do I like Savannah’s voice, but she’s also easy on the eyes.

I roll my shoulders as a wave of images carries me. When I first sang this song with the band, we were debuting the group by playing at our high school dance. Eventually, we took the music world by storm, but I still recall the time when we were just kids and not rockstars.

“I go crazy, crazy, crazy for you baby …”

She’s good. Really good. Even Steven Tyler would approve.

When Savannah turns her head in my direction, I feel a pinch in my chest and a tightening at my zipper, and I’ll not offer one bit of repentance for my depraved thoughts. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a woman with a more ethereal quality. Flawless.

“Like an angel, baby …”

Momma’s words once again filter through my thoughts and I shake off a chill from the grave. This much I know for sure; no matter how pretty or sweet I find Savannah Grace to be, she’d do well to keep her distance from me because, while she may be an angel in human form, I’m as damn close to a devil as she’ll ever see.

CHAPTER TWO

Savannah

On a wooden stool beside me sits an empty water bottle. My throat is bone dry. The crowd’s larger than normal, and it’s hot outside. All that body heat, combined with the temperature, is making it unbearable. I’m sticky and gross. Trails of sweat are racing down my spine, and my blouse feels like it’s plastered to my back.

“Folks, it’s time for me to take a short break. Thank you all for coming out tonight to Mad Dog Run. My name’s Savannah Grace. Please, refresh your drinks and be sweet to your servers. I’ll be back soon with some more music.”

Twisting my arm behind me, I pluck at the fabric to pull it away from my skin. As I stand, I can feel my skirt doing the same to my legs. I need something, more air conditioning, maybe? Or, at least, a fan. I need to talk to Sam. I can’t be melting in front of the customers.

As if he reads my thoughts, Sam catches my eye with a wave of his hand. Good. Maybe he can get one of the guys to find something in the storeroom that will help, and they can put it on the stage before my break is over. I return his gesture, and he nods.

As I lean my guitar against the chair, I snatch my purse. The underside of my hair feels as gross as my clothes. Reaching inside my bag for the ever-present claw clip, I gather the mass of strands and pull them high on my head. After testing the mess to ensure it’s secure, I grab the travel-size body mist I keep in an inside pocket and pump the spray around me for a few light-scented spritzes. Instantly the aroma of vanilla and wildflowers punch the air and, I hope, disguise any perspiration stinkiness.

The space between the bar and the stage isn’t a great distance but, it’s far enough to hinder my view when I’m performing. There’s no mistaking who Sam is but, as I close the gap between us, I make out a new face and my heart stops.

Ian Stanton? What the hell?!

An instantaneous tightening occurs in my chest and invisible bands make it difficult to breathe. After a second or two, I force in some air, sucking in the necessary oxygen to clear my head and keep myself composed.

“Hey, Sam.” I quickly plaster on a smile.

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