Page 28 of A Boy Called Lovesong

Yet there we were.

“You’re lucky you got as far as you did. This car looks like it’s powered by thoughts and prayers alone, rather than automotive functionality.”

“Oh, trust me, I gave up on thoughts and prayers long ago. At this moment in time, it’s guts and determination that’s getting this car from A to B. So please, if you can get us to the next letter in the alphabet, that’d be greatly appreciated.”

The mechanic rubbed his hands on an oily rag from the back pocket of his coveralls. “You’re gonna have to leave it here overnight, I’ll see what I can do. There’s a motel next door if you need a place to stay.”

“Thanks, but I know a place or two myself.”

Indeed, I was no stranger to the dive bars and country festivals of Nashville. I’d interviewed countless singers who’dmade a name for themselves there, from Dolly Parton to a hopeful young starlet named Taylor Swift. Hell, as a brash young seventeen-year-old with more perseverance than sense—determined to make something of my life after my parents’ passing—I’d even managed to swindle my way backstage to nab one of Johnny Cash’s last interviews before he died.

Yes. I knew Nashville.

After picking up a bottle of bourbon, I carried my suitcase and my dog into an old hotel in the heart of town. I had tucked the urn containing Joel’s ashes safely into my suitcase for fear of dropping it on the sidewalk… not that Joel would have minded. He loved Nashville too. He loved its wild ways, its late nights, its streets paved with the tears and unbridled passion of every young singer determined to make it in the music industry.

If I did drop his urn on the sidewalks here, there were worse places I could lay him down for all eternity. But Nashville’s so-called Honky Tonk Highway wasn’t exactly a peaceful resting place.

And so, I tucked the urn away.

I still hadn’t decided what to do with Joel’s ashes yet…

Other than take them with me wherever I went until he whispered to me exactly where he’d like to call home.

As I stepped into the hotel, Violet, the hotel owner, recognized me almost immediately. “Well, well, well, if it ain’t Scoop Van Owen himself. Where have you been, sweetheart? We’ve missed you, not to mention your ability to piss off every agent, manager, and major promoter in town by weaseling your way into dressing rooms you have no business being in.”

“Violet, you do know ‘Scoop’ is not a thing. You’re the only person who ever called me that.”

“It’s cute. Embrace it.”

“It makes me sound like a Muppet.”

She laughed.

Violet had one of those big, contagious laughs, the kind that would light up a room no matter how dank and seedy it was.

It brought a smile to my face, and the muscles in my cheeks felt stiff and sore from lack of exercise.

“So where have you been, huh?” Violet asked again. She glanced from me to Chet tucked under one arm. “You’re a dog person now?”

The smile faded.

I creased my brow, and wasn’t sure what to say.

And without letting myself think about it a second longer I blurted, “My partner of eight years died. He wrote a letter to somebody, and he died, and now I want to find out who that somebody is. Do you have a room?”

By that stage I was staring at nothing but the check-in desk, my eyes avoiding Violet’s gaze.

She turned, I heard jangling, and she slid a room key across the desk to me. “Just so you know, there are no pets allowed here.”

“Oh,” I said before I could take hold of the key.

Violet pushed it closer to me. “So I hope you and your furry little son have an enjoyable stay.”

The music drifted up from the bars of Nashville like smoke rising from the chimneys of a winter village to a starry night sky.

I was sitting on the balcony of our room.

Through the open doors behind me I could hear Chet snoring on the bed.

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