Page 48 of A Boy Called Lovesong

Lovesong shrugged and ever so casually slung an arm over my shoulder. “Yup. Everyone needs a good reason to go to church every day, right? Have a little fun, ask a little forgiveness… you know how it goes.”

Carefully I took his wrist in one hand and lifted his arm off my shoulder.

I had to.

He was exactly what Maybelle said he was.

Likable.

Loveable even.

The kinda guy you feel like you’ve known forever.

And I had to force myself to feel annoyed at that… because I could feel my anger toward him slipping, and I couldn’t let that happen.

I spotted a piano in the corner and used it as a distraction. “You play here too?”

He gave a not-so-humble shrug. “I play everywhere… did you not catch the dinner table symphony?”

“Oh, I caught it all right.”

“It’s what I do. It’sallI do. That’s the deal that was made.”

I suddenly had no idea what he was talking about. “What deal?”

With a plunk on the table, Li’l Leroy suddenly sat opposite us, slamming three glasses down. “Courtesy of Moonshine Maybelle,” he announced, before looking to me and adding, “Although I should warn you, Maybelle’s shine is triple distilled and at least a hundred and sixty proof.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” I said.

Lovesong and Leroy exploded with laughter.

“It means you need a pitcher of water on your bedside table tonight,” Lovesong said.

“And maybe a bucket beside the bed,” added Leroy.

Suddenly there came a call from across the bar. “Maestro, why is there no music?”

It was Maybelle calling to Lovesong.

Instantly Lovesong jumped up, and again he made his way across the bar to the piano without faltering, clearly a path he knew well.

Unfortunately, the piano atMoonshine Maybelle’swas far from a Steinway.

It was, for want of a better term, a classic upright honky-tonk piano, solely built for joy, not looks.

It sat on a lean, one of its pedals had fallen off, and its front panel was missing, exposing the hammers that moved with every key that was struck.

And yet, with all the enthusiasm in the world, the prodigy who could clearly play any instrument on the planet propped himself on the wonky stool before the piano and unleashed his fingers on the keyboard.

Tinkling his way up and down the keys, Lovesong began singing Amos Milburn’s bluesy 1953 toe-tapper, “One Scotch, One Bourbon, One Beer.”

He glanced over as he sang, and although he couldn’t see me, I felt like he had me in his sights.

George took Ida-May’s hand, and the pair got up to dance.

Suddenly Maybelle—or should I say, Moonshine Maybelle—took Lovesong’s seat at the table and said to Leroy, “Finish that drink and go tend to the bar, Li’l Leroy. That is your job, after all. My hip might be done for the night, but that moonshine sure ain’t. Keep it flowing, baby boy.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Leroy gave Maybelle a wink and a salute, then headed to the bar.

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