Page 67 of A Boy Called Lovesong

As he walked intoMoonshine Maybelle’s, Leroy said to him from the bar, “He’s at table seven. Don’t forget we rearranged the table numbers last summer, so now—”

“I know, I have to turn right at the third table, then left. I remember, Leroy. I have been here once or twice before. Thank you.”

Leroy leaned closer to him over the bar. “I just wanna make sure you make a smooth entrance. Not often you get a gentleman waiting to meet you for a drink.”

Lovesong chuckled. “Thank you… again.” He maneuvered his way across the bar. He bumped a chair that was out a little too far, and he gently pushed it back in.

When he reached our table he asked, “Where are you sitting?”

“I’m over here,” I said.

He registered my position and pulled out the chair beside me, then sniffed the air. “I smell bourbon.”

“I ordered drinks. I hope bourbon’s okay.”

“Bourbon’s more than okay.” His open hand moved warily across the table in search of his drink.

“Oh, here. I’m sorry.” I took his forearm in my hand. I could feel the contours of his muscles under the fabric of his shirt. Slowly I guided his fingers to the glass.

“Thank you,” he said. “That’s mighty kind of you.”

“You look…” I wanted to say handsome. “Ready for church. Is it that time already?”

“Not quite. We still got fifteen minutes or so. But I better not be late like yesterday. My father hates it when I’m late. He thinks I lose my focus on the Lord. He thinks all’s I got on my mind is playing the Devil’s music here in the bar after church.”

“Which do you prefer playing? Gospel music or the Devil’s music?”

“I love all music. My father thinks any music played outside the church is sinful, especially if you mix blues and booze. But I don’t see it that way. How can something that brings you so much joy—how can something that moves your soul—be evil?”

“And you’ve told the reverend this?”

He took a sip of his drink. “Let’s just say when it comes to music, the war between my father and me ain’t over yet. Don’t get me wrong, I still believe in Jesus. I know he’s real. But if you believe in him, it stands to reason you believe the Devil is real too.”

“How can you say Jesus and the Devil are real when you can’t even see them?”

Lovesong laughed out loud. “Noah, I can’t see anything. I can’t seeyou, but you’re real to me.”

“God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like—”

“It’s okay. I’m just sayin’, having faith in something or someone isn’t about what you see with your eyes. It’s about what you feel with your heart. People say faith is blind, but it ain’t. It simply sees things differently.”

There was conviction in his voice.

It was the sound of a man whose beliefs were immovable.

Part of me had always been confounded by such views, and yet sitting there in that moment, part of me was almost jealous of his faith.

“For what it’s worth, I think your playing is… extraordinary. I can’t help but wonder what you’re doing here, squandering all that incredible talent.”

“You think I’m squandering it?”

“I think there’s a whole world of opportunity that you’re missing out on. You could be playing on any stage you want, if you ever left Clara’s Crossing.”

“How do you know that? You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”

I shrugged, not that he could see. “I know a little.”

He took another drink, a long one this time. “I used to believe I’d leave Clara’s Crossing one day. Not anymore.”

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