Page 70 of Debts and Desires
“What?” he asked, uncertainty creeping over his expression.
“I love it,” I said. “I would’ve never thought of something like that. Where did you learn?” he shrugged.
“Years of practice and some lessons with a crotchety old man named Walter.”
“Like, Miss Etta’s Walter?”
“The very same,” he chuckled. “Granddad and Walter were best friends, played in a band together. They were big on music and how it soothed the soul. My granddad got a guitar for me because he thought I needed something better to cope with. I, uh, had a lot of anger issues growin’ up after...”
“After?” I prompted.
“After my Mama left.” I recalled when I’d asked about her. Carter had said he didn’t know much about her.
“How old were you?”
“Six.” He paused, his eyes moving from mine to the neck of my guitar. “She and my dad had a lot of... issues. She was young when she got pregnant with me, just turned seventeen, coerced into it by my dad, who was twenty-five at the time. Fuckin’ sick predator… I don’t remember much other than the fightin’ and abuse. He beat her… forced himself on her, screamed at her for not being the dutiful house wife she ought’ve been according to the bible. All while he was usin’ and abusin’ other girls. When he’d leave, I’d get hollered at from her. She never laid a hand on me. And even if she would’ve, her words hurt worse. I know she loved me, but she hated me, too. One day she just started packin’ when dad was away.” He paused, struggling to find words. I reached over, placing my hand on his leg.
“I went to my room and started packin’, too. I followed her to the front porch, where she turned and told me I was stayin’. She didn’t want me. Mama told me I was a mistake, then up and left.” Carter’s eyes met mine. “Without Mama to yell at and beat, he turned to me.”
“Carter, I’m so sorry,” I whispered. He shrugged.
“It only lasted a little. Granddad took me in. Had he known what a little hellion I was gonna be, I’m sure he would’ve thought twice,” he chuckled. “I miss that old fucker sometimes. HimandMister Walter.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to ramble on.”
“That’s okay. You can anytime, you know that.” There was a brief silence. “Did you tell anyone? About your dad and the other girls?”
“Once, when I was eighteen. After I… threatened him with some other stuff.”
“What happened?”
“He used his influence and turned the story on me. Whole town called me a rapist for years ‘til my granddad got it all sorted out. There’s still some out there that call me that.” He didn’t seem to want to talk much more about it, so I didn’t push anymore. It was the most he had opened up to me.
“So, uh...” I started, trying to change the subject. “You’ve played for Tyler, right?”
“I do it every now and then. Usually when Tyler needs an act last minute,” he said with a nod.
“Sing and play me a song,” I said. Carter scoffed. “I’m serious. I want to hear you.”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause.” Carter’s cheeks burned bright.
“Are you shy, Mister Black?” I asked, earning me a genuine smile.
“Only around you, Miss Brighton.”
“Come on, Carter, please,” I dragged the word out. “Everyone’s always saying how good you are, but I haven’t gotten to hear it yet.” He let out a sigh.
“Not tonight, Buttercup.” He stood, setting my guitar back in its place. “I promise I will, just don’t got it in me right now.”
“Okay.” I stood with him and we headed to the kitchen to eat.
After dinner, as we were cleaning and putting everything away, I paused and leaned on the counter. I looked at him, wanting to make it all better the only way I knew how.
“I know you said you don’t have it in you tonight to sing, but you do haveotherthings in you tonight, don’t you?” He paused and turned toward me, a wicked grin plastered on his face.
“For you? Always.”
