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11. Reed

11

REED

“SHE DON’T KNOW WHERE JOHN PRINE GREW UP” – REED WALKER

S o no regrets about that Friday night.

But speaking of regrets, let’s talk about them.

I don’t have many, but one is that I’ve never had that need-to-see-about-a-girl moment. You know, the climax of Good Will Hunting ?

Matt Damon’s character finally understands, after all the therapy with Robin Williams’ character, that he’s avoidant, and he leaves him a note that says he “needs to see about a girl” and he won’t be doing therapy anymore.

If you haven’t already, check it out. One of my favorite movies of all time.

I consider myself a romantic, but I’ve never been able to put myself—my ego, my whole being—on the line for a woman.

That could be why I never asked Sam if she wanted me to go out to California and live with her, like a true romantic would. Instead, we’ve kept our distance, even though we were—are—in a monogamous relationship. I sometimes imagine the crushing feeling I’d have if I’d asked her to move and she’d said it was too fast to move in together. That would be a blow to the ego about twenty times worse than when we’re FaceTiming and she says she’s not in the mood for a little fun.

On Saturday morning, I wake up in our hotel room to the smell of coffee.

Somehow I’m less hungover than I was the day before, which is kind of a miracle, considering the night’s festivities. Maybe it’s because I slept in an actual bed. So much for being gentlemanly. Looks like Dunn and I left Luna the couch.

I look over and see her writing in what looks like a journal of sorts.

“Morning,” she chirps without looking up from what she’s doing.

“Morning. You’re…up already?”

“I didn’t drink a lot last night. Well, definitely not as much as you guys.”

I sit up in bed and rub my eyes. “Journaling?”

“Writing poetry, actually.”

“Can I read?”

She closes the notebook. “I don’t know you like that yet.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll listen to your songs though.”

“I’d happily play for you.” I like the idea of playing for her because she’s really a stranger. She won’t judge my songs the way my family would, the way Mason would.

“I’m actually starving,” she says. “I heard about this really cool diner, but I was waiting for you and Dunn to wake up.”

I look over at Dunn, still sleeping soundly. “The thing about Dunn is, he loves his sleep.”

“Should we go eat then?”

I nod. “I actually love diners. One of the greatest things about America, in my opinion.”

“Well, say no more. Let’s go. You can play for me after.”

“Deal.”

Luna and I sit in a cozy corner booth at Ramsey’s Diner, which is evidently a Lexington staple, with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the air around us. As we sip from our steaming mugs, the waiter arrives with our orders—plates of crispy bacon, sunny-side-up eggs, and pancakes.

“So, you ready for the music festival today?” Luna asks.

I nod, feeling a smile come across my face. “Absolutely. I’m glad we made it, as much as I resisted. How about you?”

“I’m beyond excited. I even made us a schedule so we don’t miss any of our favorites,” she says. “There are multiple acts on different stages at any given time. I put our must-see acts in this column: Zach Bryan, Sheryl Crow—no way I’m missing her—and the Red Lemons for you.” She winks.

“Thanks. I love that. Definitely not missing the Red Lemons.”

“Are they your favorite band of all time?” she asks, digging into her food.

“They’re up at the top for sure.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’ve been following them since high school. They were an early inspiration to me. Not too many bands get big out of Chicago these days.”

She squints for a moment. “I’m trying to think of rock bands that have come out of Chicago lately and gone mainstream. Wilco? They’re older though. Maybe Whitney?”

“Both great bands,” I agree. “But there’s something I admire about how the Lemons came up locally. Nothing wrong with going to Nashville or whatever to make it, though. I think it’s the Red Lemons’ story, too, that gets me.”

“Oh yeah? What is their story?”

“Well, back in the day, maybe four years ago now, they had a different lead singer, Johnny Donovan. His voice was like butter—deep and masculine and you couldn’t stop listening to it. But then right after their first big break—opening for The Next Best Thing on their huge tour—Johnny died from hydrocephalus.” I shake my head. “It was tragic.”

“Oh my God. That’s awful.”

“Yeah. Social media went crazy after that. How would they replace him? He just had this special quality to his voice.”

“So what did they do?”

“Well, Johnny’s girlfriend, Violet, started singing with the group. Now she’s the one singing all these love songs that were not only written from a man’s perspective, but were mostly songs Johnny had written about her .”

Luna puts her fork down. “Okay, I’m invested. I had no idea.”

“The band broke up for a little while, then got back together…and then Violet and Henry Cooney—their lead guitarist—announced they were dating, which brought a whole new wave of attention and a brand new feel to their music. They started writing new stuff, but every time Violet gets on stage, she plays Johnny’s old guitar. It’s amazing to me how they’ve reinvented themselves, honored their past, and still manage to make amazing music.” I pick up my fork. “So that’s why I like the Red Lemons so much.”

She nods and circles the Red Lemons on her schedule. They’re playing at seven thirty tonight. “Well, we’d better not miss them, then. I know a few of their songs. They’re catchy. Good for shower singing. But it’s cool how passionate you are about them.”

The waiter comes by to check on us, and we ask for the check.

“So when do I get to hear your songs?” Luna asks.

“Whenever you want,” I tell her.

“No time like the present,” she says. “The rooftop at our hotel is nice. I went up there and checked it out this morning.”

“Right this second?”

She shrugs. “You said you were going to play last night and then you didn’t. You’re way overdue. I want to see what you’ve got, Walker.”

We take an Uber back to the hotel and wave to Randy on the way through the lobby.

“Do you think he suspects anything?” Luna asks once we’re in the elevator.

“Oh yeah,” I say, chuckling. “I’d say we’re highly suspect.”

Back in the room, we look in on Dunn, who’s still breathing deeply on the bed. I get the feeling he’s going to be passed out for a while.

“All right. Ready?” I grab my guitar, Luna makes us another round of coffees, and we head up to the roof of the hotel, which overlooks downtown Lexington.

She leans back against a concrete ledge, with big sunglasses on, sipping her coffee. “What do you got for me, Walker?”

“This first song is called ‘Blue Horses’.”

“I like it already. Where’d you get that idea?”

I shrug and don’t tell her about the painting in my apartment for some reason. Maybe I’m tired of being the one sharing all the time. Or maybe I just want to let the song speak for itself. “It was from a dream, mostly.”

I sing for her:

Only an angel could take me as high as you

Tell me, honey, why is the sky so blue?

Kiss me now, with Bulleit on your breath

I been thinkin’ ‘bout you all night long, I do confess

Blue horses in my dreams

Ridin’ high in the clouds, wild and free

Blue horses, what do you mean?

Kiss me, darlin’, you belong with me

Luna doesn’t clap when I’m done, just cocks her head and looks at me strangely. “I like it.”

“Eh. It’s just some raw material.”

“I like it a lot,” she reiterates. “Like, a lot.”

My phone buzzes. “Hang on. It’s Sam.”

Samantha: Hey! Good morning! How are you?

Reed: I’m great! A little hungover.

Samantha: Oh really…

Reed: lol yes! Are you around in a bit for a call?

She doesn’t respond immediately, so I put my phone down.

“How is she?” Luna asks.

“She’s great.”

“Yeah? That’s all you said?”

“It is. We’ll chat soon.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“You two are in love, right?”

“Obviously.”

“Sorry if I’m being pushy asking all these questions, but why didn’t you move out to California to be with her?”

It’s like she’s a mind reader. Did she know I was dreaming about never having had my see-about-a-girl moment this morning?

“I have my job and stuff here.”

“Don’t they have jobs out there?”

I shift uncomfortably. “I don’t know. I guess I assumed she would say no. I kind of floated the idea, and she talked about how great it is that we’re both so independent. I don’t want to be needy.”

“But isn’t that what a relationship is? Like, it’s okay to be a little needy in a relationship. You need the other person. And they need you. You sacrifice your full independence for the good of the partnership. Right?”

“I don’t know about that. Aren’t modern relationships all about being independent?”

She laughs. “If you want to be independent, why be in a relationship?”

“You’re not totally wrong. But we’re long distance. It’s a phase, that’s all.”

“And she’s been at grad school in California all year. So question: how do you…function?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I assume you’re a healthy twenty-seven-year-old male, and that includes a healthy sex drive.”

“That’s a little personal.”

“Yeah, it is. But I feel like you never talk about these things.”

Interrupting our moment, Dunn pops onto the rooftop with a red Solo cup.

“I thought I’d find you guys up here!” he booms. “Had a seventh sense.”

“Are you…drinking?” I ask.

“Little hair of the cat never hurt anyone. Knowing how to find free beer is the sixth sense, in case you were wondering.”

“Hair of the cat? Do mean hair of the dog?” I ask.

“Cat, dog, tomato, to-mah-to, Zach Bryan, Zac Brown, Randy Brown. Okay, those last three are very different. Look—are we not partying today? It’s the big day!”

Just then, Randy, the hotel clerk who checked us in yesterday, appears on the roof, presumably for his cigarette break, judging by the pack of Marlboros in his hand. “Oh, didn’t mean to interrupt. Are y’all having a band rehearsal?”

“Yes, actually,” Dunn says confidently.

“Can I hear a song?” Randy asks.

“Sorry. He’s trying to keep the voice limber for today,” Dunn says smoothly. “We don’t want to overdo it.”

“Oh, right. Of course. Are you his voice coach, too? Just one song won’t hurt. I insist.”

“Well, ah…”

Maybe it’s the fact that he drank more than a football team last night, but the normally unflappable Dunn is caught off guard.

“You have to play for the help. That’s part of our policy,” Randy says snidely. “Maybe you didn’t read it?” He has a little twinkle in his eye, and the subtext is clear. I’m on to the little game you’re playing here. “Anonymously, of course,” he adds.

“Well, twist my arm and color me blue,” I say, tuning my guitar. “One little song can’t hurt.” This is make or break. I’ve got to make it believable that one of my songs could be played at a mostly country festival. And I’ve got to sound like the Red Lemons.

“So, this is a new one,” I tell him after a moment. “Hasn’t even been recorded. It’s called, ‘She Don’t Know Where John Prine Grew Up’.” I close my eyes and start strumming away.

If you want to meet a good woman

You better move out to the city

City livin’ is not for me

But the girls here are so pretty

She likes country music

She says I’m not her type

Come on, darlin’, there’s nothin’ to it

We could dance the night away

She says she likes country music

She don’t like the songs I play

She don’t know where John Prine grew up

What does she know anyway?

“That’s…really good,” he says, finishing his cigarette. “You’re debuting it tonight?”

“Maybe. It’s unreleased. So you, ah, won’t find a recording of it anywhere.”

“Nowhere at all?”

“You’re the first person outside of our small circle to hear it.”

“I just can’t believe I’ve met the Red Lemons. You look so much different in person.” He turns to Luna. “And you’ve dyed your hair. It’s not your trademark red. It looks good, though. Is it okay if I take a photo with you guys?”

Shit. He did his research.

Luna stays calm, holding a casual smile.

“I, uh, don’t think that’s such a good idea. Sorry,” I tell him.

Dunn taps his watch and clears his throat, as if he’s also my manager and we have places to be.

“Well, I guess I’ll have to ask my friend who’s going to the concert how it went.”

“It’s going to be amazing,” Luna says. “I can already tell the vibes are immaculate today.”

Randy nods. “I might even go myself. Shift ends at four today, and a friend has a ticket. What time are you guys playing?”

“Seven thirty,” I croak.

“Seven thirty. Well, maybe I’ll see you.” He winks.

Randy heads for the door, and we wait until he’s safely out of earshot to talk—and breathe.

“Nice job, Walker. You didn’t totally blow it,” Dunn says.

“One time out of ten, I can be clutch.”

“Should have told him you play at two p.m. though, so that he’ll miss the show.” Dunn raises an eyebrow. “What are we going to do if he comes tonight and sees that you’re not on stage with the Red Lemons?”

“That is a good question, my friend.”

“Well, now I know for sure that it’s time to start the party. Ready?”

“Yeah. Oh.” My phone buzzes. “Text from Sam. I’m going to call her real quick.”

I head inside and find a lounge where I can talk to her.

“Hey!” I say after she picks up.

“Hey,” she echoes.

“You okay? You sound a little down.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. How’s your weekend?”

“Well…I ended up going to a music festival.”

“Uh…okay? That’s random.”

“Yeah. Dunn basically dragged me.”

“Oh. I see.”

“Yeah. It’s good, though. How’s your weekend? Having fun with the exchange crew that’s there? Where are they from again? Sweden?”

“Denmark.”

“Oh, right.”

“And yeah, it’s a great time!”

There’s a long, slightly awkward pause between us.

“I don’t want to pull you away, if you’re having a good time,” I tell her. “Talk when I get back?”

“Yeah. Sunday night,” she says.

“Sounds like a plan. Love you.”

“Mmmm-hmm.” There’s a pause. “Love you, too.”

I look at the phone for a moment before putting it in my pocket. Then I go back to the rooftop and find Luna sitting there, staring out at the city.

“Dunn go back in?”

“Yeah. He said he’s ready to leave whenever.”

“What are you doing?”

“Just thinking,” she says.

“About what?”

“Nothing.”

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