A Carol for Christmas (9 page)

“You can know so. You’re good. Travis doesn’t give out the name of his agent to just anybody.”

She glanced toward Friday. He was a skinny beanpole of a guy with pale blond hair and piercing blue eyes. “You and Travis have been playing together a long time.”

“Yeah. We formed our first band when we were in junior high. Travis could always sing, of course, but as a group, the boys weren’t anything to write home about. I never figured we’d be doin’ this all these years later or that we’d go the places we’ve gone.”

Carol pulled up the collar of her coat. “Do you like the traveling?”

“Some of it’s good. I’m a small-town boy who’s seen London and Paris and Rome.” He shook his head. “But the road’s not easy, that’s for sure. It’s tough on relationships. Livin’ in buses and hotel rooms and all the time spent apart from the people you love. Gart and his wife got divorced last year ’cause she couldn’t take it no more. Hank was engaged a couple years back, but they never made it to the altar. His girl found herself a schoolteacher to marry. You know, a fella who comes home by five every night.”

They arrived at the Buick, and Friday opened the door for Carol.

“What about you?” She gripped the top of the door as she looked at the guitarist. “No one special in your life?”

He chuckled, his breath clouding before his mouth. “I do have a girl, as a matter of fact. She’s a waitress in Nash- ville. I think we might make it.”

“And Travis?”

“Nah. Not for a long time.” He shrugged. “Women kinda throw themselves at him, him bein’ a performer and rich and good-lookin’ to boot. But he’s an old-fashioned guy, and his faith runs deep. He doesn’t want a gal who’s seein’ stars. That’s made him a bit gun-shy when it comes to women. That’s not to say he doesn’t want love, marriage, and a family. He does. It’s just he figures God’ll tell him when the right gal comes along, and he’s willin’ to wait till He does.”

Carol smiled, a sweet memory flowing through her mind. “That’s how I felt when I met Johnny. I knew he was the one God meant for me.” She gave Friday a little wave and slipped into the car; he closed the door after her. “See you tomorrow night,” she called before turning the key in the ignition.

As she drove home, she didn’t think about Nashville or the agent’s card in her purse or even the upcoming benefit performance. She thought about Jonathan, wondering what her life would be like without him.

She couldn’t imagine it.

Would a career in country music fill that place in her heart if he wasn’t there? She didn’t know that either.

But was it necessary for her to choose between her hus- band and a career? Couldn’t she have both?

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D

ad.” Jonathan stepped into the president’s office.

Arlen Burke leaned back in his chair. “What’s up?” “Just wanted you to know I’m leaving now. Tonight’s

the benefit.”

“As if I didn’t know. Your mother’s talked of nothing else since that singer got to town.”

“This is an important night for Carol. It means a lot to her. I think she’s nervous.” Of course, he didn’t know for sure; they’d barely talked all week. And every additional minute of silence seemed to make it harder to speak again. “I want to be with her before the show, lend my support however I can.”

“Of course you want to be there. Get going.” Jonathan must have let surprise show on his face.

“I’m a married man myself.” There was the hint of a grin in the corners of his dad’s mouth as he spoke. “I may not be a sentimental fool, but I love your mother and try to support her in her hobbies and volunteer work.”

This is different
, Jonathan wanted to say.
This is more

than a hobby or volunteer work. She’s got amazing talent. She’s got a gift. She’s so good
,
it scares me.

But he didn’t say anything. He’d been shackled by the unspoken, trapped by missed opportunities, paralyzed by what-ifs.

“I’ll see you at the high school, son.”

“Yeah. See you there.” Jonathan turned and left.

As he exited the rear door of the department store, he checked his watch. Carol was supposed to be at the high school by five thirty for a short rehearsal before the doors opened at six fifteen. He had almost an hour before he needed to be at the apartment. That gave him plenty of time to stop at the florist shop to buy a bouquet of long- stem red roses.

Hang the budget. He meant to splurge on his wife, tonight of all nights.

Q

Carol stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her hair was all wrong. She’d tried putting it up. She’d tried leaving it down. Nothing looked right. Her appear- ance would undoubtedly embarrass Travis, the members of his band, and the other two singers standing with her.

Worse, she probably wouldn’t sing the right notes. Or, for that matter, remember the words to any of the songs. She was going to bomb. There was no doubt about it. She would bomb.

Breathe
,
Carol. Breathe.

She closed her eyes and inhaled through her nose, then let it out through her mouth.

Better? Yes, that was a little better.

She turned from the mirror and her gaze fell upon the new dress hanging against the bathroom door, a gift from Ruth. Black and white sequins glittered beneath the clear- plastic dress bag. A box on the floor in her bedroom held black-satin heels with rhinestone clips on the toes.

At least her clothing would be flawless, even if she flopped in every other respect.

Breathe.

She flipped off the bathroom light and walked to the kitchen, where she poured herself a cup of hot water from the teakettle. Leaning her hip against the counter, she took small sips as she stared out the window.

It was almost dark outside, but at least it wasn’t snow- ing. The sky had remained cloudless all day. Another storm front wasn’t forecast to arrive until Sunday. That was good news. It meant the roads would be clear for those coming to the benefit. Last she’d heard, it was expected to be a sold- out performance.

Oh, my.
Breathe.

She wished Jonathan would get home.

Q

The steering wheel of the Ford Fairlane pulled against Jonathan’s hands, and then came the unmistakable
thump
,
thump
,
thump
of a flat tire.

“No. Not now!”

The red roses lay in a box on the seat next to him, but buying those special flowers for his wife took longer than anticipated. Darkness had fallen over the city while he was

inside the florist shop. Now he barely had time to get home and change his suit if he was to have Carol to the high school by five thirty.

The car rolled to a stop at the curb. Jonathan got out. Sure enough, the left front tire was flat as a pancake. He should have bought new ones. He’d known this would hap- pen eventually.

He leaned back into the car and yanked the keys from the ignition, then strode to the trunk, aware of each pre- cious moment as it passed.

Q

She wouldn’t let herself cry. It would ruin her makeup. With the shoe box under her right arm and the dress bag slung over her left arm, Carol walked to the Buick. She had five minutes to get to the high school. She never should

have waited this long for Jonathan.

Oh, there would be an excuse, a reason for his tardi- ness. Maybe a good one, maybe a not-so-good one. Maybe another fire on the loading dock. Maybe his father had an inventory list to check. Or maybe he had a customer who couldn’t find a lipstick in the right shade.

Him and his father and their stupid department stores. Why had she left college for this? Why had she thought God wanted her to marry? Maybe that wasn’t what God wanted for her. Maybe He hadn’t told her Jonathan was the one. And if she’d been mistaken about Jonathan and marriage, did that mean she had to remain in Boise, lonely

and unfulfilled, and let go of her dream?

As she hung the dress on the hook in the backseat of her car, Jonathan arrived, pulling the Fairlane into the empty parking space beside her. She didn’t look up, didn’t want to see him right now.

“Carol, I’m sorry.”

She slammed the back door of the Buick.

“Honey, I had a flat tire. Give me a minute to change and I’ll — ”

“Don’t bother. I’m late as it is.” She pulled open the driver’s door.

“Carol, please. I just gotta wash up. Wait for me.”

She looked at him. “I don’t have time to wait for you, Johnny. I’ve got to go now.”

“Okay,” he acquiesced softly. “But I’ll be there soon.”

She didn’t think she cared, and she didn’t bother to reply.

Q

He watched her drive away, her words echoing in his ears.

“I don’t have time to wait for you
,
Johnny. I’ve got to

go now.”

He had a sick feeling in his gut that she meant much more than tonight, much more than needing to get to the high school by five thirty.

“I don’t have time to wait for you
,
Johnny. I’ve got to

go now.”

He was afraid she didn’t have time to wait for him in this lifetime, that she meant to go now, that she meant to go somewhere he couldn’t follow.

Q

The final medley of the evening — “The Christmas Song,” “Silver Bells,” and “White Christmas”
—
was a duet by Travis and Carol. When the last notes of “White Christ- mas” faded into silence, the audience erupted in applause and whistles.

“Thank you, Boise!” Travis shouted above the clamor. “Merry Christmas!”

The clapping continued as the members of the band and the other female singers joined Carol and Travis in center stage. They bowed and waved at the audience.

“God bless you!” Travis called. “Good night!” The curtains pulled closed in front of them.

“Man,” Friday said above the continuing noise, “you two blew ’em away. Carol, I never heard anybody sing bet- ter. Not even Travis. You’ve got me in the mood to deck a few halls myself.”

She felt an odd mixture of pleasure and disappoint- ment. She’d loved every minute of the performance. Had Jonathan liked it? Was he in the audience? She wished —

“Friday’s right,” Travis said. “You were the star of the show. Come with me a sec.” He took hold of her elbow and gently drew her toward the left wing.

She went with him, the applause filling her ears. It was a heady sound. What would it be like if —

“Carol.” Travis stopped walking. “I’d like you to meet my agent, Ken Hill.”

Lost in thought, she hadn’t noticed the man standing offstage until that moment.

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Burke.” The agent offered his hand.

“And you,” she replied, stunned, taking it.

Perhaps in his fifties, Ken Hill wasn’t a tall or particu- larly imposing man, but Carol knew he was a powerful figure in the music business.

“Travis tells me you’re interested in country music. I’d like to talk to you about it.”

“Carol?”

She turned. Jonathan stood in the shadows of the wing, a beautiful bouquet of roses in his arms. When their gazes met, he stepped forward, holding the flowers toward her.

“You were amazing,” he said.

Tears pricked her eyes as she took the roses from him. “Thanks.” A cacophony of emotions tumbled inside her. She loved him. She was mad at him. She wanted to be in his arms. She wanted to be anywhere but there.

“Jonathan,” Travis interjected, “let me introduce you to Ken Hill. He’s my agent. Ken, this is Carol’s husband, Jonathan Burke.”

Once again, Ken offered his hand. “Mr. Burke, I was just telling your wife I’d like to talk to her about her career.”

Something Carol couldn’t define flashed across Jona- than’s face.

“I’d like to represent her. If she’s willing to come to Nashville, I think Carol’s got a chance at making it big.” Ken looked at her again. “Give me a call after the first of the year.”

More people appeared in the wings, pressing in, eager to meet Travis, wanting to shake his hand and get his autograph.

Ken Hill gave Carol a business card identical to the one Travis had given her earlier in the week. “I’m serious,” he said, leaning closer so she could hear him. “You call me.”

She nodded.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Burke,” Ken said to Jonathan, then he disappeared into the crowd.

Carol might have thought she’d imagined the encoun- ter, if not for the white card in her hand.

Q

Jonathan’s worst fears were coming true, right in front of his eyes. He was losing Carol to the music she loved. The music she might even love more than him.

Looking dazed, she turned toward him. “Do you
know

who that was, Johnny?”

“An agent.” His tone was clipped.

“Not just
any
agent. He’s everybody-who’s-anybody-in- country-music’s agent.” She glanced down at the card. “And he wants to represent me.
Me
, Johnny. He wants me to go to Nashville.”

Jonathan felt like a boulder had fallen on his chest. “Are you going to go?”

“How could you ask me that?” She shook her head, a look of disbelief in her eyes. “This is the chance of a life- time. How could I
not
go?”

He drew a long, deep breath and let it out before answering. “What if I don’t want you to go?”

She drew away as if he’d struck her, and he felt like a heel. Worse yet, he didn’t know how to take the words back, how to make things better between them again.

He lowered his voice to a near whisper. “Let’s talk about it when we get home.”

She glanced over her shoulder toward Travis and his fans, then looked at Jonathan again. “Maybe there’s noth- ing left to talk about, Johnny.”

With those words hanging in the air, she walked away from him.

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n Christmas Eve, Carol was home alone while Jonathan was at the store dealing with the last-

minute shoppers. Not that his absence made much differ- ence. They’d barely spoken to each other in the five days since the benefit. A gray shroud hung over the apartment and the entire holiday season. The future looked even darker and more uncertain.