“They usually go live somewhere they can meet a lot of other songwriters and singers. Then they pay their dues.”
“Dues? Is it expensive?”
Morgan leaned closer. “It’s not money. It’s time. You have to put in the hard work, start from the bottom.”
“Where’s the bottom?”
“The bottom is on a street corner in Nashville, playing for quarters dropped in a guitar case.”
Gerrit tried to picture that. “You got a guitar?”
Morgan hesitated. “It’s my dad’s.”
“And you’re a singer?”
Morgan shook his head. “I just want to write the songs. But I’ll sing if that’s what it takes.”
“Oh.” Gerrit clasped his hands together, trying to concentrate. “Do songwriters go to college?”
Morgan looked away from Gerrit and stared at the wall on the other side of the table, a wistful expression on his face. “Sometimes.”
“Seems like a good place to start.”
“I’ve already got a few college credits.” Morgan shrugged. “From summer school.”
“You’re well on your way, then.” Gerrit smacked the table with his palm. “You don’t want to waste those credits.”
It was all but decided, as far as he was concerned. Morgan could sing on as many street corners as he wanted once he graduated college.
His work here was done.
Morgan hung his head. “It’s not that simple.”
Gerrit’s confidence deflated. Few things ever were. He should know that better than anyone.
“Five minutes until closing time,” Mark called from the doorway.
Daisy’s ears perked up.
Morgan smiled at her. “She’s ready to get out of here.” He leaned his face close to hers. “Aren’t you, girl?”
She licked his chin.
Gerrit rose from the table. “Well, I guess I’ll see you later.”
“I’ll be here Friday,” Morgan offered. “It’s something to do after school. Wish they had it every day, but . . .”
“You could always come to my house.” Wait, what was he saying? This kid was going to think he was a psychopath. But Morgan looked at him like the offer was worth considering.
Emboldened, Gerrit forged ahead. “Rae hangs out there sometimes.”
Morgan tensed, his eyes flicking around the room. “Um . . .”
Gerrit cringed. There went his big mouth again. Bringing Rae up wasn’t going to put Morgan at ease.
Morgan tucked the red notebook into his backpack and zipped it shut. “I’ll have to think about it.”
Gerrit wasn’t the brightest or most perceptive man to ever walk the earth, and he’d never claimed to be. But even he could tell what Morgan meant was no.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
Gerrit could not stand the awful racket another second. He stomped to the back door, grumbling to himself, and flung it open.
“Enough!” His shout carried across the drive and echoed off the barn. “Shut your beak, or I’ll shut it for you.”
From the fence post where he was perched, Bernard the Terrible cocked his head to the side to stare at Gerrit with one beady eye. Then he dug deep and let out another deliberate squawk. Gerrit winced. Ugh. He’d been putting up with this for almost two weeks now. It was worse than nails on a chalkboard.
He glared at the bird. “You’re doing it on purpose.”
Bernard redoubled his efforts. Daisy hid behind Gerrit’s legs and whimpered.
Gerrit slammed the door and kicked the wall, his foot narrowly missing the blue-and-white suitcase that stood sentinel over him whenever Hannie was away, reminding him of how much he didn’t know. He wanted to throw it into the driveway and run it over with his truck, but something held him back. Something told him its continued presence in the mudroom was a test.
He looked at Daisy. “I’ve got to get out of here.”
Besides the rooster driving him nuts and the suitcase mocking him, he had Luisa on his mind. He hadn’t seen her since signing the farm papers, but he’d been thinking about her a lot, ever since he’d gone into the pony barn and seen the boxes of Luke’s things. She was an independent woman, sure—Luke would’ve never fallen for her otherwise—but if he didn’t check in on her once in a while, who would?
Careful not to strain his back, he slowly pulled on his shabby tennis shoes. Hannie might be right about his needing a new pair. The rubber on the bottoms was beginning to separate from the rest of the shoe, and the laces were dingy as dishwater.
Daisy whined and butted his knee with her head.
“You’ll be safe in the house.” He struggled to tie the laces with his oversized, gnarled hands. “Bernard can’t get you in here.”
Her liquid brown eyes stared up at him.
“I only brought you the other day because Morgan wanted to see you.”
She scooted closer.
“There’s no reason for you to come this time.”
That face. How could a dog be so expressive? Regardless, he wasn’t going to give in this time. He’d been spending way too much time with Daisy.
He rose to his feet. “Not today. And that’s final.”
He grabbed his keys and hurried out the door without looking back, so he wouldn’t be tempted to change his mind. He was a grown man. He could not—would not—allow a four-legged fur ball to dictate his decisions. It was time to put his foot down.
Gerrit was positive the clamor Bernard subjected him to as he got in his truck was rooster-speak for a string of obscenities. He considered answering Bernard in kind but held his tongue. Like he said. He was a grown man.
The drive to Luisa’s house was quiet. No animals, no Rae, and he kept the radio turned off. He hadn’t even brought his phone. He couldn’t afford any distractions because he needed to think. What was he going to say to her?
She was the only person Gerrit had ever had to compete with for Luke’s attention. Luke had been a sworn bachelor for fifteen years. He’d said if Gerrit alone could have a wife and family, he’d be content with that. “And where would I meet a girl, anyway?” he’d say with a smile. “In the milking parlor?”
One day, Luke had gone to the feed store for Calf-Manna and chanced upon Luisa buying a forty-pound bag of wild-bird seed. He’d helped her carry it
