Off You Go Read Free Page B

but perhaps he could at least give this
kind woman an answer to her why ?
     
    ***

    Faye Callahan drove off in her convertible
BMW well after dark. Dewey decided he’d start first thing in the
morning. He grabbed his mandolin from inside and went back out to
the rocking chair. He tuned the instrument to the chirp of the
crickets and picked around for a while, making up a few melodies
and getting lost in the sounds of the night. He missed his band. He
missed performing. He wished he had never let those guys down, but
that was done. They’d never take him back. It was all too painful,
those last few months when he was falling off stage and singing the
wrong words or mumbling because even the wrong words wouldn’t come
out. At the peak of his collapse, he’d tried to stage dive. Not
something bluegrass fans were accustomed to.
    But he hadn’t given up on playing. He was
determined to get back to entertaining people. It was a major part
of who he was, a part of his identity, and that was yet another
hole in his life that needed plugging.
    He fell asleep on the
couch with the Big Book on his chest, the one he’d been introduced
to at his first AA meeting. The thing now looked like it had been
through hell, with it’s folded down pages and water spots and
cigarette burns. In fact, it had been through hell, and he’d been the one carrying
it through.
     
    ***
     
    Despite all the shitty stuff hovering around
his life, Dewey was feeling good as he pulled into downtown
Charleston onto Bull Street the next morning. Damn good, in fact.
Especially compared to the college kid with frizzy hair and
unnecessary sunglasses making his way along the sidewalk, surely
returning from an all-nighter of typical college debauchery.
    Dewey remembered those days. He didn’t miss
hangovers one bit. Despite what he did to himself, his brain had
come back to full service, and that was a darn miracle. He had been
at the top of his class back in his high school and close to it at
the College of Charleston, but all that drinking had worked away at
his brain like a wrecking ball. He was thankful that he was able to
recover. He liked his brain.
    Bull Street was good living if you could get
it. It ran all the way to the water on one end and right up to the
College of Charleston campus on the other. Gina’s place was in the
middle, not too far from MUSC, the medical university. She had
lived in one of the enormous century-old mansions that—because of
escalating property taxes and dwindling trust funds—had been turned
into funky apartment buildings that were perfect for the more
well-to-do MUSC and C of C students.
    Dewey walked down the long porch, passing
two other apartment doors and some wicker furniture. He unlocked
the door to 1-C and entered, closing the door and leaving behind
the sounds of construction at the neighbor’s house. He stood in the
entryway for a moment. How strange and sad to be in the home of
someone recently deceased. The family hadn’t started packing up,
which made sense considering they didn’t even have a body to bury
yet. Dewey had asked Faye to keep things as they were until he had
found her answer, so hopefully any intentions they had were now on
hold.
    The apartment looked like Gina had gone to
class and would be back any minute. There were dishes in the sink
and cold coffee in the pot. But it wasn’t dirty at all, especially
not for someone her age. It actually looked like she had a
housekeeper. The wood floors had that extra sheen to them.
    Two impressive watercolors
of flowers hung on the wall. He was no expert, but both looked like
originals and looked expensive. Dewey noticed a laptop on the desk
and made a mental note to take that with him. A copy of US Weekly and People were on the
coffee table. Trashy magazine reading was certainly a much better
vice than the ones Dewey had chosen in the past.
    The bedroom was also quite tidy, save the
unmade bed. “Who slept in this bed with you, Gina?” he said