Page 22 of Love Is a War Song

Lucas walking in made the trailer shift as it settled with our weight.

He avoided looking at me too. Unsure of what to do with my eyes, I scanned his living situation.

It was lived-in, years of history and personalization.

A small bookcase had a shelf full of books two rows deep.

Below it was a shelf full of vinyl records.

On top of the bookcase was an old record player.

On the counter by the stove was an old stereo with a cassette player.

Hanging on the wall was a long, vertical shelf full of CDs and cassette tapes.

It was evident that Lucas loved music.

I looked to the other side of the trailer and there was a little eat-in table and seats—having been in trailers all my life, the seats no doubt turned into a bed.

But what made me focus on them was the old acoustic guitar on the seat, its arm resting against the window.

Not only did Lucas love music, he played music.

His pointed criticism made more sense now coming from a passionate musician and not just some random cowboy who couldn’t tell the difference between an F chord and an A.

On the table were stacks of papers, several legal pads full of notes, and old coffee mugs. It looked like Lucas had been burning the midnight oil. If I had to guess, I would think these were the plans for the horse rehabilitation business.

Since Lucas walked to the back bedroom, I stepped closer to the table to catch a glimpse. Many of the sheets were tables full of numbers. Financial plans. Revenue target was circled several times.

I wasn’t great with numbers, but the math looked good to me. I had no doubt Lucas could work to turn this business around and help kids while doing it. I left his work alone, instead focusing my attention on his music collection. I started with the vinyls.

I crouched down to get eye level, pulling out each one. Old-school country, bluegrass, Motown, classics. I looked to the now-closed door of Lucas’s bedroom. Not sure what was keeping him so long, but I kept snooping.

I stood up to look at his CDs and cassette tapes. So many ’90s country albums mixed with hip-hop, rap, some U2, which was a surprise, until I saw the eight salsa music albums. Lucas’s taste ranged as wide as these two hundred acres of land.

“Sorry, I had to change my shirt, I’d sweated through that one.” Lucas was still avoiding my eyes.

He approached me holding out the laptop with the small digital camera on top and a black string—no, shoelace. He had taken the time to unlace one of his shoes to give me a lace. I took his offering.

“Lucas—”

“The charger is here,” he continued, cutting me off. He leaned across the table and unplugged the black cord. “So that’s that. I really need to finish up some things before it gets dark.”

“I’m sorry, Lucas. I didn’t know accepting an invitation from your mother would upset you so much.”

“Our deal is just for me to show you the ropes around here and you help me save this ranch. That’s it. I don’t owe you anything else. I don’t know you and you don’t know me. That was not an invitation to get to know me and my personal life. Okay?”

“Of course. I won’t go to the dinner. I didn’t want to upset you.”

He was quiet for a moment and then his mouth turned up into a small smile. “Oh, you’re going and you need to do whatever you can to make that cake taste as bad as you can. Knowing your skills in the kitchen, that shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Hey! I’m getting better. Why would you want that for your dad on his birthday?

” One moment he was mad and the next he was giving me a shoelace as if he cared.

One second I can’t go to the dinner and now I have to go and ruin it.

And yet women have the stereotype of being up and down changing our minds. This man was giving me whiplash.

“It will be a prank. He’ll think it’s funny.”

“You really think so?” I wasn’t convinced. His mother looked really prim and proper. A prank over a nice dinner didn’t sound like the best way to mend bridges. But I didn’t understand his family dynamic.

“Yeah.” Lucas’s smile was sinister. There was no way in hell his dad would find it funny.

Either Lucas was setting me up to make a bad impression in front of his parents, or he wanted to get one over on his dad as a punishment of some sort.

I was no one to judge given that I didn’t even know who my father was, and I didn’t know I had any family until a few days ago, but this seemed fucked up.

“When did you start working here?” My question confused him. It wasn’t a non sequitur; something wasn’t right.

“When I was sixteen, why?”

“You started working here, what ten, eleven years ago?”

“?’Bout eleven, yeah.”

“When did you start living here?”

“Same time.”

“Oh, Lucas,” I whispered. I hugged the laptop to my chest to stop myself from reaching out to hug this man I had barely come to know. Something in my gut told me he would hate a hug from me right now and would think I was pitying him.

A loud knock sounded on the door.

“Yeah?” Lucas shouted.

“I need your help, man.” The voice belonged to Davey.

“Comin’,” Lucas called back. He looked at me. “I need to go. We good here?”

“Yeah, we’re good.”

He brushed past me to open the door and I quickly followed.

“Hey, Avery! What’s for dinner?”

“I don’t know yet, but something good.”

“You comin’ out with us tomorrow night?” Davey asked.

Lucas was a storm cloud, a bundle of energy as he shoved his hands in his jeans and paced. He obviously did not want me to say yes.

“What’s tomorrow night?” I asked.

“We’re goin’ to the honky-tonk. Gonna drink, line dance. I gotta see my lady.”

“Oh, Mary Beth will be there?”

“You remembered her name?” He looked surprised.

“Of course, you see any other women around here? I’m craving friends. I’m going.”

“She’s gonna love that. I’m not supposed to tell you this, but she loves that Disney movie you did. We all thought the headdress photo shoot was fucked up, but the song is a bop. MB will tell you, I’m sure. Shit, get a drink or two in her and she will blab and tell you all her secrets.” He laughed.

“She sounds wonderful.”

“You needed my help?” Lucas interrupted our jovial chat.

“Yeah, man. Sorry. I’ll catch you later, Avery. Tomorrow, wear your dancing shoes.” Davey clicked a finger gun at me and headed to the back barn door with Lucas.

Laptop in tow, I headed to the hen room, aka my bedroom, to get to work on this junk catalog for Lottie, but I had access to the internet again and my fingers were burning to check my email and…Google myself.

It wasn’t normal, but I was here for a reason—to hide from the public outrage—and call it sadistic, but I wanted to know how bad it had gotten.

I flipped open the laptop and signed onto my email and immediately closed the window.

One thousand unread emails.

I never left my email unread unless there was something my mom or I needed to address in a meeting, but it was my pet peeve to have any unread emails. One thousand? Since I was a glutton for punishment, I opened the web browser and Googled “Avery Fox.”

The results were bad. So bad.

It looked like I would be stuck here forever.

I pulled my email back up and started a new draft.

To: Chelsea Brown

Subject: someone stole my phone

Hey, just wanted to let you know someone stole my phone on the bus. I just got access to the internet. I miss you. That book was kind of fucked up. Lol hope you and MM are doing good.

XO, Avery

I hit send and then slammed the laptop shut.