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I knew that box, knew it well. I’d carefully placed Dusty’s wife’s tablecloth in that box and given it to him once my repairs were complete. He’d gotten all choked up when he saw the contents. He’d told me that it looked just as beautiful as the first day she’d covered a table with it. I’d repaired the bright-red poinsettias, the green leaves, and the large deep-green wreath in the center. I was also able to get rid of the stains and made the whole thing bright again, as if it were brand new.
“Oh no. That should go to a family member.” I couldn’t possibly take the tablecloth. Besides, it was for a table that could seat at least ten or twelve people. My table sat two. My entire apartment couldn’t even hold twelve people. I didn’t know what Dusty was thinking by giving it to me, but I couldn’t possibly take it. I would never use it, and it was too beautiful to keep in a box.
“Nope. It was in his will. He wanted you to have it and I had to give it to you today, here in front of his final resting place, right before the toast.”
“You mean he planned it this way?”
“My granddad knew his days were numbered when he first came into the repair shop with the tablecloth. Meeting you and watching your progress gave him a reason to keep going. He made it crystal clear to me that he wanted you to have this, and he wanted you to sing today, and if you sing, the tablecloth comes with a bonus he thought you might need for the next phase of your life… whatever that might be. How can you possibly deny him one of his last wishes?”
I could barely speak, let alone sing. “A bonus? What kind of bonus?”
“A substantial bonus. You’ll have to sing to find out.”
I took the box, held it tight for a moment, then put it down on the table that held the red Solo cups and an assortment of Western crafts, a few toys, and trinkets that would be left for Dusty.
Little did I know, the toast would be the song. A few chords were played on an electric guitar that instantly brought a few cheers and whistles to this unusual sendoff. And when I heard a banjo and snare drums, I knew I was a goner. Not only that, but someone handed me a microphone, and before I could think why I shouldn’t do this, I was harmonizing the first couple lines of,Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.
As we sang, more and more people joined in, until we came to the chorus, and everyone held up their red beer-filled cups and sang along with us, dancing in place, as if it had all been orchestrated. The more I sang, the more fun I had, and the more fun I had, the more I just went with it.
There was a part of the song that talked about handing out one-hundred-dollar bills, and four cowboys did just that. When we sang the chorus again, everyone shouted out the words, “Save a horse, ride a cowboy.”
I didn’t know if I could call it pandemonium or just plain crazy, but the more we sang, the crazier everyone got. I’d heard that Sweet Whiskey’s funerals were like nothing else, but this one was truly like nothing I’d ever seen before. Booker had been right. No one cared who was doing the singing with a microphone; all they cared about was participating in sending Dusty off with a great big bang.
The more I sang, the more my apprehensions drifted away, and the more my apprehensions drifted away, the more I wanted to continue singing. It was the first time in years that I felt so free and so in the moment.
Then, as if on cue from the lyrics of the song, someone drove up behind all this dancing and singing in one of Dusty’s classic red convertible Cadillac Eldorados. It was the car he’d driven to Gio’s Repair Shop whenever he came in to check up on my progress. The car with the large set of horns on the grillwork. The car I’d told him on several occasions that it was impossibly big as it sat parked next to my Smart Car.
It only caused the mourners to sing louder and dance as if they’d seen the video of Big and Rich singing the song so many times, they knew all the dance moves.
Wild didn’t begin to describe what went on in front of me.
And before I could react to seeing that bright shiny monster car again, with the perfect white interior, and the white steering wheel, the cowboy, a tall, gorgeous black man, in a red-satin shirt, black jeans, and a black cowboy hat, much like Dusty would wear, parked, got out, and walked towards me, grinning as if he had a secret that he’d only share with me.
I kept right on singing, until the cowboy stopped in front of me and handed me the keys to the car. He tipped his hat, grinned, and danced out of my reach.
Then, as the chorus of enthusiastic voices echoed off the tombstones, I realized my bonus was Dusty’s monster Cadillac, a car that was so far out of my world of compact and small, that I burst out laughing, while I shouted the chorus to,Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.
Connie 3
Back to the present…
I didn’t get very far on my retreat, a few steps out the front door of the restaurant, when I heard Luke calling my name. I had no choice but to stop and talk to him.
“Come on, Connie. At least hear us out,” he said, when I turned back around.
He looked even more adorable outside with the morning sun dancing in his dark hair, and his muscled chest outlined against his light-blue t-shirt.
“There’s nothing to say. I’m a different person now. I’m not that hungry teen with a dream. I have a job, obligations… I knit!”
He raised an eyebrow. “You knit?”
“Yes, and I’m damn good at it. You would’ve known that if you paid any attention to my private life when we were kids. I’ve been knitting since… well, it doesn’t matter.”
“Sure, it does, and I think I already knew that about you. Didn’t you make me a vest or something?”
“A sweater,” I said, insulted that he didn’t even remember what it was when I’d spent so much time making it perfect and stressing over the color and the type of yarn. Another example of how silly I was during my awkward teen years. “A silver fox sweater, that you said you loved at the time.”
“And I’m sure I did. Whatever you take on, you always succeed.”
