Page 51 of Hauling Ashe

I’m still stunned at what Tucker tells me is his last revelation. To prove himself, he pulls up the song from his phone when I return to Louie, and he points out his voice as the song plays. He harmonizes in the background and quietly sings over the lyrics.

“Holy shit,” I blurt as I shift in the passenger seat to face him. We’re still parked outside the Cadillac Ranch as the melody fills the car. I watch Tucker hold his phone like the device holds all his secrets and he moves his lips while harmonizing with the lead singer.

“I cannot believe you are a freaking rock star. You said you were in a band, not Colt45. That was more than just some band. You hit charts. You made headlines. You were on the cover of teen magazines.”

Tucker chuckles. “It’s not a big deal. Not anymore.”

“Are you kidding me?” I shriek. “Here I’m running around writing quotes on old cars, and you’ve already made a mark on the world. Your song touched more than one heart. I’m certain of it. It touched mine.” I poke my chest.

This is unbelievable. I might not have known his name. I might not remember his face, but I remember the song. Like he said, hearing music evokes a memory. In my head, I see myself when I was young, googly-eyed for love ballads and rock stars, and hopeful of meeting a man someday, falling in love with him because he’d been waiting for me.

“Wow.” I sigh. I don’t know what else to say. “You’re going to tell me you’re royalty or something next, aren’t you?”

“No, Mae.” He laughs again. “I’m just a man.”

He’s so much more than a man. He’s complex and incomplete. There are still holes in his story, and I want the voids filled in. Thankfully, he gives them to me as we drive toward our last stop before leaving Texas.

“Everything seemed to be happening at once. We’d put out a second album, but it wasn’t selling like the first. I wanted to chalk it up to beginner’s luck on our first one and dismiss the second. It was only one album in a long list of what we had planned. Then, Lawson was pushing for his sister to merge with us, and my parents died. Kit had lost her husband and had a kid but was on the brink of making it big. Girl-lead bands were hot. Lawson didn’t mind singing with his sister. They’d been raised singing in the church choir together, and Kit had a smokey, seductive sound despite that gospel training.

“Anyway, he wanted to join her. She had an agent while we were indie, which wasn’t half as popular as it is today. We’d be Kit Carrigan and the Chrome Teardrops. Lawson and his cousin were onboard for the change. I wasn’t happy. They hired some young guy to be a drummer and I felt pushed out. I played drums, but also the piano, guitar, and harmonica. But how many guitarists do you need? And her sound didn’t call for a keyboard.”

Tucker sighs. “Then my grandfather called, and I don’t know…maybe I took it as my sign to leave. It was my escape from them, but I didn’t go out on my own or join up with another band like I thought I might. I fell into fatherhood and the business world as I’d been destined. As I’d never hoped to be. And they went on to be famous.”

Kit Carrigan was a rock goddess. The kind of woman every girl wanted to be as a teen—edgy, seductive, enticing. She had a smokey voice like Tucker said and a hot guy band behind her. I didn’t know about this transition from Colt45 to Chrome Teardrops. Their sounds were distinctly different.

And I’m sorry for Tucker’s loss. Sometimes things just aren’t meant to be, but no one wants to hear that when such a big dream has gone goodbye.

“I’m sorry you felt pushed out or that you had to leave them, but you were still a star in your own right. You had your time and it’s never too late to have it again.”

Tucker snorts. “I will not be going back. Those guys didn’t know what to say when I left, and I left. I mean, I walked out and never looked back, but they didn’t either.” There’s an edge of regret along with bitterness mixed in his voice.

“You never know,” I offer. “Maybe they missed you. Maybe they want to reconnect and don’t know how. There’s a second chance at everything.” Then again, sometimes people come and then go from your life, but still serve a purpose in the time they shared with us.

“Yes, and sometimes a second chance isn’t necessary.”

I don’t like the sound of that statement although I understand. The philosophy is the same as saying sometimes things just aren’t meant to be.

+ + +

We stop before a sign that states we are at the midpoint between Chicago and Los Angeles and snap another picture. Tucker takes a selfie of both of us, journaling more and more how together we are on this trip. Not together-together, just sharing the experience. His hug from earlier is long gone, almost a memory like the road behind us. He hasn’t held my hand since we got the car back with fresh tires—because I couldn’t just replace one but had to balance the upgrade with a replacement of the other rear tire. I consider his earlier handholding as a sort of aftershock of my near demise on the road.

“Will we make it by Wednesday?” I ask, suddenly concerned for him. He needs to meet his daughter there, where they plan to drive from L.A. to Napa. Julia actually lives outside Pasadena, but his original car service was taking him to a location in downtown Los Angeles. “I can take you to Pasadena. Our route runs right through there.”

I don’t want to intrude, and I don’t need to meet his daughter, but I can deliver him directly to her. He’d miss out on the final stop—Santa Monica and the Pacific Ocean—but I’m not certain he wants to complete the full journey. His destination is different than mine. All along, his expectations have not been the same as mine.

“What’s next for you, Mae?” He rubs the leather bracelet on his wrist. “What will you do once you drop me off?”

I have some vague plans in my head but nothing concrete yet. “I’ll just return to Michigan.”

Tucker glances momentarily over at me. “I don’t like you driving alone. What would you have done if you were alone when that flat tire happened?”

He sounds like Jane, and I shrug. “I would have figured something out. Called AAA probably.” I can change a flat tire but practicing the skill in the driveway and dismantling a wheel on the side of a busy highway were two different things.

“And last night? That biker was hitting on you. That could have gone wrong fast, sunshine,” he chides, but I like to think I could have handled myself there as well. The man was only being friendly, flirty even, but he wouldn’t have wanted to take me for a ride on his bike or otherwise.

“Mae, it’s like I can read your thoughts and you’re wrong. You’re too fucking beautiful for your own good.”

I laugh at the vehemence in his compliment and brush it off. “Well, I appreciate your concern, but I’m a big girl. I take care of myself.”