Chapter 2

Sunday afternoon before practice I was back at the Blue Ridge for my usual training with Chef and our gig that night, although I had something else planned that Chef didn’t know about.

I made my way around back and sat down in one of the chairs to wait while Chef finished making sure everyone was doing what they should be. The back door was slightly open, as it was most days, to let a little fresh air in and a little heat from the kitchen out, and I could hear Chef raising his voice over the sounds of clanging dishes and the dishwashing machine that seemed to get louder every year. I couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying, but Chef rarely raised his voice, either in the kitchen or out back training me. Even more bizarre was the second raised voice of someone talking back to him.

After a few minutes of that, Chef came ambling out, wiping his hands on the apron folded at his waist, the neck strap swaying as he took each step.

“Everything okay?” I asked as he closed the kitchen door behind him.

“Yeah. Tom Bowan’s son started today and we’re having some growing pains,” he said.

“Ahh,” I said, not knowing who Tom Bowan, or his son, was.

Nearly everyone who worked for Chef was someone who, at some point, had a problem and needed some help. Guys with criminal records, guys who couldn’t get a job, or, in my case, guys who kept getting in fights even though they didn’t want to. The Blue Ridge was a refuge for people who wanted to turn their lives around and just needed a step up to get there. Whoever Tom Bowan’s son was, Chef wouldn’t have brought him on if he didn’t have some small piece of potential Chef thought he could nurture.

“Ready to get started?”

“Actually, I have something I wanted to give you first,” I said, standing up and pulling a thick envelope from my back pocket.

“What’s this?”

“Part of what I owe you for all the money you fronted me over the last several months. The cash from the first settlement finally hit my account. It’s not all of it, so I still owe you, but hopefully, it’s a good first step to getting us even.”

He paused just as his hand closed around the envelope, looking from it back to me, but not taking it out of my hand.

“You haven’t even started booking gigs,” he said instead. “You don’t have to pay me back yet. You need to make sure you’ve got everything back to normal first.”

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to. I couldn’t have made it without your help, and I’m not the only stray you’ve taken in. You didn’t give me the money, you loaned it. I’m just repaying the loan. If I thought this was going to keep me from getting back to playing shows, I’d have waited a while longer, but it’s not. I still have one more settlement check I’m waiting on, so I’m not going to be broke or anything.”

“Okay,” he said, finally taking the envelope out of my hand. “But if you do start running into problems and need some of it back, I want you to tell me. Okay?”

“Sure,” I said, although I planned on never asking him for money again.

Even with everything that happened, with Mom and Dad, with Mr. Campbell, with school, the guilt of taking Chef’s money had still weighed on me, and getting some of it paid back was like a weight being lifted from my shoulders.

“Now we should get started with your training before you have to go set up,” he said, sliding the money into his pocket.

“Yeah. I also meant to ask, now that things are getting back to normal, is there any word on when Willie might get back to playing the second set after ours? I know we took some of those over when Dwight was leading things, but I know Willie’s going to want to come back when he’s feeling better, and I don’t want him to think he can’t because we’re playing.”

“You haven’t heard?” Chef asked, a concerned look on his face.

“Heard what?” I asked.

“Willie’s been really sick for several months now.”

“What do you mean, really sick? The last time I talked to him, he said he was slowing down and wasn’t going to play as much or tour anymore, but he didn’t say anything about being sick.”

“He didn’t want to worry you with everything you had going on. After your parents, and the legal stuff ... you had enough on your plate at the time. Besides, you know how Willie is. He’s always worried about upsetting anyone else, regardless of what’s happening to him.”

“Someone else should have told me,” I said. “Sick how? Is he getting better?”

Chef let out a heavy sigh and motioned for me to sit back down, pulling a chair over to face me.

“It started just after Christmas. He had this persistent cough and a lot of fatigue. It’s why he stopped playing and started talking about retiring. His nephew thought he was just overworking himself, still trying to get on stage two and three nights a week, but then the weight loss started,” he said, pausing to gather himself. “It’s lung cancer. Stage four.”

It hit me like a freight train. I knew he’d been backing away from music, but he’d never said anything about a really serious illness, let alone cancer.

“Is he ... I mean, how’s he doing now?” I asked, blinking back sudden tears.

“He’s fighting, Charlie. Willie’s always been a fighter. But it’s tough. They tried some treatments right after he was diagnosed, but the cancer was already pretty advanced by that point. I think they’ve all but given up on curing it.”

I sat there stunned, trying to process everything. Willie, my friend and mentor, was dying, and I hadn’t even known he was sick. Sure, I’d had a lot of stuff of my own to deal with, but that was no excuse. Not for something like this. Willie was one of the first people I’d made friends with when I moved here. Hell, he’d accepted me even before Hanna did.

I literally had my entire music career, as burgeoning as it still was, thanks to him. He’d given me my first time on a stage. Taken me on my first tour. His friendship with Mr. French had turned into Mr. French giving me extra lessons on music, songwriting, and everything else about the business, and ultimately led to me meeting Rowan. All of it traced back to Willie.

And how did I repay him? By not even realizing he was fighting for his life. What kind of friend was I?

“I should have been there for him,” I said quietly. “I should have called or gone to visit or ... something. Anything.”

Chef put his hand on my shoulder, “You can’t blame yourself, Charlie. You didn’t even know he was sick because he specifically asked us to not tell you. You’ve had a lot going on. Your parents, the legal issues, the stuff with the label. Willie didn’t want you to put your life on hold because of him. He cares about you. Hell, I think he considers you his real legacy. What he’s leaving behind to music once he’s gone. You should hear how he talks about you, Charlie. He’s really proud of you.”

I shook my head, “That doesn’t make it okay. Ever since I got that record deal, I basically walked away from him. Our lessons stopped. I never stayed for his shows after I got off stage. Hell, even after noticing he wasn’t sitting on the porch like he used to, I never even went by his place to check on him. I’ve been so focused on myself, even before Dad showed back up, let alone any of the stuff that happened after that. I’ve been selfish.”

“Pursuing your dreams doesn’t make you selfish,” Chef said gently. “Especially since you didn’t even know that he was sick. What matters is that you’re there for him going forward. You can’t change what has happened, and feeling sorry for yourself or guilty won’t change that. Now you know he’s sick, so what matters is what you do about it, right?”

“Would it be okay if we skipped training today?” I asked.

“Yeah. Look, I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. I know how you feel about him, and I knew how you’d take this news. I think we all just wanted to keep from overloading you with more bad news, after everything that happened. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“It’s okay. If he told you not to tell me, then you had to honor that, right? I’m just glad I know now.”

“Okay. Get going and tell him I said ‘hey,’” Chef said, getting up from his chair.

“I will,” I said.

Willie’s cabin was only a short walk from the Blue Ridge down a side road, close enough that Willie used to make the walk most days. It was an older building with peeling white paint, set against a thick stand of trees that would make it seem menacing if everyone didn’t know Willie lived there.

Willie had been playing at the Blue Ridge for more than a decade, and everyone in town loved him. So instead of scary, his cabin always felt warm and inviting to me. Or it used to. In spite of the midday summer sun, the cabin was cast in shadow from the trees it sat against, the curtains drawn closed, making it seem foreboding. Or maybe that was just my subconscious talking, knowing about Willie’s condition.