Chapter 21

Kara’s turn:

The world NEEDS a pregnant fiddle player. That’s what I told Dear Old Dad when I broke the news to him.

“Dad,” I said, “I have a wonderful, successful husband and it is only right that we present you with grandchildren.”

I heard a definite sigh over the phone. My dad. I’m trying really hard to conjure (one of Johanna’s words) a vision of business-suited Dad bouncing a grandbaby on his knee.

“You make me regret that I didn’t make myself a bigger part of your life, Kara darlin’.”

“Don’t go there, Dad. You did what you could in your own way. And I want you to be happy about this.”

He did that abbreviated laugh I’ve heard so many times in the last couple of years. I’ve given my dad reason to laugh about family. I find joy in that. “I am happy. I’m happier than I deserve to be, baby. I know the stories about single girls raising kids. Hell, I CAUSED one, and you still turned into somebody I can be proud of. How’s Bert taking it?”

“Proud as a peacock. His words. I married a bright young engineer. We will not starve.”

Dad snorted. “Not with that trust fund I set up for you. I guess I need to call my accountant and set up another for a grandbaby.”

I’m picturing Evan Sevinsky – Grandfather. Better yet, I’m picturing his current cute wifey with a sudden surge of hormones, wanting a baby of her own. I might’ve just done in one of Dad’s marriages, although I actually LIKE the current Missus Sevinsky. Her name is Yvette and she’s about as French as I am Iranian, in other words, not at all. But she’s blonde and a bit more intelligent than the popular stereotype and it’s been five years now, which is approaching a new record.

An odd facet of this gem of information is that two days after I squealed my announcement, Nikki Granger announced that she and her Dan, 2.0, are also expecting. This is Nikki’s second pregnancy. Her first ended in a miscarriage, a tragedy that was felt throughout our community. She and I will be neck and neck in this thing, and I strongly suspect that Dan Granger and my Bert will be sharing notes on how we should be properly coddled.

“I gotta go out an’ find a mule an’ a plow,” Bert said at the community feed, with a dozen people missing. I watched Cindy beginning to smirk. I fear that I have been corrupted by my hillbilly husband, so I stood there, demure.

Somebody had to play the straight guy. “A mule, Uncle Bert?” Vicki asked.

“Yeah. Any mountain woman worth her salt gotta be plowin’ behin’ a mule, an’ stop an’ give birth in the field. Then pick up the baby an’ keep on plowin’.”

“UNCLE BERT!” Vicki squealed.

So we have a pregnant violinist on stage now. I love it. I love it because I love my Bert and I love it because real families have babies and I can look around me and see that fact in action.

What I can’t understand – maybe I don’t want to know – is that we’re all sitting around the pavilion, Bert beside me, and we’re watching the new bunch, Kathy, Elise, JW and Little Stoney, and Kathy toddles away from her mom’s side, comes up to me, looks up at me.

I know what she wants, and I reach down and pick her up. Her pudgy hand opens and closes at Bert.

“Unca Bert,” she says. “Aunt Kawa...” Hugs me. “Baby.”

I admit to being startled. I mean, maybe a month, tops. No way I am showing. So, was she paying attention and caught the conversation? I wanted to believe that. She wiggled to sit on my thigh. Her right hand touched my abdomen. She looked at me again. “Baby. Aunt Nikki baby too.”

Dan Richards’ turn:

This may not work out very well -- let’s see. But it’s a Saturday evening at the Pavilion, and I have (secretly) been practicing a little. There’s this old ballad by Glen Campbell called “Wichita Lineman“, and the picking is pretty good although I’m not nearly up to his capabilities.

The lyrics, however, might cause derision. It’s kinda what you have to expect from a lyricist who knows little about the subject matter. We’ll see. It’s just me and Laci at the moment, so I whisper “Wichita Lineman“ at her, and she nods, and waits. Oh yeah, Laci on a bass guitar.

“I am multi-talented,” she tells us. Darned good drummer, at least an order of magnitude past ‘garage band’ standards. We often need a bass more than we do drums, so...

Here we go:

I play the introductory bars, Laci joins in, and I begin:

“I am a lineman for the county...”
“And I drive the main road...”
“Searching in the sun, for another overload.”

And the Munchkin table erupted in laughter, as did the entire Sisterhood.

The guys were smiling in amusement. Honestly, the Sisterhood and the Munchkins are too young to remember this tune, but the notion of an overload being visible is too hilarious to consider. Shit. Can’t fool these kids, even on a song they’ve never heard before.

I hold up both hands and say, “OK, I didn’t think anyone would pay attention. But it IS a pretty tune. Maybe some other time.”

They were still laughing, and Terri said, “Lookee there, Jim-bob! There’s another OVERLOAD!” And more laughter ensued.

I give up. The moment is dead, lying in the dust, bleeding out.

So I turned and said to Laci, “12-bar...” and she nodded. And I started the simple blues intro, she joins in, and you have to understand I can NOT shred a guitar like Stevie Ray Vaughn, but given recent events, I tried a light approximation.

“Well, it’s floodin’ down in Texas...”
“All of the telephone lines are down...”
“Yeah, it’s floodin’ down in Texas...”
“All the telephone lines are down...”
“I been tryin’ to reach my baby...”
“But I can’t get a single sound...”

I saw a grin from Kara, Jo, and Stoney as they all reached for their cases, and Jo was first. Who knew that classical musicians knew anything about blues? However, what less could you expect?

Jo stuck in a little Jethro Tull-like “breathing over the sounds” stuff into her blues solo, and I’ll swear Tull couldn’t come close. Worse, that lady made it sound seriously erotic. Poor Stoney -- he may not survive the night. And then Kara. About three or four times better than Alison Krauss on her best day. Okay, I’m just a bit prejudiced. I KNOW Kara and that happy fiddler is a month pregnant and we’re gonna play something happy next, just so I can watch her and Bert loving each other through music.

And THEN Stoney -- that man KNOWS things.

OK, we just jammed for a while. A couple of nods and we brought it down, slowly. Much applause, then Laci shouted, “Me and you, Dan! Let’s blow out of here and head for Nashville! We’ll be millionaires!” Raucous laughter and jeering ensued. I may never live this down.

Especially if Cindy and Jenn beat my head in because I’m consorting with Laci.

Laci’s a flirt, at times, certainly attractive enough, her quick wit makes her interesting, that short blonde hair...

“Us lezzes are supposed to have short hair, right?” Her comment to Tina.

And completely committed to Jenn, who is the brunette side of the equation.

And I’m married to the red-headed variable of that equation and heaven help me, we’re going five years, plus, in being together and since she walked into my life, there has NEVER been a moment where I mused about another woman.

“C’mon,” I say, motioning to Cindy to join me on the stage. “Rescue me...”

She’s beside me with that same bounce she’s shown ever since the first time she left me with a smile, one day a few years ago beside a swimming pool.

“Stoney,” I said, “Get Jo. Roll in My Sweet Baby’s Arms.“

Make that TWO redheads on stage, one of them holding a baby boy on her hip as she sang with her husband.

I love the song because it displays the exuberance and energy of my Cindy. And we mean the words, at least the ones about life being good together. That’s reason enough. Plus, I get to step back and let Stoney, that banjo-playing fool, sing verses with Johanna. Obviously some of us are into redhead-worship.

I have to keep in mind that I lose Cindy for a couple of nights this upcoming week. She’s flying Doctor Patel to South Louisiana to talk with the university from which I graduated. New students, Haley and Deena Simon, wife and daughter of an engineer we just hired to open and manage our new branch office down there.

I would normally go with her, but Alan and I are flying off in the opposite direction to talk over a new job in Tennessee. Those little local utility cooperatives are good business and they take us deep into parts of America you seldom hear about. Unless you have a Susan on staff, then it’s “I got cousins there! Here are some names. I’ll tell ‘em you’re coming!”

“Uh, Susan...”

“What? You think that just ‘cuz they’re from Tennessee you’d be eatin’ parboiled possum?”

“Nooo...”

Giggle. “Dan, you’re too easy to mess with ... They’re good people. They’ll tell you where the GOOD restaurants are. Or cook for you.”

“Okay. I trust you.”

“Watch out, Dan,” Alan said. “She domesticated poor Jason.”

“Poor Jason was eminently trainable. And you watch it. I’ll tell Tina on you.”

“You’ve turned mean since you became a mommy,” I picked.

“My Jason and my JW LOVE me,” she snickered. “You’d do well to develop an appropriately respectful attitude.”

“Sure uses big words, don’t she?” I told Alan.