some answers.
“Are you a famous musician or something?” I asked.
“No,” he said. And his smile turned so sad that I wished I hadn’t even asked.
“Ain’t for lack of talent, though,” Cleo spoke up. “Girls, this here is my brother, your uncle Boone.”
“You’re my uncle Boone?” I grinned ear to ear. “Mama told us about you! She says you have songs on the radio!”
Boone stared down at his shoes again. “I had one song on the radio. That was a long time ago. Nothing since then.”
“What are you doing back in Midnight Gulch?” I asked.
Aunt Cleo was the one who answered me. “If I had to guess three reasons he’s back in town, I’d say one, he’s run out of money and two, he needs a place to stay and three, some floozy out in Nashville broke his heart again.”
“And four” — Boone swallowed — “I’m so hungry I could eat a horse.”
“All I got’s potato chips and ice cream,” Cleo said.
“We have an uncle!” Frannie squealed. Biscuit wiggled her tail.
Boone nodded. “Y’all are a lot bigger than I thought you’d be. I thought you were babies.”
“People grow up,” Cleo said. “People change.” I could hear a rasp in her voice that I’d never heard before.
Boone kept staring at his boots. I’d never seen somebody stare at the ground so long. “I never really knew how to contact Holly. Is she here, too?”
“Cleo got her a job at the ice-cream factory,” I answered, taking a step closer to him. “She’ll be home tonight, though.”
His eyes flickered up to meet mine. “She and I don’t talk much these days.”
“Holly probably don’t know how to get in touch with you,” Cleo said. “Since Boone Harness ain’t appropriate forNashville. He goes by Boone Taylor out there, girls. Because he says Boone Taylor sounds better on a stage.”
Boone didn’t argue. He scraped the toe of his boot back and forth across the grass, making an invisible line.
Boone on one side. Cleo and the Pickles on the other. I didn’t care for that at all.
“I don’t care what you call yourself,” I said softly. “I’m just glad to have an uncle.”
One side of Boone’s mouth tipped up in a grin. I’d seen that grin before. When that grin stretched out into a full-blown smile, it would be a dancing smile. A painting smile. Just the same as Mama’s.
We all got real quiet then. Boone kept blinking at Cleo with those lonesome blue eyes and I could tell — by the way he was chewing on his lip and clutching that banjo strap — that he thought she would turn him away. But I knew Cleo wouldn’t do that.
“C’mon, then, I reckon.” Cleo sighed.
And while we followed her in, I kept glancing back at my uncle. I didn’t know if Boone was magic or a miracle, or an answer to some prayer I didn’t know I’d prayed. It didn’t matter how he got there.
I believe a family’s still a family no matter if you have two people or ten, no matter if you’re raised by a mama or a grandpa. A family can look a hundred different ways, I knew that. But ever since I came to Cleo’s, and from the first spindiddly second I knew Boone was my uncle, I felt like puzzle pieces that I didn’t know were missing startedsnapping together against my heart. I didn’t just want to belong to a place anymore. I wanted to belong to my family, and I wanted them to belong to me.
Boone’s boots thudded heavy against the sidewalk. His heart was weighing him down, I could tell. The words above his head were long guitar strings. They trembled, as if some invisible hand strummed against them:
Failure
Failure
Failure
But Cleo’s were the same as they always were:
Patch it
Mend it
Stitch it back together
My aunt and uncle both seemed so sad that I almost felt guilty for being happy. Not just happy, but the happiest I’d ever been.
I had Mama and Biscuit and Frannie Jo. And now I had an aunt and an uncle, too. I had a best friend named Jonah and I knew secrets about the Brothers Threadbare
“Are you a famous musician or something?” I asked.
“No,” he said. And his smile turned so sad that I wished I hadn’t even asked.
“Ain’t for lack of talent, though,” Cleo spoke up. “Girls, this here is my brother, your uncle Boone.”
“You’re my uncle Boone?” I grinned ear to ear. “Mama told us about you! She says you have songs on the radio!”
Boone stared down at his shoes again. “I had one song on the radio. That was a long time ago. Nothing since then.”
“What are you doing back in Midnight Gulch?” I asked.
Aunt Cleo was the one who answered me. “If I had to guess three reasons he’s back in town, I’d say one, he’s run out of money and two, he needs a place to stay and three, some floozy out in Nashville broke his heart again.”
“And four” — Boone swallowed — “I’m so hungry I could eat a horse.”
“All I got’s potato chips and ice cream,” Cleo said.
“We have an uncle!” Frannie squealed. Biscuit wiggled her tail.
Boone nodded. “Y’all are a lot bigger than I thought you’d be. I thought you were babies.”
“People grow up,” Cleo said. “People change.” I could hear a rasp in her voice that I’d never heard before.
Boone kept staring at his boots. I’d never seen somebody stare at the ground so long. “I never really knew how to contact Holly. Is she here, too?”
“Cleo got her a job at the ice-cream factory,” I answered, taking a step closer to him. “She’ll be home tonight, though.”
His eyes flickered up to meet mine. “She and I don’t talk much these days.”
“Holly probably don’t know how to get in touch with you,” Cleo said. “Since Boone Harness ain’t appropriate forNashville. He goes by Boone Taylor out there, girls. Because he says Boone Taylor sounds better on a stage.”
Boone didn’t argue. He scraped the toe of his boot back and forth across the grass, making an invisible line.
Boone on one side. Cleo and the Pickles on the other. I didn’t care for that at all.
“I don’t care what you call yourself,” I said softly. “I’m just glad to have an uncle.”
One side of Boone’s mouth tipped up in a grin. I’d seen that grin before. When that grin stretched out into a full-blown smile, it would be a dancing smile. A painting smile. Just the same as Mama’s.
We all got real quiet then. Boone kept blinking at Cleo with those lonesome blue eyes and I could tell — by the way he was chewing on his lip and clutching that banjo strap — that he thought she would turn him away. But I knew Cleo wouldn’t do that.
“C’mon, then, I reckon.” Cleo sighed.
And while we followed her in, I kept glancing back at my uncle. I didn’t know if Boone was magic or a miracle, or an answer to some prayer I didn’t know I’d prayed. It didn’t matter how he got there.
I believe a family’s still a family no matter if you have two people or ten, no matter if you’re raised by a mama or a grandpa. A family can look a hundred different ways, I knew that. But ever since I came to Cleo’s, and from the first spindiddly second I knew Boone was my uncle, I felt like puzzle pieces that I didn’t know were missing startedsnapping together against my heart. I didn’t just want to belong to a place anymore. I wanted to belong to my family, and I wanted them to belong to me.
Boone’s boots thudded heavy against the sidewalk. His heart was weighing him down, I could tell. The words above his head were long guitar strings. They trembled, as if some invisible hand strummed against them:
Failure
Failure
Failure
But Cleo’s were the same as they always were:
Patch it
Mend it
Stitch it back together
My aunt and uncle both seemed so sad that I almost felt guilty for being happy. Not just happy, but the happiest I’d ever been.
I had Mama and Biscuit and Frannie Jo. And now I had an aunt and an uncle, too. I had a best friend named Jonah and I knew secrets about the Brothers Threadbare
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