A Nashville Collection Read Online Free PDF

Eliza walking toward me and close my little black notebook, clicking off my pen. “Well, well, look what the tiger dragged home. Did you flunk out of Auburn?”
    â€œBite your tongue.” My sister grabs a rusty lawn chair. Rather than warn her, I watch as she pops it open with a squeak and sits on the sun-baked rubber straps. Her bottom sinks below the metal frame.
    â€œComfy?” I grin at her.
    She rests her brown head against the top of the chair. “Quite, as a matter of fact.”
    â€œI hope you are, because your butt is stuck forever. Why do you think I’m sitting on the bench?”
    She waves me off with a flick of her long fingers. “Daddy has a blow torch if I need it.”
    â€œSure enough. And he loves firing it up.” Come to think of it, there’s not much around here that needs torching. So burning Eliza out of that old chair just might make his night. Sorta like finding a quarter between the couch cushions when you’re twenty cents shy of an ice cream cone down at the Dairy Queen. It’s the little things that make life worthwhile.
    Eliza points at my guitar. “I liked the song you were playing. Is it new?”
    â€œSorta,” I say, not willing to expose my private thoughts to her. They are between me and Jesus, for now. “You missed Saturday night dinner.”
    â€œAh, shucks.” She snaps her fingers.
    â€œYou can forage the fridge for all the leftovers.”
    â€œI imagine so.” She grins. “Momma’s got to do something with all that Tupperware.”
    I laugh. “Daddy said she bought more at a show last week.” Still strumming the same three chords over and over, I inform Eliza of the latest. “The washing machine flooded the trailer. I had to move home.”
    She lifts her head. “Really?” Her chair creaks and cracks and leans a little to the left.
    â€œBoon and Daddy helped me move back.”
    â€œWhere’s Ricky?” She wiggles around to bend the chair back to the right while tugging her jeans straight at the knees.
    â€œTook off after dinner.” The raw light from the overhead bulb shines on Eliza’s sweet oval face, and suddenly I crave my sister’s wisdom. “He asked me to marry him.”
    â€œWhat?” She tries to jump up, but the chair refuses to let go. Her arms fly in the air over her head as the rust-ruined legs buckle, and she crashes to the floor. With her legs kicking, she tries to wrangle free while looking up at me. “What did you say?”
    Grinning, I yank on the bent frame, and Eliza pops onto her feet. “I said no. I’m not ready.”
    â€œOh, man, did Momma have a cow or what?” She squares away her jeans and straightens her blouse.
    â€œShhh, she doesn’t know.”
    Eliza pops her hand to her forehead. “What? You know she’s gonna find out. Oh, man, we’re gonna have to visit her in the hospital.”
    â€œSo Momma has a history of overreacting. I don’t think rejecting Ricky will send her to the ER. At least I hope not.”
    With a sigh, Eliza kneels in front of me and looks me in the eye intently. “Do you love him? Do you want to marry him?”
    I can’t help it. Tears flood my eyes as I shrug and mutter, “I’m not ready to get married, Eliza. I don’t want to marry Ricky, or any man, because I’m twenty-five and it’s the next thing on a girl’s to-do list.”
    I prop my guitar against the bench and wander back over to the old, worn screen. “There’s stuff I might like to do . . . maybe.”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œI don’t know. Write songs . . . maybe.”
    At that, Eliza claps her hands. “Hallelujah, it’s about time. Do it, Robin. Move to Nashville. Write songs.”
    I glance back at her. “I don’t know, I’m just thinking. I’ve still got this whole stage fright thing.”
    She laughs. “I grew