I feel a dark presence next to me and then a wrinkled hand covers the knife, forcing me to freeze or chop my own finger. It’s a harder decision than you’d think. “Willow, sit down and be still. You’re making me dizzy with all your scurrying around like a squirrel. Here, there, everywhere at once.” Unc wiggles the fingers of his free hand around, mimicking the routes I’ve been taking all day.
He’s being silly, but he’s right.
“Tell me what’s got you all aflutter.” He leans his butt against the counter beside me, crossing his arms and his ankles as if he’s got all the time in the world. But we don’t.
I sigh, studying the lemon in front of me as if I’ve never seen one before. Each string, seed, and drop of juice is suddenly immensely interesting. “You sure you can do this without me for a bit?” I hoarsely voice the concern that’s been keeping me up nights.
His bushy white brow lifts as he side-eyes me, showing his displeasure at even being asked such an insulting question. “Girl, I’ve been doing this alone longer than you’ve been alive. I’ll be fine for a few weeks. Don’tcha worry about me a bit.”
I’ve learned a thing or two during my time at his side, and I mimic him, lifting one brow but adding a strong dose of glare to my look. “One, reminding me how old you are isn’t helping matters. Two, it’s going to be a lot longer than a few weeks. More like three months, at least.” The reality of that hits me squarely in my gut and I shrink. “Maybe I’ll just stay. That’ll be better, anyway. Yeah, I’ll stay here and help.”
Those brows drop down low over his blue eyes now, turning his wrinkles into deep grooves. “You will do nothing of the sort. I’ll kick your hiney out before I let you do that. You’re getting on that bus and getting outta dodge, and that’s final.”
If only it were that easy.
I’m supposed to get on the tour bus with Bobby for his first tour in three days, but ever since we decided to do that, my belly will not stop churning. I’m not nervous about being with Bobby. I’m excited about that part, but leaving Unc terrifies me. What if something happens while I’m gone?
I can’t help myself. I throw my arms around his neck, hugging him tightly and likely getting lemon juice all over his shirt.
“Whoa—” He startles but then hugs me back just as tightly. Patting my back, he soothes my fears, whispering in my ear so that no one else hears, “I’m okay, Willow-girl. You heard the doc. I’m officially in remission, all better.”
I lean back from him, whispering too. “But what if it comes back and I’m who-knows-where, doing who-knows-what? You’re no spring chicken, Unc, and anything could happen.”
His reassuring smile turns upside down, the scowl an admonishment. “Don’t need you calling me old. These bones have a few more miles in them, so don’t you go cutting them short. I’m more worried about you out there.” He lifts his chin toward the door like there are monsters lurking right outside, lying in wait for me.
“I’ll be fine. You know Bobby won’t let anything happen to me.” That’s an understatement. Bobby has gone above and beyond to make sure this tour will suit the both of us, hitting major markets to do concerts and radio interviews while giving me interesting and beautiful things to photograph for my Day in the Life of a Tree blog.
The biggest factor we’ve discussed is that I need complete and total anonymity. An odd request, it seemed, but Mr. Wheatley had readily agreed. I think he would’ve agreed to get Bobby a rainbow unicorn if it got him on the road to support this album, but luckily, my request hadn’t been quite that difficult to grant. Staying anonymous is key for my blog’s success and something I’ve worked hard to maintain, and I don’t want my connection to Bobby to affect that. I won’t use him that way or risk my own career. Especially when it’s going so well, my number of followers continuing to climb steadily, my hearts and comments growing exponentially, and my kickback profits increasing. The money is nice, giving me a personal comfort level, but the comments from people who tell me they’ve started documenting their own lives and finding something special about the mundane day-to-day are what really satisfy me.
Unc took it a step further, well aware that quite a few people in Great Falls know about my online career. He’d used the town grapevine to tell everybody in town that if they said a word about me or my blog, they’d no longer be welcome at Hank’s. I’d laughed when he told me that, thinking it didn’t seem like a very serious threat, but I’d been filled in right quick that if Unc made someone unwelcome, the rest of town would follow suit. So any blabber-mouth would no longer get Ilene’s chili, a beer anywhere in town, Darla’s doughnuts, a coffee, or gas from the single station in town. I’d been shocked that they’d go that far for . . . me. But Unc had simply shrugged and said ‘that’s what we do in Great Falls, look out for each other.’