left of our family is important to us both.
He finishes, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, and sets the empty plate in the sink. At least I know he got that down, and as long as it stays that way, the protein will be good for him.
He washes his hands and tells me, “Okay, Willow-girl, I’ve got the beers. You’ve got the mixers.”
I nod and keep at it.
What seems like minutes later, I hear a few strummed chords vibrate through the room and look up, already smiling.
Bobby is onstage, his hair mussed like he’s been running his fingers through it. He slips a guitar pick between his teeth, the flash of white almost smile-like, but he scrubs his palm over his stubble without joy. Taking the pick out, he strums again.
“Hey, everyone. I’m Bobby Tannen,” he says, giving his usual bare-boned intro. After a moment, he adds, “Some of you know I went to Nashville last weekend. It was . . . big.” The crowd laughs, leaning forward to get any crumbs of information they can direct from the source. “Afraid you’re not getting rid of me that easily, though.”
That’s all he says about not getting the deal we all thought he would. It takes people a second to realize what he means, and I can see the surprise dawn on their faces. A murmur of disbelief goes through the crowd, but it’s covered by Bobby starting his first song.
I freeze, letting the grit and gravel of his voice wash over me. His pain threads through every note, adding a break to the end of a line he holds out too long. As his voice cries, my heart does too.
He’s amazing, truly gifted. I have no idea what NCR Records could be thinking or what more they could possibly want. Bobby is everything music should be about—heart, soul, rhythm, and connecting people through lyrics that stick in your mind and resonate in your spirit.
The crowd sways with the music, under his spell the same way I am.
He finishes with a vibrating chord, shaking Betty to pull more from her, and everyone goes wild, clapping and cheering, and even a loud whistle from Unc, fill the room.
“Screw them, Bobby!”
“They don’t know what they’re missing!”
“I love you!”
People call out encouragement, supporting him the only way they know how—loudly and vehemently. Bobby might feel like his family has a bad reputation, but when push comes to shove with outsiders, Great Falls has the Tannens’ backs. There’s no doubt about that.
“Thanks,” Bobby says, and I swear he looks surprised at the positive response. “This next one, I wrote it for someone special.”
His eyes lift from the crowd and meet mine across the room. For all the crowd, there might as well be only me and him here. I swear I can see the future in the way he looks at me. I smile, stopping what I’m doing to listen. I want to hear this, don’t want to miss a single note or word because I’ve seen how hard he works to get them just right.
Chasing down my dream so I can give you yours.
The proof of a man is in his woman’s eyes.
Storm for me, shine for me, show your soul for me.
And I’ll dig down deep to get mine so you can have yours.
Before he’s made it through the first chorus, I’m crying. Happy tears and sad tears, or some combination of the two. He wrote this thinking he would get that deal and we’d start a new life together, not leave me behind. The proof of that is obvious in this song.
His heart is in every line, his dream in every chord.
And though it might not have ended up quite the way we thought that trip would, that future can still be ours. All I need is for us to be together. That’s enough. It’s more than enough.
He’s all I need.
I pull my phone out, taking a picture of him onstage, singing this song to me for the first time. Click.
Everyone else claps as the song ends, but Bobby’s heated look across the space is all for me. Click.
“All right, folks. Enough sappy shit,” Bobby says, flashing a cocky grin. “This is a honkytonk, not a Celine Dion concert. You know what time it is . . . get a drink, raise it up, and don’t forget to tip your waitress and bartenders.”
There’s a resounding rush for beers before Bobby rolls off into a few cover songs to