good general had lost his battle and Duane hadn’t lost any of his fights in Dry Creek. Well, except maybe for the last one when he’d refused to meet Lance behind the old barn at his great-aunt’s place the day he was leaving for the last time. Even General Custer insisted on knowing why he was going to battle and Lance had refused to talk about what was wrong, so Duane refused to fight him. The people of Dry Creek all probably thought he was a coward by now.
Phil continued thoughtfully. “That’s right. Small-town boy makes good. People love that kind of stuff. We might even be able to tie it in to the Custer thing. You don’t have any Native American blood in you, do you? This might even be better than the yacht. We can do a press conference right here in Dry Creek, childhood home of music legend Duane Enger. People would love it.”
Duane shook his head. “My voice—”
Phil wasn’t listening. He had a faraway look on his face. “I knew if I just kept thinking, something would come to me. It’s been a while since I’ve had a brainstorm like this one. But I’m back in the game.”
Phil turned to look at Duane and grinned. “We can do this. This could be our turnaround press conference. It could put us right back on top.”
“But—”
Duane wasn’t sure what the people of Dry Creek would think if he tried to use their town to promote himself. Everyone had been polite to him while he lived here, but it still wasn’t the same as being one of them. On the streets of Chicago, he’d had no problem being himself. Of course, in Chicago no one cared who he was anyway, so it was easy. In Dry Creek, people hugged each other and had expectations of closeness. And niceness. And all of those things that made Duane nervous. He didn’t know how he would have adjusted at all if he hadn’t brought that guitar with him to hide behind.
“Don’t thank me,” Phil said. “It’s the least I can do for you. I know you stood up for me with the rest of the band. But, don’t worry. I won’t let you down.”
Duane opened his mouth and nothing came out. It might not be his vocal cords this time, though. He hadn’t known Phil had found out about the secret meeting the band had held.
“Who told?”
Phil wasn’t paying any attention. “Don’t worry. You’ll be better in no time. We’ll keep the hot fluids coming. It will take a day or two to arrange things anyway. I’ll need to think of an angle to give to the reporters. They’re not all in Puerto Vallarta covering the rest of the band. But we still need an angle. It’s not enough that you came home. You need a reason.”
“I’m sick.”
Phil frowned. “That won’t be enough. You’re not dying. I’d try the adoption angle, but everyone’s done that one to death. I want something fresh. Besides, then you’d really need to adopt a baby and that would be complicated with the bus and all. And, since everybody’s doing it, we’d have to get an unusual baby to make the news anyway.”
“No,” Duane squeaked in alarm as he slowed the bus down. He realized he was stopped in the middle of Dry Creek, but there wasn’t any traffic so it didn’t matter. Surely no one would let him adopt a baby; he’d never even been close to a new baby. He turned around so he could face Phil. He could only mouth the word. “No.”
“That’s what I’m saying. No dying. No baby.” Phil tapped on his knee with his fingers as he thought. “I’ve got it. We’ll say you’re here to visit your old high school sweetheart. Don’t I remember you wrote that one song—”
“No!” Duane half stood up. He even managed more than a squawk.
“You don’t need to get so testy about it,” Phil said. “But we have to say something. Your fans will want to know why you’re here and not with the rest of the band in Mexico, partying your heart out. We need something the fans can grab hold of and feel good about. If your great-aunt was still alive, we could say you came to visit her. Sweet little old lady and all.”
“Cornelia?”
Great-Aunt Cornelia had been a drill sergeant. That was the only thing that had saved them. He never could have stayed if she’d been sweet. He would have had to hitchhike back to Chicago. Great-Aunt Cornelia knew just how much softness he could handle and she never smothered him with sentimental stuff. He still missed her.
Phil didn’t even stop. “But that’s out. Visiting her grave is too morbid. And, we certainly can’t say you’re here to go hunting for wild game or anything because that’s a big no-no with some groups. And there’s no water around for fishing. There’s really no reason for you to be in Dry Creek.”
Duane’s head hurt. For years he would have agreed with Phil; there really was no reason for him to be in Dry Creek. But lately he’d started to miss the place although he couldn’t quite say why. He looked out the bus window at the buildings just in case someone had added an opera house or something since he’d been here last. Of course, no one had. There were still only the usual places. The hardware store, the houses, the church—Duane stopped. “Say I came to visit the church.”
Duane had gone to church when he lived with his great-aunt. It had been one of her rules. He hadn’t paid much attention while he was in church, but he’d learned enough to know that churches were supposed to help people who were in need and he was definitely in need. Besides, he’d much rather go to a church service than have to explain to Linda why the papers all said he had come back to visit her. At least God wasn’t likely to spit in his eye the way Linda would. He hoped not anyway. After all, Great-Aunt Cornelia had always said God was good at forgiving people.
Phil was nodding. “Church might work. It’s a nice sentimental touch. It goes with the humble roots. And it would work in the Latin market.”
Duane nodded as he turned around and switched on the ignition again. He was glad that was settled.
The band hovered on the precipice and Duane wanted to do what he could to help. The band had already fallen apart once several years ago and reorganized with different people. He’d been the new one in the old band and now he was the oldest in the new band. And he felt it.
He missed the old band members; the ones who’d left so they could have normal lives.
The new members were trying louder and more aggressive sounds in their songs and Duane couldn’t seem to get his voice right to make it happen. That’s probably why his voice was strained. Sometimes the sheer noise of the new songs they played made him want to cover his ears. What if the others sensed that in him? In the old band, he had always been the one who was out there, ready to take the next step forward. Now, he was the one who was holding everything back.
Maybe that’s why he was drawn to Dry Creek. He’d known what he wanted from his music when he was here.
“We’ll say it’s a pilgrimage thing,” Phil said. “People like that kind of thing. A spiritual quest in the church of your childhood. This might work.”
Duane passed the last house in Dry Creek and then saw the driveway to his great-aunt’s house. There were no lights in the house, of course, because no one was living there now. Still, Duane felt satisfaction when he drove past the bent stop sign and turned the bus onto the driveway. He was back on Enger land at last. His grandfather had farmed this land. Coming to this place had made him feel, for the first time as a boy, that he wasn’t just drifting through life. Granted, at the moment, it was muddy Enger land, but Duane’s roots were here even if they were buried deep.
The bus was about halfway down the driveway when Duane felt the tires start to spin. He pressed on the gas and the tires spun some more. After the third time on the gas pedal, he was well and truly stuck in the mud. He didn’t think Phil even realized what had gone wrong and Duane didn’t have the voice to explain it all to him so he just said it was time to rest.
Phil was so involved in making notes in his planner that he didn’t pay any attention to where they were anyway. Which was fine with Duane. He turned the ignition off and stretched a minute. Then he stood up and took one of