Conflicted Home (The Survivalist Book 9) by A American (learn to read books TXT) 📕

time. Sarge sat down at the table and Mike looked at him with a sly grin and said, “You old softy.”

Chapter 3

The revelry went on late into the night. A guitar was produced from somewhere and Mike and Thad took turns at the strings. When Mike started his chords, everyone fell silent. It had been a long time since we’d heard music. Of course, the girls often played music from Jeff’s iPad, but this was different. This was live music and, surprising to all of us, Mike was a skilled player. He started to thumb the strings and we were all surprised again when Thad started to sing, staring Mary in the eye.

“Beauty queen of only eighteen…….” He continued to sing Maroon 5’s “She Will Be Loved” to cheers and catcalls. The rest of us joined in on the chorus. It filled the place with an unimaginable feeling. Gone was our daily reality and thoughts of the recent attack we’d witnessed. The next several hours were filled with a forgotten sense of happiness as Mike and Thad passed the instrument back and forth and requests were shouted at them.

Smiles, laughter and even dancing took over as the sun began to sink. I was dancing with Little Bit and Lee Ann as Mike wore the strings out on a rendition of “The Devil Went Down to Georgia”. He played the fiddle parts, both sides, like I wouldn’t have imagined. Everyone was singing and stomping on the porch till the entire house was shaking.

When he finished it, he set the guitar down. Everyone was hot and thirsty. Miss Kay carried pitchers of ice water out and we all had a cold drink as we talked even more and laughed and poked fun at each other’s dance moves. It was getting late and I was about to leave when Sarge stood up.

“Alright,” he said as he reached out and gripped the neck of the guitar. “I don’t want to hear any shit. One more song, I think,” he said as he slipped the strap over his neck. He thumbed the strings as he adjusted the tuning knobs. “I’m going to do this for the brides,” he said and looked up, “and the first one of you that says something smart will get this thing over their head.” Silence fell over the porch.

He started into the chords, cleared his throat and began to sing. Everyone fell silent as we watched the old man sing with eyes closed and his head tilted slightly back. He did the best acoustic rendition of Paul McCartney’s “My Love” I’d ever heard. But there was something more than the mere words he sang. Like something lost, but not forgotten. Or something longed for and never found. When the song was nearly done, he opened his eyes and looked at Miss Kay, singing that last line to her. She sat blushing as he did.

Oh I love oh wo, my love

Only my love does it good for me

Yet again, cheers, shouts, whistles and catcalls erupted as everyone jumped to their feet. The old man gently set the instrument down. He motioned for everyone to quiet down, shaking his head, but the applause kept coming. Miss Kay got up and walked over to him and wrapped him up in a hug. This renewed the clapping and whistles. You couldn’t help but smile. Old Linus was very obviously uncomfortable with the attention and I could tell all he wanted at the moment was out. So, I went over and whispered in his ear that I needed a word. He nodded, told Kay he’d be back and followed me out through the front of the house as he was patted on the back and hugged repeatedly.

Outside, I sat in a rocker. Sarge came and fell into another. I sat rocking and smiling at him. “So, we going to make this a triple header? You going to make Miss Kay an honest woman?”

He looked as though he’d just tasted something bad. “You’re as bad as that little asshole Mike, you know that?”

“Hey, hey, hey! I thought we were friends!”

“Stop acting like a dickhead and I’ll stop calling you one.”

I cocked my head to the side. “You feeling alright? You take your Geritol today?”

He pointed at me and hissed, “See? Right there. You’re just like that little fucker. Keep your shit up and I’ll stomp a mud hole in your ass and kick it dry.” He shook his head as he sat stewing for a minute. “What’d you want anyway?”

“Nothing. I could tell you wanted out of there.”

He nodded. “I appreciate that.”

“On a serious note though, it really was a good song and I think it’s fantastic the girls want you to give them away.”

“Too many years spent in karaoke bars in Japan. They have the best karaoke over there.”

I laughed. “I could just see you getting shit-faced and singing, It’s Raining Men.”

He laughed. “I saw a big black Marine sing it once.” He laughed again. “It was fucking awful. But no one was about to say anything to him. I think he did it just to start fights. Didn’t get one that night.”

I laughed at the thought. “I could just see Thad’s big ass all drunk up and singing it.” Sarge leaned forward, slapping his knees as he laughed and snorted at the mental image. After we laughed it out, I said, “On a more serious note. You really think we’ll be gone a week?”

Sarge wiped tears from his eyes. “No. I like to under-promise and over-deliver. So, we tell everyone we’ll be gone a week and when we’re back in four days, they’ll all be happy.”

“You really think we’ll be able to just drive up there with no issues?” I asked.

“Why the hell not? Things have calmed down a lot. We’ll need to be on the lookout for commies. But I don’t think there’ll be any problems from the locals.”

I thought about it for a minute. “It used