Steven Womack - Way Past Dead

Maybe.

I sat down in the sand next to her and pulled a CD out of the sack. “Look what I found in the hotel gift shop.”

She opened her eyes halfway. “Wow,” she said, her voice almost sleepy. “I didn’t know country music was so popular down here.”

I yanked the plastic off and replaced Bela. I stared at the picture on the square CD case, with the word BECCA painted across the top in a bright yellow swash. I hit the play button and Rebecca Gibson’s voice was there just like she was sitting next to us. I thought of that first night I’d seen her, her last night on earth, back home at the Bluebird Cafe. The first song was one that she and Slim had cowritten, a soft love ballad called “When Your Heart Gets Lonely, Call Me.” It was a sweet, syrupy song that gave me a pain in the middle of my chest. Her voice was genuinely unique, pure, cutting, powerful. Now it was gone. Well, maybe not, I thought.

The lead song finished, then the opening guitar licks of “Way Past Dead” started.

“My love for you is way past dead,” I sang along flatly. I’m not quite tone-deaf, but I am harmonially impaired.

“It better not be,” Marsha said.

“Don’t worry.”

“This is great,” she murmured sleepily.

“I think we’re going to be okay,” I said after a few more measures.

“Yeaaahh,” she said, her voice drifting.

Then I settled down in the sand next to her, leaned back against the side of her beach chair, and rested my head against her arm. She brought her other hand across and ran her fingers gently through my hair.

We sat there quietly as the Caribbean sun and Rebecca Gibson’s voice warmed us and brought us slowly back to life.