A Nashville Collection by Rachel Hauck Page A

Footsteps resound from the other side of the door.
    â€œSo? She’ll be happy to know someone my age remembers one of her songs. Especially since she was a hit in the eight-track era.”
    I swallow a laugh. “Maybe. But let’s not push it.”
    The paned-window front door swings open. “Well, well, Robin McAfee.” Birdie Griffin stands in the doorway wearing a pair of tight blue jeans and a white top. In her mid fifties, she’s attractive, tall and slender, with big blonde hair and long, red nails.
    I meet her brown, snappy gaze and offer my hand. “Birdie Griffin, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
    She laughs and pulls me in for a hug. “Any friend of Jeeter’s is a friend of mine.” My face is buried in her pillowy bosom. I hear Skyler’s snicker. “Your apartment is all ready. You called me just in time. I just sent my last tenant packing.”
    â€œOh?” I follow her up a wide oak staircase.
    â€œTried to make it as a songwriter, but—” Birdie’s poofy hair bounces as she walks “—she couldn’t pay the rent, so I told her to go on home and stop wasting everybody’s time. Especially her own.” She stops at the top of the landing. “Then you called.”
    â€œLucky me.” An eerie feeling shimmies down my legs. No fooling around with this woman.
    â€œTough business, songwriting,” Skyler offers.
    â€œIt ain’t for the weakhearted.” Birdie starts up the second flight of stairs, her backless high-heeled shoes slapping against her heels. “And you are?” She looks back at Skyler.
    â€œThe weakhearted,” Skyler says.
    â€œIs she going to be around here much?” Birdie asks with a smirk.
    I nod. “Birdie, meet my cousin, Skyler Banks.”
    â€œI suppose I’ll get used to it,” Birdie says with a huff, handing me my apartment key.
    Skyler sticks her tongue out behind Birdie’s back. I warn her with a sharp glance to shape up as I unlock the door to my new place and step inside.
    â€œWow. Birdie, this is great.”
    â€œIt’s cozy,” she says.
    The three of us enter into the living room, furnished with a rusty brown-leather sofa, club chair, coffee table, and beige area rug. The bedroom is to the right, behind a divider, and the dining area, complete with a kitchenette, is to the left. The slanted ceiling and angled walls are painted a pale yellow with a soft blue trim.
    Birdie taps the wall with her fingernail. “I picked the trim color, Robin’s-egg blue, the day before you called.”
    â€œIt’s a sign,” Skyler says, walking over to the long row of front-facing windows. “Robin, you’ve got a great deck out here.” She swings open one of the hinged windows. A gust of spring air rushes in.
    â€œThe porch is great for catching the moonlight on a clear night,” Birdie offers.
    Skyler steps through the window. “You can see the rooftops of Music Row from here. Another sign.”
    â€œStop with the ‘It’s a sign’ stuff, will you?” I join Skyler on the deck. “Isn’t it enough of a sign that I’m here?”
    I peer through the thick branches of Birdie’s front maple to see the rooftops of Music Row. Well, well. My new home watches over the land of the legends. It makes me feel small and unworthy. Who am I to try to join them?
    â€œLet me show you a few more things.” Birdie draws us back inside. “Here’s your kitchenette.” She runs her hand along the forest-green Formica counter, then reaches for a pocket door. “You can pull this door and close off the kitchen in case you’re messy.”
    I stand in the middle of the tiny kitchen and hold out my arms so the tips of my fingers almost touch the stove and the refrigerator.
    â€œYour bathroom,” Birdie says with a clap of her hands, “is through the closet. Did you girls ever see The Mary