Free Rhythm and Bluegrass by Molly Harper Page A

make some sort of remark, but with an increased measure of “mother’s stare” from Brenda, he clamped his lips shut and slapped his hat on his head.
    “Yes, ma’am,” he said with a sigh, skulking out the door.
    Brenda gave my cheek another gentle pinch.
    “Mrs. McBride, I think you have the wrong idea about your son and me. We’re just friends.” I pulled at the collar of my T-shirt, which seemed to be sticking to my neck. Seriously, how long could it take Will to get a stupid box out of the car?
    Brenda leveled her gaze at me and told me, “My son is a very sweet, very complicated, sometimes extremely stupid man. He’s a lot like his father.”
    I worked to hold in my snicker. I really did.
    “I loved my husband,” she said. “Thought the absolute world of him. But he was not a businessman. Will took on a lot of guilt, feeling like Jim was working hard to preserve a legacy for him. The two of them never did see eye to eye on this place, which is why it’s so difficult for Will to appreciate it, I think. Will was here with his daddy, trying to box things up, when Jim had his heart attack. Jim had been downright depressed about his decision to close and Will wanted Jim to snap out of it, move on, start looking for a real job, grow the hell up. Jim was about to argue right back, but the next thing Will knew, Jim was on his knees, clutching his chest.”
    “Mr. McBride died here ?” I whispered. No wonder Will was so reluctant to come into the building. He’d watched his father die here. A shard of guilt pricked at the edge of my conscience. I was surprised he had been willing to take me as far as the parking lot.
    “Doesn’t it bother you to be here?” I asked her quietly.
    “Oh, honey, not a bit. I mean, Jim lived on a steady diet of cheeseburgers and stress. And it only made sense that he passed on here. He lived his whole life here.”
    “That is a very balanced and yet somehow unnerving way of looking at it,” I told her.
    She shrugged. “I’ve gained perspective over the years.”
    Just then, Will came struggling through the door with a large plastic storage bin. He scowled, dropping his burden at our feet, and backed toward the hamburger counter to inspect the polish I’d given the chrome. Brenda opened the lid to reveal carefully stacked film reels and sleeves of negatives and dozens of small framed photos. “My mother-in-law was a bit of a camera nut. She started right after George got home from the war. She only had one picture of him when he went away, and something about not being able to see his face every day for years on end . . . well, she wanted to make sure that if anything ever happened, she would have plenty of pictures of George. She took a few snapshots just about every day. I have enough slide carousels to start my own tiny amusement park. And when he opened the music hall, she took to recording almost every act that crossed the stage. She changed camera models as the technology got better. She even bought a Super 8 and took some movies. It’s all right here. And I’m going to give it to you.”
    I wiped the historian drool from my chin. “W-why would you do that?”
    “Because I think you would make the best use of them. And I like the idea of our family’s work being shared with the world.”
    I could hear Will groan quietly behind us. Brenda rolled her eyes.
    “So is she the one who took the photo of Louis Gray on the wall?” I asked.
    “That was one of her best,” she said, smiling fondly. “He played here a few times before he hit it big. I have a copy hanging in my living room. The negative is in there somewhere. Feel free to use it.”
    I threw my arms around her, squealing a little, which I would be embarrassed about at a later date. “This is exactly what I needed, Miss Brenda! Thank you so much.”
    Brenda wiped at the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes as she released me. “Well, I’m going to go have a look around. Maybe try to find my