The Reason

decision time

Lila Rodriguez stepped out the screen door of the kitchen in the back of The Front Room Wine Bar. Her apron was smeared with the day’s small calamities, spilled beer, lime juice, and the faint scent of cheap whiskey. Smithville, Texas lay quiet under the late summer setting sun. The air outside was a bit of a relief on a long long shift.

Caleb Higgins sat at the end of the bar. Like he did most nights, looking like a man built from stubbornness and regrets. Dark hair, dark eyes, a man who probably could have been something but stayed too long in the same place. Their history was well known, an on-again, off-again, on-again couple. The cracks of every argument left to cool and harden.

Tonight, Caleb stared into a half empty glass, pretending he didn’t notice she’d walked in. The Front Room Wine Bar smelled like a mixture of cigarettes trapped in old wood and the kind of dreams people trade for one more round. But on Thursdays, open mic night, the bar came alive in a way Lila lived for. Tonight she would sing. She always did.

When her turn came, she took her apron off. She sat at the upright piano in the corner, her fingers settling on the keys like they were greeting an old friend. Some members of Nightshade, the local boys who were in town playing The Front Room that weekend, watched from a table near the stage. Their lead singer, Jace Barnes, leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. The hint of a grin formed on his bearded face.

Lila sang the way she breathed, quiet at first, then rising with a kind of effortless ache. Her voice filled the room, soft and sharp in all the places life had carved her. And as she sang, the song may have been Abby Anderson’s, but she made it hers, the lyrics felt too close to her journey.

”Yeah, baby, you’re the reason I’m crazy. And lately you’re the reason I cry. And you’re the reason I hate me, and love you at the same time.”

Her eyes flicked to Caleb. He wasn’t watching her. He never watched when it mattered. But everyone else did. The bar fell silent, only Lila’s voice moving through the air, the piano humming beneath her like a second heartbeat. When she finished, the applause rose into a wave. A few tourists and regulars shouted for more. Jace whistled. Caleb didn’t clap, he never clapped.

Later that night, as she cleared a table, Jace wandered by and asked. “Lila, got a minute?” She nodded. She liked Jace. He and the rest of the band had that restless fire she recognized in herself. “We’ve been signed,” he said. Her heart kicked, hope, jealousy, pride, all tangled together. “Signed?” she repeated.

“SMG. National tour. Opening for Flatland Cavalry, Randy Rogers. Big stages. Big crowds.” Jace’s voice hummed with excitement. “We want you to come with us.” Lila blinked, “huh?” Jace continued “Backup vocals. Harmonies. And when we headline, you open shows for us. You, Lila, singing, in the spotlight.” He shrugged, trying to seem casual, failing miserably.

“You’re too damn good to be singing to drunks in the same old bar week after week.” Lila laughed despite herself. But the laugh faded quickly. “My whole life’s here, and besides, Caleb wouldn’t like it,” she said. Jace’s eyes softened. “Lila, Caleb doesn’t like anything that means you might grow without him.”

She looked away. The truth always stung more when someone else said it. They spoke a bit more about some details, Lila got filled in more about what all would be involved in going on tour with Nightshade. The band would be playing The Front Room Wine Bar that weekend and leaving early Sunday morning.

Jase wanted Lila to sing a few songs with them at sound check on Friday and Saturday afternoon. They could even work it around her breaks if need be. “Think about it,” Jace said, touching the brim of his hat. “We leave town Sunday morning around 3 AM. Bus’ll be behind the bar.” Sunday. That was two or three days away, Lila figured.

When she finished work and walked out into the parking lot she found Caleb. He was sitting on the tailgate of his old Ford F150, the night sky stretched wide and lonely behind him. He flicked cigarette ashes onto the gravel. “Saw Barnes talkin’ to you,” he said. “So what?” Lila asked. “So what’d he want?” Caleb huffed. Lila crossed her arms and turned from Caleb.

“He offered me a spot on a tour.” Caleb let out a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Yeah? You gonna be some kind of big star now?” Lila looked at Caleb, “It’s not about being a star,” she said quietly. “It’s about getting out and being seen, or at least trying to be seen.”

“You got a job. You got a place. You got me.” He tapped his ashes again. “Ain’t that enough?” She felt the familiar tightening in her chest. “How come you only talk about what I have,” she said, “and never what I could be?” Caleb slid off the truck, he flicked his cigarette and it helicoptered on its way to the ground.

“You leave,” he said, “and you won’t come back.” She wasn’t sure if it was a warning or a plea. Maybe both. When she opened her mouth to answer, he kissed her. Hard. The way he always did when he sensed her slipping. And damn him, she kissed him back. Because when he was good, he was sunlight after a storm. When he held her, oh God, when he held her it was like nothing else.

But the good never lasted. With Caleb, the bad always did. She worked her shifts at bar, serving people who didn’t care whether she stayed in Smithville or vanished into the wind. One night Caleb was sweet, too damn sweet, bringing her flowers he found in the lot by the feed store. The next night he didn’t show up at all. Her mind spun like the lyrics she’d sung,

Oh, how do you keep me so hopeless and somehow believe you’ll change? Cause you’re the only reason I ever wanna leave, and baby, you’re the reason I stay.

On Friday and Saturday afternoon she sang along to a few Nightshade songs with the band during soundcheck. It went well, she thought it sounded great. For a few minutes before Saturday’s shift she sat in her room at the edge of her bed. Her bags were mostly packed but were still open like a question she wasn’t sure how to answer. She still didn’t know one hundred percent what to do.

Around one-thirty AM, her shift was over and the bar had emptied. Nightshade’s bus was parked behind the bar. She walked home under the streetlamps, the air thick and warm against her skin. Caleb was waiting on the front steps of the house she rented a room in. “You leavin’?” he asked. She swallowed hard. “I don’t know.”

He stepped closer, eyes dark and rimmed with something too raw to name. “If you go,” he whispered, “you’ll forget me.” Lila looked at Caleb with a look he hadn’t seen before, “No,” she said. “But I’ll stop drowning for you.” He reached for her arm, soft at first, then tighter. “Lila, don’t.” She pulled free. For the first time, he didn’t follow. She walked inside, grabbed her bags. Her hands were shaking, but her resolve was steady.

Three AM drew nearer and laid itself over Smithville. Nightshade’s bus idled behind the bar like a restless animal, headlights dimmed. A figure stood near the door of the bus, Jace, sipping coffee from a thermos mug. “You ready?” he asked as she approached. Lila nodded. Her whole life was in two bags. “Need a hand?” Jace asked? “No thanks,” Lila said. “I got it.”

She climbed the steps slowly, carefully. She didn’t look back. She reached the top and made her way down the aisle of the bus. The bus smelled like coffee, and possibility. The hum of the engine vibrated in her feet. She set her bags down and took a seat by a window. In the distance, half shadow, half memory, stood Caleb. He didn’t call out. He didn’t move. He just watched.

For once, he wasn’t trying to pull her back. He was letting her go. And that hurt more than anything. She lifted her hand in a small, trembling wave. He didn’t return it. Jace climbed the steps of the bus and told the driver, “Alright, let’s roll!” The bus lurched forward. Smithville slid past The Front Room Wine Bar’s sign, dark storefronts, empty lots, her front steps, her house, her street, her life.

She pressed her forehead to the glass. For a long moment, she felt the weight of everything she was leaving. Then slowly, softly, it lifted. Somewhere behind her, Caleb Riggins became part of the night. Part of history. And somewhere ahead, under the stretch of the open road, she became Lila Hart.