Georgia flushed. “Right. Sorry, Mrs. Halloran.”
“It’s good to see you back around these parts,” she told Jeff sincerely. “Did you buy property out this way?”
He shook his head. He’d considered it, but what if things didn’t turn out the way he thought? What would he do with it if he was on the road all the time? Cottages needed upkeep.
“Just renting for now.” He didn’t dare say where, with Georgia listening, and thankfully Mrs. H didn’t ask. Jeff didn’t know how to explain that the park, the Sound, felt like the place he needed to be, even if he’d had to bend a few rules to make it happen.
“Well, it’s good to see you,” she said warmly. “Though, if I can make one request? Maybe next album, at least one song I don’t have to give someone detention for singing in my class?”
He felt the tips of his ears go hot. Georgia was paying very close attention to Jeff’s selection of lunch meat. “Oh, well, I can’t promise that.” Especially since he didn’t know if there’d evenbeanother album. “But I’ll try.”
Mrs. H patted him on the shoulder. “You’re a good boy, Jeffy. Your mom would be proud.”
Shit, there it was. The first of many shoes he’d been waiting to drop. But he couldn’t begrudge Mrs. H, who had worked alongside his mom for close to twenty years. “Thanks, Mrs. H.”
She shook her head as Georgia timidly offered the total. “I think it’s probably safe for you to call me Linda.”
Jeff paid, signed the credit card slip with a pen like it was 2006, and gestured to the magazine.
Georgia squeaked. “Really?”
“If you promise to be this chill next time, absolutely.”
Thank God for Mrs. H.
Jeff signed the cover of the magazine, right under his own face, and Georgia looked at him with stars in her eyes as he left with his bags.
JEFF TUCKEDthe kitchen garbage into the bear box and secured it before he considered his next move. He knew he needed to be here, in the last place he’d felt close to his mother, that he needed to spend some time excavating himself from the strata of rock star and grief. But now that he was here, he didn’t feelready. As much as he’d come up here for space, he didn’t actually enjoy being alone. He was a social creature. He drew on a crowd’s energy. Though he did sometimes get tired of putting on a show… maybe he’d be okay out here.
Maybe he could just be Jeff.
He knew it was overly optimistic when he packed the guitar into the truck, but he couldn’t help it.
The sun was setting when he pulled into the lot near what the park welcome pamphlet called the “amphitheater.” From the truck, Jeff could see it was just rows of backless wooden benches around an unusually large fire pit, which was already crackling. This early in the season, there weren’t many campers to entertain—a handful of retirees, one younger couple, and a pair in their thirties with kids too young to be in school.
He hung back, feeling like the lone goth kid at a Hannah Montana concert. There was an odd number of retirees, though they still made an obvious group.
But he wanted a s’more, dammit, and a chance to play guitar for someone. He hadn’t played solo since high school and he needed to decide if he was going to keep doing it if everything went further to shit.
Also he wanted to meet Ranger Hotass.
So resolved, Jeff hefted his guitar case out of the back seat and schlepped it to the amphitheater. He chose a seat all the way to the left, in the second row, where he could keep the guitar case out of sight. On the far side of the pit from him a table had been set up with the necessities—a cooler of water, a fire extinguisher and first aid kit, and a giant bowl of marshmallows. Jeff could almost taste the burnt-sugar goodness.
He didn’t see Ranger Hotass. Was he early? That would be a first. He checked his phone. Nope. Ten minutes late. Well, Jeff had kept way more people waiting much longer, and they’d paid for the privilege. But he couldn’t sit still. Maybe he’d take a short walk and come back.
The amphitheater was far enough inland to be mostly sheltered from the breeze off the water. The pine and spruce stood inky green against the twilight sky, somehow friendly figures. Jeff wondered if he’d see any moose while he was up here. Deer, definitely. Maybe a porcupine? Hopefully not a skunk.
In his meandering circuit it was just the usual—a chatter of squirrels, a chipmunk darting across the road, a hawk circling overhead before Jeff lost it to the low light. One day soon he might have to admit he needed glasses. Depressing. He should get Lasik. Jeff couldn’t pull off the Rivers Cuomo look.
By the time he circled back to the fire, his guitar case was getting heavy and he’d broken out in goose bumps. He’d forgotten how chilly it could get on a May night up here.
The ranger had shown up while he was gone, and he was demonstrating proper use of a fire extinguisher as though people just had these at their campsites. Jeff couldn’t make out his features from this distance, not with the firelight behind him, but he could tell the man was tall and fit, broad-shouldered and blond, with longish hair that brushed just below his cheekbones. The Dudley Do-Right type. Jeff smiled and made for his previous spot as unobtrusively as possible as the lecture moved on to keeping the ground around the fire clear of tripping hazards like roasting sticks.
“Can anyone think of anything else you shouldn’t do around a campfire?”
This was obviously for the children’s benefit, as he turned toward them when he asked, revealing the long line of a Roman nose.
One of the kids’ hands shot up. Were all kids like that at that age, so eager for attention and approval? Jeff could hardly remember. He’d been an okay student before his mom got sick, so… maybe.
