Firelight, wrote the pen.
Jeff had written his share of torch songs. The band’s early days were full of them. He’d been trying his best not to think about it, because then he’d have to wonder if Carter knew those songs were about him. It seemed impossible now that he didn’t.
Those songs had been full of Jeff’s adolescent lust and yearning, and he’d meant them. People felt that when he sang them.
“Firelight” was in a different category. If Jeff’s other songs were torch songs, this was an inferno, and he wove that allegory into the fabric of the lyrics. He struck a match to light a candle to see by, but the sudden brightness blinded him; he started a fire and burned up because the flames that kept him warm drew him in and they were only safe at a distance.
But every time I hear your voice
Every time I see your face
I know I never had a choice
I go right back to that place ’cause
You draw me in like firelight.
He dropped the pen after four verses when a loon called out over the Sound and broke his concentration. Shivering, he stood and went to the window, surprised to find the sun had set. The sky was red-orange, fading quickly to indigo, and the stars were winking to life one after the other, as though the loon had called to them.
Except it hadn’t been calling to them, obviously—because the high, haunting cry came once more, and this time another call answered.
“Shower,” Jeff muttered to himself. He couldn’t get maudlin about a couple of birds, even if they did have a beautiful love song.
THE NINETEENTHwas drizzly. Jeff woke up to the patter of rain on the cabin roof, sat up long enough to confirm the Sound was foggy and gray, and collapsed back into bed for another two hours.
When he could no longer ignore nature’s call, he got up, put on a pot of coffee, and flicked on the space heater. Without the sun to heat the room, the air held a definite nip.
Jeff took the Seagull out of its case, changed the strings, and banged through an old standard with heavy strumming to stretch them out. Then he retuned at the kitchen table and watched through the screen door as the outside world got a little soggier.
He spent half an hour working through the song he’d play tomorrow, making sure his changes felt smooth, and then another twenty minutes singing softly and an hour toying with the solo.
Then he washed his face and made himself eat breakfast.
The rain didn’t let up all morning. Jeff’s phone stayed quiet, which surprised him. Despite last night’s promise, he’d expected a check-in from Carter. When it didn’t come by noon, he found himself thumbing open a text message. Did Carter need anything? Groceries? Company? Someone to grab the remote off the far table?
But he knew it wouldn’t be fair to send a text when he’d asked for space just yesterday, so he closed the message without sending anything.
By two he needed to get out of the cabin, rain or not. He grabbed his truck keys and a sweatshirt and then, after some consideration, added his pen, notebook, and guitar case and trudged out into the damp.
With the passenger-side window open just a crack, the day seemed less claustrophobic. Jeff grabbed a late lunch at the diner where he’d eaten with Carter’s mom. It was nearly deserted due to the weather, but when he’d been sitting in the back booth with his notebook and a plate of crumbs for half an hour, the bell above the door jangled.
Jeff looked up out of habit to see Charlie Rhodes slip inside, hair plastered to her head. She met Jeff’s eyes and did a deer-in-the-headlights impression.
Jeff knew the feeling.
“Hey, hon.” Tasha, the server, topped up Jeff’s coffee. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”
Charlie opened her mouth, her face set in an expression Jeff recognized asabout to get in trouble, mainly because he’d worn it for most of his adolescence. “It’s all right, Tasha, she doesn’t go to school here.” If he got on her good side, maybe she wouldn’t grill him about her uncle.
Tasha glanced at him askance and then back at Carter’s niece. “Oh, Charlie,” she said. “I didn’t recognize you with the haircut. I like it.”
Charlie’s face lowered its weapons. “Thanks.”
“What can I get ya?”
She perked up. “Coffee?”
Oh boy. Jeff tapped his pen on his notebook and ducked his head to hide a rueful smile. It was like looking in a mirror that went back in time.
