“Yes?” the ranger asked.
“Run?” the little girl said.
“Run!” the ranger echoed. “Yes, that’s a very important one. Good job. What’s your name?”
“Lennon.”
“Very good job, Lennon,” he repeated. Something about the way he said it—it was like an echo of a memory. Probably a flashback from childhood teachers—he’d been having them off and on since he ran into Mrs. H. “What do you say—is it time for s’mores?”
What self-respecting child was going to turn that down?
Jeff was debating how quickly he could get away with getting in line for a marshmallow and keep his respectability when a voice next to him said, “Are you going to play for us?”
Nope, just thought I’d lug around a heavy instrument for the exercise.Jeff bit down on the smartass remark. The last thing he needed was more bad publicity, and it wasn’t a question anyway, it was a conversation starter. He was glad he’d held his tongue when he looked up and saw a woman in her early seventies, lilac windbreaker zipped all the way up, Yeti wineglass in hand.
This lady had no fucks to give about what anyone thought of her, which automatically made her way cooler than Jeff.
“The flyer said there’s supposed to be singing, right?” he said. He hoped she didn’t recognize him. She wasn’t exactly his target demographic. “I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes—”
“Oh, no, you’re fine. Smokey isn’t fussed about the spotlight.”
Jeff’s lips twitched as he pulled the Seagull out of its case. “Smokey?”
She artificially deepened her voice and puffed out her chest. “Only you can prevent forest fires.” She smiled as she took a seat on the bench next to him and offered her hand. “I’m Gloria.”
Hell, Jeff could get away with using his own first name, right? “Nice to meet you, Gloria. I’m Jeff.”
He strummed a quick chord to check the tuning. The ranger was still with the kids, helping them and their parents load up marshmallow roasting sticks. Gloria jerked her head at the group of seniors, and they ambled closer. “Don’t suppose you know anything from my day?”
Jeff had cut his teeth—or his fingers, at least—on classic rock, sitting in the man cave in his best friend’s basement, concentrating on the shift of strings under his skin. “I know a couple.” He adjusted the high E, then checked again. Better. He plucked out an opening riff. “You know this one?”
The intro was quick—just ten seconds or so—and then it started in on the first verse. The words to “The Weight” bubbled up like something deeper than memory, like part of his DNA. It was one of the first songs he’d learned once his fingers were strong enough for a bar chord. It felt right singing it too—he’d just pulled in, and he was looking for a place to lay his head.
He looked up and caught Gloria’s eye at the chorus, and she came in on cue, so he cued in each of the others in turn. But before he could finish it, someone said, “Jeff?”
Jeff’s fingers stuttered on the strings and the melody died on his lips. He paused with his mouth halfway open, left hand still curved into a D chord, and looked up.
The man in the ranger uniform—the one whose body he had admired, whose voice had seemed familiar, stood in front of him, close enough to the firelight now that Jeff could make out his features.
Familiarfeatures—square jaw, straight nose, smooth brow, shockingly pink mouth that had been the unwitting object of all Jeff’s early fantasies.
Returning now to taunt him at hissecond-lowest moment. Fuck Jeff’s life.
Oh shit, was he still staring? “Carter?”
Jesus, he looked—he looked like endless summer days outside, and it was like Jeff could see teenage Carter superimposed on this older, broader, even more absurdly handsome version. Which, inexplicably, had surfer-bro hair.
Gloria said, from lightyears away, “Oh, do you two know each other?”
“Yeah,” Jeff said, feeling shell-shocked, at the same time Carter said,
“No.”
Jeff inhaled sharply, feeling the denial like a knife slipped between his ribs. But before he could make an excuse and leave, Carter backtracked apologetically, “I mean, we used to, but I haven’t seen him in….” He trailed off, and everything somehow became more awkward.
It had been over a decade, but from his face, Jeff knew he was thinking about the last time they’d seen each other.
On second thought, remembering that day, maybe Jeff didn’t know Carter either. “Fifteen years,” he supplied. He felt like there was a band around his chest. That made Carter, what? Thirty-two? The years looked good on him.
