After a moment she asked, “Is there a pumpkin cream cheese one in there? He loved those.”
“I set it aside already,” Brady said.
“Don’t bother saving him a coffee,” Carter said with the ghost of a smile.
Dave raised a hand and covered a laugh. “God, he used to bitch about their coffee.”
“In his defense,” said Jeff, “it is… not… good.”
“You’re just not putting enough cream in it.”
They sat quietly for a few moments. No birds called, and no other boats were around.
Finally Ella stood up and picked up the urn. “All right.” The muscles at the corners of her jaw bunched and released, but she kept her composure. She turned to face the water. “Well, you finally did it, Fred. You got all your sons to get together on your birthday to go out on the boat. You can thank the Boston Bruins for that, though I know you’d hate doing it.”
“Harsh, Mom,” Dave muttered, but he smiled wanly.
“Even Jeff is here.”
Jeff figured that was his cue. He turned to the side and set the guitar case on Carter’s lap to open it. Carter held it for him while he withdrew the instrument.
“Things haven’t been the same without you, and I don’t expect they ever will be. You left a hole.” She cleared her throat. Brady wiped discreetly at his eyes. Next to Jeff on the bench, Carter inhaled shakily.
“We miss you,” Ella said. “We miss you every day. But we’re going to be okay.” She bit her lip and met Jeff’s eye, and he took that as his cue.
He slipped the strap over his head and stood.
Jeff had played for crowds of thousands. He’d played on no sleep, after being on the road for months on end, he’d played with a fever. In the early days, he’d played four- and five-hour sets.
Playing “Landslide” for an audience of four living people and an urn of ashes proved the most difficult performance he’d ever given.
There wasn’t any fanfare afterward. Jeff put away the guitar, Ella opened the urn, and everyone took a handful of ashes to scatter. Brady offered Carter the muffin, and he hefted it in his hand.
“Happy birthday, Dad,” he said. Then he drew his arm back and launched the muffin into the lake.
Chapter Eight
BACK ATElla’s, the healthy adults adjourned to Fred’s man cave to begin the process of curating items of interest for the memorial. Due to the walking boot, Carter was remanded to the kitchen table. Every so often a family member delivered a box to sort through.
Jeff didn’t exactly feel as though he belonged, but he was invited to the study, and he thought Brady even expected him to come in—but Ella took one look at his face when she suggested it and sent him upstairs with Carter.
Mixed blessings—when it was Charlie’s turn to bring up a box, she tromped extra loudly up the stairs, like she wanted to make sure they heard her coming. Every time she slid something onto the table, she smirked at Jeff, but he refused to break first.
Besides, their détente was hilarious.
“Sorry,” Carter murmured as he lifted a forty-year-old LP out of the box to inspect the label. “I’m sure this isn’t exactly what you meant by space.”
Only Carter could sound sincere in that apology at his own father’s memorial. “For once in your life, stop being a martyr,” Jeff grumbled. “Not everything is about you. And despite what you may have been led to believe, not every rock star thinks everything’s about them either.”
Carter’s lips twitched. “All right.”
Jeff had always known Carter’s dad was sentimental. He’d never made a secret of it. But it still surprised him how many keepsakes the man had—programs from Dave’s first hockey tournament, bits of science projects (mostly Carter’s), a shell from a trip he and Ella had taken to Florida when Carter was twelve. A room service menu from their honeymoon. Even, preserved in the pages of a volume of poetry—Ginsberg, of course—two tickets to Howl.
Jeff spent long enough staring at them that Carter noticed, and he wordlessly held out his hand.
Jeff gave them over and watched Carter smooth his thumb over the date and time. Third row. Those seats would’ve cost a fortune.
“I would have gotten him tickets,” Jeff said hoarsely. He would have given the performance of his life if he’d known his hero was in the audience. “VIP passes. Booked his hotel room.”
