The looking hurt, though. It brought home that they’d never talked, after. There was just that awful day, capped off with a good rub of salt in the wound, and then Jeff had run out and refused to speak to Carter, and a week later he and his dad moved. They’d never emailed, even when Jeff stopped being mad. At that point what could he have said? It wouldn’t have made a difference.
Maybe Gloria sensed the tension, because she cleared her throat. “Well, it’s nice that you have a chance to reconnect!”
Reconnect—God no. Jeff’s life was already a turtlefuck. The last thing he needed was to mix his childhood trauma with his adult problems. Why was this happening? Was this some sign from the cosmos?Go back to the city, kid. This place is for a you long dead.
Except he couldn’t escape the feeling that it was the cosmos that had brought him here in the first place.
“Right,” Jeff said, instead of disagreeing and running away. He picked out the introduction of the song again to refocus the attention. As long as he had his little stage and his guitar, he was in control. And control was just what he needed. “So—should we try that again? Maybe we’ll get through the whole chorus this time.”
A few of the retirees exchanged glances, and Jeff saw the younger couple whispering to each other over a cell phone and thought maybe his cover was blown. Especially when Gloria said, afterward, “You have a wonderful voice, Jeff. Has anyone ever told you you sound like that singer from—oh, what’s the band—they have that song ‘Ginsberg’?”
Jeff pasted on a smile and pointedly didn’t look at Carter, who was back with the kids, scooping melted marshmallow onto graham crackers. “Yeah, I’ve heard that a time or two.” He made a mental note not to play any Howl songs. That would only invite trouble.
Not that trouble had ever needed an invitation, he thought as he glanced across the fire. Carter hadn’t joined in on any of the songs, he just sat and listened. Jeff found it unnerving and spent longer than he should scrutinizing his song choices. Nothing too angry, too sad, too nostalgic.
Nothing that might give away the monstrous rending of his own heart.
Finally, after a good set, Jeff begged off. “I might be back next week,” he said to Lennon, who had been delighted with his half-assed version of “Let It Go.” “But I just got in this afternoon and I’m exhausted.” And he was. Full-on gritty eyes, heavy chest tired. “If you’re still here I’ll see you then, okay?”
Jeez. He was going to bed before a three-year-old.Guess I really do need this vacation.
He was extra careful navigating back to the cabin in the dark. Even with the headlights, it was challenging to see the turnoff. He might really have to look into glasses. Or stop driving at night.
There was no use dwelling on any of it tonight. He put the truck in Park under the carport and was halfway into the cottage before he realized he never got his marshmallow.
Fucking Carter. That guy ruined everything.
Chapter Two
JEFF WOKEto the water-lit shine of predawn.
The cabin was cold enough that he swore his hair was trying to grow back into his scalp, but with the rest of him tucked under the covers, he was as snug as anyone could hope for. The window along the back wall had filmy curtains, but he hadn’t closed them, and the washed-out sunlight reflecting off the Sound crept sluggishly through the window and suffused the interior of the cabin with an otherworldly glow.
Jeff had never been accused of being a morning person, but he sat up in bed anyway and looked out, unable to resist. A fine layer of mist hovered over the water, seeming to soak up the sun’s rays and hold them there for later. A fish splashed just offshore. As Jeff watched, a kayak with a single occupant glided past the inlet, the paddle dipping silently in and out, leaving the morning undisturbed.
Jeff pulled the blankets tighter around himself and watched the sun come up, thinking back to a morning twenty years before, when it had been him and his mother in the kayak, the mist limning their skin, the future stretching out ahead of them like the water, unknown and seemingly limitless.
He was still sitting there, half dozing, what must have been at least an hour later, when his cell phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Damn. He’d sort of been hoping he wouldn’t get any service. No such luck. Sighing, he reached for it and unlocked the screen.
Meeting today, 2pm, downtown offices, it said.Last minute tour details.
Last-minute fuck you too, Tim, Jeff thought in disgust. There was no reason he needed to be there, not to work out the set lists or wardrobe choices or whatever the fuck Tim, their manager, wanted to talk about. Tim was texting him trying to get him to come in so he could corner Jeff with Max and Joe and Trix and mention,Oh hey by the way, remember that album that’s due this summer? Well I rented you some studio space. Get to it.Tim and his corporate overlords didn’t give a fuck about Jeff’s mental health.
Not available, he texted back.Figure it out without me.
They could call him if they needed to.
The phone started ringing before he set it down, but Jeff sent it to voicemail and got out of bed. He was not dealing with that shitstorm until after coffee and a shower. Maybe even breakfast. He’d gotten out of the habit of eating before noon, but that was back when he slept until ten or eleven. If he was going to start clawing his ass out of bed at—he glanced at the time—barely eight in the morning, he needed sustenance.
By nine thirty he’d caffeinated, showered, and even had a full breakfast—eggs and toast and fruit. That was like, three whole food groups, four if you counted the coffee—and even though he didn’t exactly feel enthusiastic about the prospect, he was at least mentally fortified enough to listen to the message.
Hey Jeff, it’s Tim. Just checking in to see how you’re doing, man. We’ll see you in Toronto on the twentieth.Click.
Jeff deleted it. Yeah, he’d be in Toronto on the twentieth. Just like he’d be in Vancouver on the twenty-sixth and Victoria on the twenty-seventh. Just like he’d be in Calgary and Edmonton and Winnipeg in June—fuck, that was going to suck, those mosquitoes could drain a man—and Ottawa on the first of July.
And then that was it. This last leg of the tour. Jeff had said he’d do it and he would.
