And I wasn’t writing music. Hadn’t since the accident, beyond that one scrap of nothing on sentencing day. Slipping down into the creative part of me went to dark and depressing places lately, nothing worth saving. I tried not to worry whether I’d ever get unblocked.
“Right.” Daniels addressed his keyboard. “Let’s see what we can find.”
An hour later, we’d made arrangements with two other nursing homes for me to be able to contact them and volunteer on an as-needed basis, to fill gaps in my schedule. Busing would be a pain in the ass, but it’d work.
We were also an hour past when I’d agreed to meet Lee. Even with a rock-star Lamborghini— something I’d never owned— I wouldn’t make it back to Lee in time.Tomorrow.I headed to my apartment, checking my phone now and then for anything from Lee. Then, realizing I had no idea what Lee’s number was these days, I read every spam text, discovering I’d missed my wins in several sweepstakes, and was a wanted man in Texas. That was less funny than it used to be. Swiping and deleting kept me busy till we reached the bus stop a block away from home.
Home. Ha. I wished it felt that way.
My phone remained stubbornly silent as I ate a slice of bread for lunch, as I cleaned the kitchen, the bathroom, the living room. Busywork, because my apartment hadn’t had much time to get dirty since the day I headed to court, not knowing if I’d come back. Still, keeping my hands in motion kept my brain from short-circuiting.
Finally, after a dinner of scrambled eggs, I had access to the practice room at a local community college. Evening bus schedules sucked, but I’d have walked barefoot across glass to get my hands on the strings again. Two transfers were nothing.
The setting sun cast a mellow glow across the near-empty parking lot and glanced off the windows of the music building. I swiped my card, let myself in the side door, and headed downstairs. Muffled sounds came from two of the rooms. One of the empties was mine for three blessed hours.
I’d brought my electric since the school had great amps, and I put in my in-ears, plugged in, tuned the D-string up a fraction, and cut loose. No vocals, just me and my guitar. I played my own stuff and old favorites. The “Comfortably Numb” solo David Gilmour had made iconic sang through my bones. At the end, I went back to my own songs. “Off a Cliff” challenged my fingers and I shredded the hell out of it, ending with a flourish as good as any concert performance I’d ever played.
Someone knocked on the door in the ear-ringing silence when I was done. I set the guitar aside and opened up.
“Five-minute time check,” the student-monitor told me. Then their eyes opened wide. “Hey, wow, I was going to say that was some awesome Griffin Marsh you were playing but, uh, I guess that wouldn’t be, like, news to you, huh?”
“Not really.” The music had soothed me enough that I could grin at them. “Kind of a requirement. You new here?” The last monitor had known who I was and kept it quiet. Then again, she hadn’t been a fan.
“Work-study. Can I maybe get an autograph? It that really uncool?”
“Nah, happy to.” I hadn’t yet lost the habit of having a Sharpie on me, and I dug it out. “I’ll trade you all the autographs you want for not telling anyone I practice here.”
“Deal. Um, let me get my flute case. Wait here.” They scurried off, flustered, while I packed up my guitar and gear.
It wasn’t till I was back home with the echoes still singing in my head that I realized I hadn’t checked my phone in hours. I fumbled it out, swiped through politicians wanting my dollars and an offer to sell my home, and hit paydirt.
Unknown number. ~This is Lee. Tried to call, but I guess you’re busy. I have lunch open tomorrow. Try again?
I quickly added his name to the contact and fumbled the phone, wondering what to do. He’d tried to call and I could call him back, but that was over an hour ago. What if he had an early shift and I woke him? In the end, I texted back.~Works for me. Same time and place?
I didn’t expect much but a text pinged back a moment later.~See you then.
So hewasup, but now if I called, I’d look pushy. Tomorrow would have to be soon enough. Maybe too soon, depending on what Lee said. I assigned him a ringtone I wouldn’t ignore. Then I got ready for bed, set my phone on the charger, and tried to sleep.
Nightmares and frequent waking were my new norm. This time, instead of images of disaster and death, crumpled metal and the screams of a woman I never saw or heard in real life, I got Lee. An odd jumble, at one point Lee bringing home a puppy we hadn’t agreed on and we argued; in another moment, Lee walking off along a narrow railroad bridge over a gorge, heedless of my warnings. Anxiety, frustration, loss, and at some point near morning, a vision of Lee with his new big frame and beard lying on his back on blue sheets, grinning up at me, his hand on his dick.
For the first time in what felt like forever, I woke up hard as well as exhausted. I didn’t give in to temptation, but found myself both eager and afraid of what the day would bring.
Chapter 4
Lee
I’d walked to the park down from the nursing home a hundred times, probably more, for a quick lunchtime breather or giving a resident an outing. I’d never quite felt this mix of reluctance and anticipation.
Griffin sat on a sunny bench at the far end, well away from the playground with its cluster of moms and toddlers, and opposite the gazebo where a pair of old ladies dozed in the shade. I didn’t see anything in his hands but hopefully he’d eaten, because a cracked suction-pump connector had already cut into my lunchtime. I’d have to eat and run. Maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. Diving right into my food would be a good buffer for my nerves.
I headed toward Griffin, lunch bag in hand, and he watched me approach. He wore that beret I’d yet to see him without this week and I wondered if he was losing some hair up top. He looked damned good, either way. The close-cropped salt-and-pepper beard and mustache framed his generous mouth and the fine creases at the corners of his eyes suited him, making him seem like a man who’d smiled far more than he’d frowned. He wasn’t smiling now, though.
This conversation would be easier if I didn’t have to stare right at him, so I sat on the bench beside him, a careful two feet of space between us, and opened my lunch bag on my knees.
“Hi.” He sounded tentative. Well, I guess my semi-ignoring him was a reasonable excuse for that. “How’ve you been? You look good.”
He’d said that before and, although I restrained my automatic snort, he plunged on. “I mean it. Like you grew into who you were meant to be.”
