“You know Phil?”
“Everyone knows that family and the Lamplight, especially those of us who love music, which I do. Mad kind of love—as you probably guessed from my albums. I think songwriters are the most talented storytellers on the planet.” The statement brought my dad to mind so sharply I felt a twinge. “Did you perform your own stuff, or write for others?”
“Both, but mostly I sold my songs.”
“Anything I’d know? And bear in mind I know a lot of songs, not only the pop stuff most people hear on the radio.”
He graced me with another of his wide, appreciative smiles. “‘Come ’Round Home’ and ‘Only You’ got a lot of play.” He looked at the ground like he’d been caught bragging, but I almost shot off the bench.
“Brad Peyton’s hits?” I loved good country music, especially when sung by a bass with a rich vibrato. “Wow! I’m super impressed now. Where do you get your inspiration?”
That shadow came racing back to his eyes. He was bent over, elbows on his knees, fingertips tapping together. “Let’s just say it’s lost now.”
The air around us got heavy, like the thickness that settles in before a storm, except the sky remained blue and sunlight poured over us. I hadn’t been wrong about that sorrow I’d sensed, although the scope of it seemed bigger than I’d originally guessed. A divorce maybe? Or like me, a beloved parent snatched away. God knows I’d slept more during the first six months after my dad died than I had in the six prior years combined.
I probably should’ve kept my big trap shut, but I couldn’t stop myself. “You know, I’m not the smartest person. In fact, my family would tell you my life is a hot mess. But the one thing I do know is that nothing lasts forever—not the good or the bad. Whatever’s got you blocked, I hope you find new inspiration soon. I know you will, actually. Probably when you least expect it.”
I looked away then, choosing to focus on Mo and his kisses. Kisses I might rather get from Eli—let’s be honest.
Eli didn’t say much except to mumble a quiet thanks before he stretched his legs and rose from our bench. “Well, I’d better let you get back to your day. Nice bumping into you, Erin.”
My heart sank to my toes when he effectively ended our conversation. Apparently, he didn’t want a pep talk.
“Thanks again for your help. First you get ripped off by my ex, next you dog-sit free of charge. My IOUs are piling up.” I subdued the instinct to grab his shoulders for a quick hug, settling for a wave. “See you around!”
He offered a casual salute as his final goodbye. I told myself it was for the best. I had a move to deal with anyway.
All in all, still the best post-office run ever.
Take that, Mary!
“You guys rock.” I high-fived Lexi’s boyfriend, Tony. Not only had he let me borrow his pickup to move my stuff, but he’d also helped carry the few pieces of furniture I kept.
Mom had been anxious, telling me where I could and couldn’t put my things. I couldn’t really get mad. It was her house. At least she didn’t mind watching after Mo while my friends helped me unload the truck.
To avoid winding through the house and down the narrow basement stairs, we’d brought my boxes and furniture through the basement slider in the back. For the time being, most of my nonessentials would remain stored in the unfinished part of the basement so they’d be easy to move again when I found a new apartment.
“No problem, E.” Tony mopped his brow with his forearm, then patted Lexi’s butt. “Meet you in the truck?”
“Be there in a sec,” she said. Once he’d gone, my best friend spun around. “You know, this finished part of the basement could be a great little yoga studio.”
Intrigued, I surveyed the level rectangular room. My dad and I had upgraded the flooring about seven years ago with laminate, so it would be durable, easy to clean, and soft beneath the feet. Natural light from the sliders flooded the space, and if I hung some crystals near the doors, they’d cast little rainbows everywhere. “You’re right, Lex.”
“If you move some of those pieces against the walls, you’ll clear enough floor space for five or six students.” She rested her hands on her hips, nose wrinkled. “Man, I’d kill for a free place to do private lessons.”
“Don’t envy me. I’d have to convince my mom to let me invite ‘strangers’ to the house, which isn’t a slam dunk.” If Amanda asked, it would be, but our mom trusted her judgment more than mine. Come to think of it, considering the Lyle situation, Mom probably wouldn’t trust Amanda now, either. Being downgraded had to sting.
On the other hand, Dad would’ve been an easy sell. He’d loved when I tried new things.
No matter where my gaze fell, I saw him. Every picture. Every old fishing rod. The pea-green lounge chair he’d fought hard to keep that my mother now couldn’t part with. The only thing missing—aside from him—was the scent of cigarette smoke. I didn’t miss that. Anytime I smelled it, my heart hurt.
“Hm. Well, good luck. I’d better catch up with Tony. See you tomorrow!” Lexi waved and then closed the slider behind her on her way out. It sealed with a thunk, perfect for my somewhat trapped circumstance. Seeing Lex run off with Tony also reminded me of my very single status. What if I got horny? Mom wouldn’t tolerate me bringing men here for sex. Could I take care of myself in the room next to my mother’s without her knowing? The shower? At least I wouldn’t be sharing the bathroom with my siblings this time around.
Before I got too depressed about the drawbacks, I told myself to embrace the positive. Cheap living. Doing the “right” thing by watching out for Mom. Making Dad proud. And maybe celibacy would be the key to my success.
Enough of that. I desperately needed a snack, which meant no more hiding out down here. Time to face my new roomie.
My backpack remained near the stairs. I grabbed it and took the steps two at a time to reach the kitchen quickly. Mo gave me one of his drive-by ankle licks, as if testing to make sure I was still me.
“Oh good. You finished quickly.” Mom crossed to the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of lemonade. “Are you thirsty?”
“No thanks.” I plopped onto a chair, hoping to look more relaxed than I felt, and grabbed an apple. I supposed I would have to spend time with her to monitor her wellness. “What should we do on this lovely Friday?”
She stared at the backpack I’d set on the kitchen table. “You could start by removing your backpack. That thing belongs in a closet, not as the centerpiece on my table.”
And so it began.
I unzipped it. “I brought a little thank-you gift for letting me crash here for a bit.” I handed her a tissue-wrapped package of three gardenia-scented soap bars and a bath oil. A bit sweet-smelling for me, but she should like it. I’d read that older people’s sense of smell diminishes over time.
“Oh.” She set down her lemonade, temporarily disarmed. “That’s thoughtful. Thank you.”
She held the gift awkwardly, like she didn’t quite trust it not to explode in her hands.
“You’re welcome.” While I chomped on my fruit, I watched her fiddle nervously with the package while neither of us said more. Against my better judgment, I asked, “Actually, want to help me make a batch of sugar scrubs now? It’s fun to experiment with different aromas. And if you like it, I can teach you to make soaps.”