by Emily Conrad
“What do you mean?”
Asher took out the scraper to clean off the grill. “Some big movie was filmed near here years ago. Crowds showed up everywhere the stars did. Press, fans. A girl almost got hit because she threw herself in front of the actor’s SUV.”
“I won’t do anything like that.”
“You can’t always help what the people around you do.” He hit the warning home with a serious glance before his countenance brightened again. “But how about it? Extra shifts?”
Gannon stepped onto the patio, sat next to the chaise where Matt lounged, and kicked the sole of his bassist’s shoe. Matt lifted the arm he’d draped over his eyes and took a drag off the cigarette he held in his other hand. He tapped it, and the ashes piled on the metal edge of the chair.
Respect for property. Yet another topic they’d have to discuss today. “I want to talk to you about why we’re here.”
“You’ve got writer’s block.” Matt’s Adam’s apple moved under his scruffy skin. He needed a shave and a shower. And fresh clothes. “You think sequestering us is going to solve something.”
Gannon struggled to remind himself of who Matt used to be. A daredevil, intense about everything except maybe school, he’d moved with Awestruck to California on only two weeks’ notice. In the months that followed, Matt had gone from mediocre to playing bass almost as well as Gannon played guitar. Even his drift from faith had been fast and furious. One week on tour, he was challenging them all during Bible study. The next, he skipped. When Gannon checked on him, he found the bassist doing lines of cocaine with fans.
“We’re here to get back to our roots. Remember what’s important.”
“And what’s that?”
“God and the music.”
Matt scoffed. “God doesn’t write the hits or put in the practice time.”
“And that’s why you figure your lifestyle doesn’t matter?”
Matt propped himself up on his elbow. “You brought me here for an intervention?”
“Have you seen yourself lately?”
“Yup, and you know what I see?” He let the cigarette tip into the cushion of his chair. “Someone who’s living his life. Time’s short, and nothing’s guaranteed. You live by your code, I’ll live by mine. None of us knows how long this is going to last, so I’m enjoying the ride.”
Gannon took the cigarette before it burned the fabric. “That’s a collection of bumper stickers, not a code to live by.” He tossed the butt into the firepit. “What are you into?”
Matt flopped his arm back over his bloodshot eyes. “Don’t you have enough to worry about?”
“You’re toward the top of the list. The women, the drugs, the alcohol. That’s a lot that can fly sideways.”
“You do you, man.”
“Fine.” Gannon stood, letting his shadow fall over Matt. “I can’t control what you do other places, but nothing illegal and no women here. If you’re going to smoke, do it outside and be careful. You’re paying for any property damage.”
“Anything else, boss?” Matt dug his cigarettes and lighter from his pocket.
“Be ready to rehearse tomorrow.” They could go over their sets for the upcoming shows, or, maybe by then, Gannon could make enough progress on the lighthouse or the addiction song to present something new.
9
The painter must’ve mailed a written estimate on Saturday, right after meeting Adeline, since a thick envelope arrived from him on Monday. Adeline took the mail into the house and greeted Bruce. Once she’d let him into the backyard, she braced herself and tore open the flap.
Her eyes stopped on the number at the bottom of the page.
That couldn’t be right.
The itemized portion of the quote included removing loose paint, filling cracks, sanding, priming, and painting. Selling the bass at a slightly higher price than the local shop had mentioned might cover the first of those, but not the rest.
How could new paint cost so much?
Bruce barked at something, and Adeline called him back in.
In the momentary break from the estimate, she assured herself she’d misread a decimal point. Instead of thousands, the amount must only be hundreds. Surely.
As they returned to the kitchen, Tegan came downstairs. “The carpenter came by this afternoon.”
She resisted rechecking the painter’s quote, because if it really said what she’d thought … Well, she’d cope with that in a minute. She doled out a scoop of food to Bruce. “And?”
Tegan motioned at a sheet of paper on the counter. “Before you read it, remember, the church offered to do it for free.”
To the soundtrack of Bruce chomping his kibble, Adeline picked up the second price quote. The total wasn’t as high as the painter’s, at least, but if she couldn’t pay the painter, she certainly couldn’t pay the painter and the carpenter.
She took another look at the painter’s paperwork. The decimal point remained firmly where she’d initially thought.
“I get why you wouldn’t ask Gannon for money, but you can accept the church’s help with the porch.”
“I’ll have to. And how do you feel about painting?” She passed over the painter’s quote.
Tegan pinched the paper as she read each of the line items. “It’s a big job. Maybe he’d take installments? Or the youth group could help as a service project.”
More charity. “If I do a little at a time and keep working at it, I could get it done in three months.” But did she want to spend every spare moment painting for the rest of her summer? She’d have to sacrifice her annual kayak trip—that cost money anyway—and regular lakeside hikes.
“If the concern is curb appeal, could you just paint the front?” Tegan asked.
“The letter said anything visible from the street, which includes both sides.” Even if she’d planted a few trees when she’d moved in, they wouldn’t have grown large enough to shield much from judging eyes.
She should’ve gotten a smaller house instead of this mammoth, two-story fixer-upper, but she’d been so enamored with the view of the lake, she hadn’t considered the cost of upkeep.
“Unless I want to have to redo the work every couple of years, I’ll need to do it right. Strip as much of the old paint as I can. Sanding. The whole nine yards.”
“That’ll take until October.”
“It might.”
“I’ll help, but I can’t make a full-time job of it. Though speaking of jobs, the college position is still open. They did a bunch of interviews, but they weren’t happy with the applicants.”
Adeline tossed the quotes onto the table. To change her life so drastically sounded like an even bigger task than painting the house. Could she handle the responsibility of the university job? What if she made the change and got fired for underperforming a few months later?
Superior Dogs and the church weren’t glamorous, but she knew she wouldn’t let anyone down there. “Asher’s offering more hours to deal with an increase in sales. College students have been walking down in hopes of spotting famous people.”
Tegan snorted. “Who shall go unnamed.”
Her last talk with Tegan hadn’t left her feeling much better. She hadn’t come clean about how far she and Gannon had gone, nor had she confessed the ocean of feelings she still had for him—one wave of which had prompted her to program his number into her phone. But at least she’d started talking. If she kept it up, eventually she might get the whole thing out. “All three members of the band are here now.”
“Because of you?”
“Gannon, initially, but this is something else. Vacation, I guess. Once they leave or people get bored, it’ll be back to business as usual.”
“How long do you think that’ll be? Even my summer readers are talking about him. Before class started today, they were playing the acoustic version of one of his songs.”
“Sixth graders?”
“Sixth-grade girls. I doubt they listen to most of his music, but even you have to a
dmit the way his voice sounds in that song …” She lifted her eyebrows as if Adeline would finish the thought. “It’s the one about surrender that’s on all the time lately.”
Adeline could only shake her head.
“You haven’t heard it?”
“I don’t listen to the radio.”
Tegan’s chin dipped with suspicion. “Just to avoid Awestruck?”
“I hardly drive anywhere, and I play Christian radio at church.”
“You aren’t curious what your friends are famous for?”
“I already know, remember? I used to be part of it.”
“I’m sure their sound’s changed over the years. And that new one is like listening to Gannon read a page from his journal. Add in how raw but strong his voice is … If you’d heard it, you’d know why half the women in the country are in love with him. He writes his own stuff, right?”
“That doesn’t mean it’s actually a page from his journal.” But the song was most likely something similar. He’d never been able to get into work that didn’t hit close to his heart.
She’d listened to everything Awestruck put together until that winter she’d gotten too close to Gannon’s heart herself. After that, she hadn’t wanted to hear what he had to say about her or Fitz.
“‘I meant to be more than what I am,’” Tegan said. “‘But what I am, I surrender.’”
“From the song?” Her skipping heart already knew the answer.
Tegan nodded. “And all the women went weak in the knees.”
“I’d bet you the cost of the paint that’s about his faith, not a woman.” The inside knowledge slipped out on the desire to prove that she knew him, on the high that came with hearing his words after all this time and finding them familiar.
“You’re on.” Tegan pulled out her phone and started typing. A moment later, she turned her screen toward Adeline. She’d found an article that listed “Yours” by Awestruck as one of the top love songs of the year.
“That doesn’t tell you the intention behind it.”
“We’d only know if we asked him.” Tegan lifted an eyebrow.
Adeline had taken this too far. She struggled to keep her voice even. “John will know.”
Tegan shook her head. “The paint is going to cost a lot. I want to know from the source.”
“I wasn’t serious. It’s my house. I’ll pay for it.”
“I won’t let you pay all alone anyway. Find out from Gannon, but don’t you dare tell him which one of us is counting on which answer, because we both know who he’d side with.”
“You’re overestimating my pull.” Adeline dug her phone from her pocket with tense fingers.
Gannon had said he hoped she’d use his number. He hadn’t specified that it needed to be anything important. Was texting this question worth the possibility that he’d start trying to talk to her again once she made contact?
He had said a lot of true and helpful things in their last talk. There was nothing wrong with having a couple of conversations every eight years, was there? Soon, he’d be back in LA, forgetting about her for another decade.
“A car of teenage girls tried to come up the drive.”
Gannon’s phone pinged with a text as Tim made the announcement. He would’ve left the message unread for a couple of hours while he worked on the lighthouse song, but Tim lingered in the studio doorway, an inevitable interruption.
Gannon steadied his guitar with one hand as he leaned to get the phone out. “And?”
“They waited about five minutes at the gate, then turned around. Someone from security saw the same car coming back down someone else’s drive a few minutes later, so they’re taking shots in the dark.”
“Or they were lost.”
“You’re not that naïve.”
Gannon nodded and lit up the phone screen as Tim wandered off.
Adeline had messaged? He held his finger over the button to unlock the device and read the text.
Is the song “Yours” written to a woman or God?
Since she had been inside his creative process, she ought to know he’d only give complete allegiance like that song expressed to God. Had she even listened to it?
Cut by the realization she hadn’t, he put the guitar on a stand.
There could be another explanation. Maybe so much time had passed that she wondered if he’d changed.
He threaded his fingers together and stretched his hands before taking up the phone. It’s to God, and it’s true.
Adeline could use the message of the lyrics, but if she hadn’t heard the song despite that it was in heavy rotation on the radio, she must’ve purposely avoided it.
But now she’d reached out to him. Maybe she was softening. Maybe he could get the song’s message to her simply by asking.
Do me a favor and listen sometime.
Sure. The one-word response didn’t exude enthusiasm, but if she said she’d listen, she would. And when she did, maybe he’d hear from her again.
On Tuesday after work, Adeline arranged tarps along the side of her house and powered up the pressure washer. Her plan to prep and paint one side of the house at a time from start to finish would break up the task, giving her smaller milestones to reach for and celebrate along the way. If all went smoothly, she’d strip the chipped paint from this side tonight and return the rental in the morning, then move on to the next step.
After only a small section, her aching shoulders threatened the whole schedule. If she couldn’t distract herself from the discomfort, she’d never finish.
What could be more distracting than Gannon’s song?
Similar flimsy reasoning had carried her to that party all those years ago. She’d known then, as she knew now, she had much stronger feelings for Gannon than she ought to. But at least, working alone, she couldn’t act on those feelings in a disastrous way.
She popped in her earbuds and opened her music app. She’d listen while she worked.
No big deal.
Except her stomach jolted when she saw the cover of Awestruck’s latest album, a grayscale close-up of Gannon’s face. His chin was tilted down and to the side, but his eyes locked on the camera as if the photographer had asked him the meaning of life.
She scrolled past the cover art to the list of songs. Icons indicated the popularity of each. All were popular, but some, “Yours” among them, had skyrocketed beyond the rest.
She centered the song in question on her screen.
She had to hit play.
She shouldn’t have agreed to do this.
His music and voice played key roles in how deeply she’d fallen for him. She couldn’t breathe new life into those feelings. It wouldn’t be right to Fitz.
But everyone knew this song. How personal could it be?
It was just a song.
Her heart thumped in her chest. Forget trying to work simultaneously. She wouldn’t be able to continue with the pressure washer until this was over. Staring at chipping blue paint, she hit play, and her earbuds piped the sound directly to her.
The guitar started, Gannon in his element. He didn’t have to be before her for her to know how he held the guitar, how he shifted his heel with the beat.
In high school, Awestruck had used his basement as their rehearsal space, and she might as well have been curled up in a corner of the old couch there, fitting in homework while he obsessed over a few bars he didn’t like. He invited her to join him because she was better at lyrics than Fitz or John.
That was the reason she’d believed, anyway, until a couple of years later when she’d pressed her lips to his. His fingers found their way through her hair to her neck, his breath warm on her cheek, and his mouth—
Gannon’s voice cut in. “The mistakes I’ve made stretch two thousand miles into a past I can’t take back.”
His voice seemed so close, the words so spot-on, her breath caught. What had started as soft picking of the strings grew to rhythmic strumming by the chorus, his voice unleashing pent-up power.
“The past I can’t forget, you don’t remember. All you ask is that I surrender. Hands up, weapons down, I let you in and breathe again. You make me better than the man I’ve been. I meant to be more than what I am, but what I am, I surrender.”
Adeline rubbed her eyes. Still, she could see images of the time they’d spent together. The way he’d looked at her during shows to signal a transition or the way he’d swung her around at graduation. The awkward hug he’d given her before getting in the van with Fitz, John, and Matt—awkward, in retrospect, because Fitz had stood right next to them.
Her core had tightened when their eyes met at that party the year he visited home, not long before Awestruck’s big break. Her face tingled when he crossed the room to greet her with a hug that was anything but awkward, though he’d gained a couple more inches on her since he’d left.
One of her earbuds yanked out, and she snapped her eyes open.
“I knew I should’ve asked what you wanted the ladder for.”
Face blazing, she turned toward Drew’s voice. Good thing she hadn’t been using the pressure washer, or he would’ve caught its full force right in the chest of his polo.
Drew grinned. “Working hard or hardly working?”
“Just a quick break.” To fantasize about a man she had no business thinking about. She tugged out the other earbud and stuffed the pair in her pocket.
Drew surveyed the couple of feet of siding she’d covered. “Where’d you get the idea to do this?”
“I watched a video. It sounded a lot faster than using a scraper.” Her voice sounded high and breathless. Any moment, Drew would ask what in the world had her so worked up.
He eyed the ladder he’d lent her, which lay in the grass. “Who’s going to steady that while you work?”
“Tegan, if she’s home when I do the top, but the middle section will be fine.” Her laugh sounded like something from a haunted house.
Drew frowned at her progress, pointing a finger along an indent in a piece of siding. “You’ve got to hold it farther back so you don’t gouge the wood. I’ll show you.”