by Devney Perry
“No, that’s okay. I like this one.”
“Thanks for helping us today. I think she would be glad that it’s us. The three of us.”
Mom walked over and put her arm around my shoulders. She took Brooklyn’s hand. “I think she would have liked it too.”
We let the moment sink deep, then got back to work. Brooklyn stayed in the bedroom to help box up Nan’s nightstand belongings while I tackled the clothes and Mom dealt with the abundance of shoes.
By the time lunch rolled around, the minivan was teaming with boxes for charity and I was starved. Our lunch break was a roll through the McDonald’s drive-through. Then we went back to Nan’s and kept on working. Before we called it quits for the day, we’d taken two more trips to Goodwill.
Brooklyn dropped us off at home, her van empty except for the items Nan had designated hers. She was also getting a dresser and a bureau, but those Pete would help collect.
“Who gets that awful plaid chair of Grandpa’s?” I asked Mom as we stood on the sidewalk, waving goodbye to my sister.
“Graham.”
“No way.” I laughed. “He hated that chair. Remember he called it the lime puke chair?”
“I think it’s perfect. He teased her about it, but he always sat in it. And he’ll never get rid of it.”
“No, he won’t.” Graham would keep that chair, exactly as it was, until it either fell apart or it was time to pass it down to Colin.
“Maybe instead of taking an Uber to Graham’s, you could borrow Dad’s truck and deliver the chair yourself.”
My cheeks flamed. I was twenty-seven years old, but it was still embarrassing that my mother knew I’d gone to Graham’s and had done more than sleep in his bed.
“Is it smart? This thing with Graham?” she asked.
“Probably not,” I admitted.
“You two . . . you never could stay away from each other. Even on the nights you and Walker would both lie to me, I always knew you were with Graham.”
“You did?”
“I might not have said anything, but I knew. I assumed as long as you were with Graham, you were safe. It was the times when you weren’t with him that always made me nervous.”
“I was just playing in a band, Mom.”
“With a group of twenty-one-year-old men who I didn’t know. Put yourself in my shoes. You’d freak too.”
I thought about Colin and how I’d feel if he snuck out of the house to be left unsupervised with, well . . . Nixon. Yeah. I’d freak.
“If you trusted me with Graham, why were you always pushing me to spend time with other people?”
My senior year, she’d been constantly harping on me to go out with my friends. To spend one weekend without my boyfriend. The few times I’d doubted Graham’s love, it had been because she’d planted the seed.
“You were leaving,” she said. “You two were getting so serious and I just . . . I wanted you to get some distance. Some perspective. You were so young. Too young for that kind of love.”
“No, we weren’t, Mom.”
“You were eighteen.”
“And I loved him.”
She studied my face, the conviction behind my words. Then a wash of apology crossed her face, like for the first time, she was actually hearing me. She was actually believing.
“It was never fleeting.” I pressed a hand to my heart. “It’s always been him.”
“But you’re leaving?”
I nodded. “Yes, I am. We’re on different paths.”
“You always were.” And there, in her words, I heard the warning.
Mom had worried once that we were too young and I’d get my heart broken. She hadn’t been wrong. Now she worried our life circumstances would keep us apart.
Again, she wasn’t wrong.
Graham had built a good life for himself and his son. He wouldn’t sacrifice his normalcy for me.
I wouldn’t ask.
“Well, I’m wiped.” Mom brushed a lock of hair out of her face. “I’m going to take a thirty-minute power nap before running to the grocery store.”
“I could use a little down time myself.” I picked up the box at my feet, a handful of items from Nan’s that she’d left to me, then took it inside. With Mom heading to her room, I went upstairs to my own, but not to nap.
Instead, I dove into the letters.
I took my time, reading each, not just the lyrics. My grandfather had signed them all, Love Always. The song had been included in every letter, but when I reached the end of the stack, it was still incomplete. And the letters stopped after the war ended.
At least the ones from my grandfather to my grandmother.
There was one more letter, the envelope newer, with my name written on the front in familiar script. A lump formed in my throat as I took out the single page.
* * *
Your grandfather never finished the song.
Do me a favor, finish it for him and for me.
Love Always,
Nan
* * *
Tears dripped down my cheeks as I read the words again and again. It took me a few moments to blink them away, then I shuffled through the stack of letters again for the first.
Finish the song.
I hummed the first bar a couple of times, but there was no rush in my pulse. No connection to the melody. I hummed it again. Then again.
Still nothing.
It was plain. Simple.
Boring.
I moved to the second letter, seeing that he’d tweaked the lyrics, and only the rhythm of the chorus. The same was true for the third, fourth and fifth. But on the sixth, I saw he’d changed the notes. It was an entirely new bar.
Scrambling off the bed, I whipped out my sticks and sat cross-legged on the floor. I hummed the new bar again, this time tapping out a beat on the carpet. It only took one time through the notes for goose bumps to break out across my forearms. The nape of my neck tingled.
This song would be bold. It would be enduring, like my grandparents’ love. It would have a tender undercurrent with the bass, but the melody needed something dynamic.
There was a zing beneath my skin. The euphoria that only came when new song burst from my soul.
Nixon wouldn’t need to help me write a song for Nan, after all.
I practiced and practiced, honing that bar until it grew into the chorus. Then I added a hook. When Mom hollered it was time for dinner, I forced myself off the floor. My legs had fallen asleep from the hours seated, but I hadn’t noticed.
The song rang in my ears as I ate with my parents and as I borrowed Mom’s car to drive to Graham’s house.
I sang it for him and Colin. My grandfather’s lyrics and his song that I’d embellished.
For the first time in months, I was energized for the new album. The floodgates were open, and I was ready to unleash, to drown in the music. This was beginning. This song.
The one we’d call, “Love Always.”
Chapter Nineteen
Graham
“Oh, shit. Run!” The spark on the fuse jumped an inch. I shoved my hand in Quinn’s stomach and pushed her away before the thing exploded.
She bolted for the lawn, tripping over her own feet and tumbling on the grass as she laughed hysterically.
“Take cover!” I tackled Colin—carefully—whose laughter was drowned out by the boom of the firework cannon.
He scrambled to his feet, jumping and shouting as the flare shot into the night sky. It burst with a loud pop into sparks of golden light, crackling as they streamed above us.
Collective oohs and aahs sounded from the audience seated in camping chairs in the driveway.
Like we’d done for as long as I could remember, we were celebrating Independence Day at my parents’ house. We’d spent the evening grilling burgers and hot dogs, eating and visiting in the backyard, while we’d waited for nighttime to fall.
Then as twilight approached, Walker, along with Bradley, Dad and me, came outside to prepare for the s
how.
We’d let the kids throw snap pops and twirl sparklers. Then we’d set up a row of chairs, brought out blankets to ward off the chill and moved on to the pyrotechnics.
Walker and I had worked for a couple of hours this morning at the Bridger project before calling it a day. Then we’d headed to a local firework stand. The two of us had been stockpiling fireworks for weeks, but that hadn’t stopped us from dropping another three hundred dollars, each.
No way we weren’t kicking Judd Franklin’s ass this year in the street’s unofficial contest.
My mom and Ruby were snuggled in chairs. Brooklyn cuddled her son beside Pete while Mindy held Maya, who’d miraculously fallen asleep. And the rest of us took turns lighting fuses and goofing around.
“Can I light the next one?” Colin asked, bouncing around me and tugging on my jeans.
“It’s my turn.” Quinn swiped the lighter from my grip and smiled at my son. “But you can help.”
I stayed seated on the lawn, close to Walker, who had Evan on his lap, and watched as they approached the row of cannons. Walker and I had set it up strategically so the big bang was at the end.
Quinn took Colin’s hand, shielding him with her shoulder, before she clicked the lighter on and touched it to the fuse.
“Go! Go! Go!” She made a show of diving for the lawn, our safety zone, and held Colin tight as the spark inched close to the base of the cannon.
Boom.
“Bees! Yes.” Quinn threw her arms in the air. “My favorite.”
They buzzed around above us, zipping through the air, until they burned out.
“What do you normally do for the Fourth?” I asked Quinn when she sat down beside me. Walker and Evan were up next.
She leaned back on her elbows, blond hair dangling to the grass, and smiled up at the sky. “If we’re not on the road, I usually stay home and do nothing. You can’t see the fireworks from my apartment. Though, normally, we’re traveling. There’s always a gig for the holiday weekend.”
“Anything memorable?”
“A couple of years ago, we had a performance at this amphitheater outside of Boise on the Fourth. They did fireworks during the last song of our final set. It was really amazing. Ethan told me that they spent fifty grand on fireworks. But this is better. I missed this.”
“It’s hard to beat.”
The street wasn’t officially blocked off, but everyone knew not to drive this way until the noise had stopped. No traffic meant we could set up in the road and have lots of space to play.
The tradition was, we’d do our own show of fireworks, competing with the neighbors, until it was time for the city’s show. Then we’d burrow into our chairs and watch. From Mom and Dad’s driveway, we had a great view of the fireworks set off at the fairgrounds.
Our row in the street was dwindling and I checked the time. There was only fifteen minutes before the big show.
“Should we do the finale?” Walker asked as Dad tossed me his lighter.
“Can I help?” the boys asked in unison.
“Not this time, guys.” I stood beside Walker. “This is for the men.”
Colin plopped down on the grass beside Quinn as Evan raced over to sit in his red mini chair beside Mom.
“Ready?” Walker asked.
I grinned. “How much money do you think Judd Franklin spent this year?”
Walker wagged his eyebrows and clicked his lighter. “Not enough.”
We loved the Franklins. They’d been our neighbors for decades. But once a year, we went to war. Last year, Judd had gone to the reservation to buy his fireworks, and though we didn’t have an official judging system, we’d all known he’d won. But Judd had gotten reprimanded when word of his illegal fireworks had spread and this year he’d bought local too.
“Three and three?” Walker asked, pointing to the six large canisters we’d staged away from the others.
“Sounds good. Let’s go for seven seconds apart.”
Walker shot an arrogant smirk across the street. My wave was equally as cocky. Then we lined up by our fireworks and began touching flame to fuse. By the time they were lit, the first was nearly ready to explode. We jogged to the lawn and I collapsed beside Colin and Quinn.
“Here we go.” I looked at her profile. “Don’t blink.”
She smiled, and the light in her eyes danced as a pink starburst filled the sky.
And that was how I watched the finale. Not with my eyes aimed above, but at her face. I watched as the blue and green and red lights bounced against her skin. I watched the sparkles from the glitter in her eyes.
Two more days.
She’d been coming over each night after dinner. She’d play drums with Colin for a while, then hang out until he was asleep in bed. Then she’d come to mine. Each morning, she’d leave around five, and though we’d had the night together, it wasn’t enough.
Two more days.
Then she’d be gone.
“We definitely won this year, huh, Dad?” Colin asked, forcing my eyes away from Quinn’s face.
I held up my hand for a high-five. “Totally.”
“Nice show, neighbors.” Judd waved from across the street.
“Same to you, Judd,” Bradley called back with a smugness to his voice.
Quinn giggled. “Dad is rarely competitive, except when it comes to this.”
Bradley had chipped in a hundred fifty bucks to our fireworks budget. Dad had matched it too.
“I’m going to get a snack.” Colin popped up and ran to his chair beside Evan’s, digging into the cooler that Mom had packed for the grandkids. He pulled out a juice box and a bag of Cheetos Puffs. We didn’t do healthy food with fireworks.
I stood from the lawn and held out a hand to help Quinn up. “Want to stick around for the main show? Or do you want to sneak out?”
“Sneak out,” she answered, no hesitation. “Like old times. What about Colin?”
“He’s spending the night with Mom and Dad.”
“Where’s your truck?”
“In the alley.”
“All planned out.”
I winked. “Like old times.”
No one asked where we were going or what we were doing when we said our early goodbyes—a welcome change to the interrogation we’d gotten in high school whenever we’d left alone. I hugged Colin, who was so distracted with his snack that he barely noticed my good night.
“Don’t worry.” Mom kissed my cheek. “We’ve got him.”
“Thanks, Mom. See you in the morning.”
When I glanced around, Quinn had already disappeared. I gave the group one last wave, ready to go find her, but Ruby’s stare gave me pause.
There was worry on her face. The expression familiar to a lot I’d seen in high school.
But Quinn and I weren’t too young now. We’d had our fair share of experiences, the ones she’d wanted us to have. Apart.
So why the concern?
Ruby blinked and the look was gone. She gave me a smile before I turned and jogged around the side of the house, crossing through the yard to the alley.
Quinn was shrugging on a jacket as she stood by my truck. “So where are we going?”
I hit the locks and opened her door. “You’ll see.”
Fifteen minutes later, after I’d driven through town, I pulled off the highway and onto a gravel road that led toward the mountain foothills.
Quinn smiled. “Story Hills.”
I nodded. “It’s changed some over the years.”
“Hasn’t everything?”
“True.”
Quinn and I had spent a lot of weekends finding places to disappear, and Story Hills had been a favorite. It was no more than a parking lot and trailhead to the mountains, but at night it was usually empty, and the cops hadn’t once chased us away.
I steered us through twists and turns, bouncing along the bumpy road until we reached the parking lot. It was empty, as expected, because from here, you couldn’t see the fireworks in town
. But we’d come here for a different set of lights.
Without needing to explain, I parked and reached into the backseat to get the blankets I’d stashed earlier. Quinn was already out her door and climbing into the truck bed.
“Here.” I handed her the blankets to spread out, then hopped up to join her.
She laid down on her back, her legs crossed at her ankles and her hands folded on her stomach as she looked up to the stars.
I eased down beside her, our arms brushing. “One.”
“Two.”
The stars were bright this far from town and there was the faint glow of the Milky Way’s creamy haze. “Three.”
She relaxed on a sigh, leaning closer so her cheek touched my shoulder. “Four.”
“Five.”
“Six,” she whispered.
“Seven.” My hand stretched to take hers.
“What are we doing?”
“Counting stars.”
She squeezed my hand. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. I knew and didn’t want to have this conversation. She’d been right earlier in the week, to go without a goodbye. I didn’t want one.
Quinn shifted so our eyes met. “Do you hate me for leaving?”
“No. I hate that I knew you had to go and that I handled it so badly. But that’s on me. Not you.”
“I didn’t handle it well either.”
“Doesn’t matter now.” With my free hand, I cupped her cheek. “I’m glad we had this time. To put it behind us.”
“Me too. What happens after I leave Saturday?”
You come back. “You tell me?”
Instead of an answer, she turned her head to the stars again. “Eight.”
“Nine.”
We counted until we reached fifty-six. “What’s it like being on tour?”
“Stressful,” she said. “Tiring. At least, it has been lately. We’re under a lot of pressure to write our next album and it’s sucking the joy out of the travel.”
“Can you take a break?”
“We’re on one now. It’s been good. That song I’m working on from Nan’s letters has been . . . it’s been the most fun creating I’ve had in a while. It was overdue. We’ve been so caught up in the touring these past few years, I think we forgot why we started this in the first place. But the shows. They’re addictive.”