“Wow, that could have been bad,” Lauren says. “It’s a good thing you talked to him.”
“You know it,” Shakeesha says. “Toe, tell Lauren about that thing with you last month. What your grandmother told you.”
Tohru takes a pull from her beer and leans in toward Lauren. “Okay, that one was pretty good. Remember I told you about how my aunt was selling her house?”
“The same one your mother grew up in?” Lauren says. “You said she wasn’t sure if she should.”
“Right, exactly. It made no sense for her to keep the house anymore now that my grandparents are dead. The thing is, my aunt was the rebellious one and never got along with her father. She and my grandfather used to fight about everything, ever since she was teenager. So we figured maybe there was some emotional baggage there. One night I was sitting here, just letting my mind clear, and I heard my grandmother speaking to me. She told me to tell my aunt to look in her bottom dresser drawer. That my grandfather left something there he meant to give her.”
“Seriously? Cool,” Lauren says. “What was it?”
Tohru picks up her beer again and takes a sip. “An old wooden box full of silver dollars. I know, it doesn’t sound like much. It wasn’t worth a ton of money or anything like that. But the thing is, my aunt told me after that one of her earliest childhood memories was sitting with her father going through his coin collection. For her, it was this happy, loving moment between the two of them. At the time, those silver dollars were as big as her hand. She could still remember holding the weight of them in her palm and they felt magical to her.”
“Does that rock, or what?” Shakeesha says.
“Oh, my God,” Lauren says. “I feel like crying.”
“I know!” Tohru says, making me jump. “My aunt knew that my grandfather was trying to tell her that everything was okay now. That he really did love her. After that, she was ready to move on.”
Tohru seems completely unfazed by the idea of interacting with her dead grandmother. She’s so matter of fact about it while I’ve been denying my own way less significant experiences for as long as I can remember. She’s an interesting person, definitely.
Then, Lauren tells them about the reading she got from holding Victor’s lighter and they’re totally riveted.
“It was really unpleasant,” she says. “And I could tell from his eyes that I was hitting home. Wish I hadn’t been, to be honest. Not the kind of energy you want to be around at all.”
“You okay, baby?” Shakeesha says.
Lauren runs her hand through her hair, pulling it back from her face, then letting go again. “Yeah, I’m fine now.”
“You’re really good at the whole psychometry thing,” Tohru says. “Remind me to have you check out this necklace I found at a consignment shop last week. There’s just something about it.”
Lauren smiles. “Okay, cool.”
Once again, I think about that compass Lauren asked me to hold. At the time, I got the feeling it was somehow important to her. What had she been wondering about and why hadn’t she been able to get something off of it?
Suddenly, Lauren turns the conversation in my direction. “Jack’s got a lot more happening right now than I do,” she says. “He’s been getting his ass kicked on all fronts lately. So, we’re trying to figure out what’s going on.”
Lauren’s comments have the effect of landing all eyes on me. For a while, I felt pretty sure they forgot I was even there.
“Hang on, I don’t want to miss anything!” Tohru says. She goes to the kitchen and returns a few seconds later with four more beers. “Jack, what’s going on?”
I lower the geezer lounger and tell them, starting with that first flash I received from the Telecaster until now. While I’ve gotten used to talking about this kind of thing with Lauren, it feels strange to be telling Tohru and Shakeesha. Despite what they’ve just been talking about, I almost expect them to snicker and shoot looks at each other when I finish. But they don’t, of course. Just the opposite. Especially, Tohru, who’s eyes have kept getting wider.
“Oh, my God!” she says. “Do you really think it belonged to Jessica Malcom?”
“Yeah, I think it might have,” I say.
“Come on, Jack,” Lauren says. “You totally know it did.”
“Who do you think the ghost is?” Shakeesha says.
“No freaking idea,” I say.
“I told Jack you were a total Purge fan,” Lauren says. “Talk about things lining up.”
“I know, right?” Tohru says. “They were awesome. Hey, did you try getting anything off the guitar?”
“No,” Lauren says. “This isn’t about me. It’s about Jack. And the guitar has already found the person it wants to talk to.”
Tohru and Shakeesha both nod thoughtfully, as if this makes perfect sense. I’m not sure what to think but clearly that’s how Lauren feels.
“Cool,” Tohru says. “We definitely need to check things out tomorrow.”
I wasn’t sure what I expected but I just figured she’d be on fire to get on this. “Tomorrow?”
“Not a good idea to open psychic doors when you’ve been drinking,” Shakeesha says. “You might open the wrong kind.”
“And we’ve definitely been drinking,” Tohru says. “Who wants another beer?” She doesn’t wait for an answer and heads off toward the kitchen again.
While everyone seems to think rock musicians are all about drinking and gobbling down drugs like candy, I’ve only tried weed once before and I’ve never had more than a beer or two. I never really got into either all that much. I know I probably shouldn’t have another beer but, stupidly, I do. The music gets louder, Tohru changing it over from jazz to rock. They have some pretty good tunes in the playlist, which cycles between older stuff like REM and the Smiths to more recent songs from bands like Arcade Fire and the Joy Formidable. The conversation starts drifting all over the place and half the time we’re laughing our asses off about stuff I forget two minutes later. But I do learn that Shakeesha and Tohru are art students at a college here (which I should have guessed) and that Lauren sometimes imagines herself being a school guidance counselor in the future (which surprises me entirely).
“Who would make for a better guidance counselor than someone with a keen sense of intuition?” she says. “I mean, I wouldn’t just be going through the motions, processing kids like it’s some sort of factory. Maybe half the time I’ll get a decent sense of what they’re actually about.”
She has a point, definitely. It wasn’t something I ever would have pictured before but I can see it now. Lauren would probably make the world’s best guidance counselor. I’m smiling at the thought when Shakeesha clears away the bottles and returns with even more beer. I’ve lost track of how many I’ve had—and maybe being tired from a pretty long day factors in too—but I definitely now understand what people mean when they say they were “wasted.” I sit in my lounger, trying not to grin like a fool, looking at these beautiful women surrounding me, thinking maybe, just maybe...
As more time passes and I continue to zone out, I start making eye contact with Tohru, then with Shakeesha, while the music plays and I do my best to add to a conversation I’m barely following, thinking why not since Lauren already has the mystery boyfriend. But everything around me is starting to fade. At one point, Shakeesha looks at me and says, “Sorry, sweetie, it’s all cool, but we’re a thing.” Before long, she and Tohru walk out of the living room together holding hands.
I don’t know how much time passes before Lauren puts a blanket over me and lowers the recliner so I’m basically laying down. She turns the music down and I hear her settle onto the futon sofa. I’m almost out when she whispers, “By the way, there’s no boyfriend. But I’m guessing you can’t hear me, right?”
I want to ask her why she said it last night. Why would she lie about something like that? But I can’t seem to raise my head. A moment later, there’s just the darkness.
~~~
It f
eels like three seconds later when Tohru’s voice blasts through the room. “Good morning, travelers! Rise and shine!”
I groan and open one eye. Way too much effort. I roll over onto my side and draw the blanket up to my shoulders, then over my head.
“Our man Jack looks a little worse for wear,” Shakeesha says.
I lower the blanket enough to squint in her direction but the sun nearly burns out my eyeballs. “Can you guys maybe close the blinds?” I draw the blanket up again and shut my eyes.
Someone yanks the blanket away. Tohru gazes down at me. “I’ve seen healthier roadkill,” she says. “Lauren, what’s up with your friend here?”
“He usually goes to bed early.” Amazingly, Lauren sounds bright and chipper. She lowers her voice to a whisper. “His friends call him Pajama Boy.”
I’m going to murder her once I regain use of my body.
“Hey, P.B., come out of that coma you got going on there,” Shakeesha says.
“Still alive, P.B.?” Tohru says. “Give us a sign.”
A sign comes to mind. I stick my hand out and raise my middle finger.
“We have a heartbeat!” Shakeesha says.
“P.B. lives!” Tohru cries, her voice nearly splitting my skull.
I tell myself I can manage this and force myself to lower the lounger. I sit up, wishing I had my Bono glasses but unfortunately they’re in the van.
“You just need some food!” Tohru says.
“Exactly,” Shakeesha says. “And I plan to make us some killer omelet-os!”
I’m not so sure about food but I am totally sure that I won’t be drinking again anytime soon. Maybe never.
Half an hour later, we’re in the kitchen gathered at the coolest breakfast bar I’ve ever seen. Concrete painted across the top with a Doctor Who mural. Various faces of different doctors, the time machine TARDIS portrayed spinning all over the place. And, of course, the companions. Nice. Then there’s cheese omelets, bacon and orange juice and coffee and water. Maybe it’s just because I’m someplace totally new, with people I never imagined meeting, but I’m starting to bounce back already.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” Tohru says. “Shakeesha and I did a little research this morning. And we’ll share with you what we know. But first, you have to promise that you and the Potato won’t just go taking off. Who knows when we’ll see her again?”
“This morning?” The idea amazes me.
“Yes, this morning, lightweight,” Tohru says. “What did you have, like four beers?”
“What the hell? I’m seventeen.”
“Point taken. Anyway, how about that promise?” She keeps her eyes on mine like I’m in charge of this whole deal. Am I?
I nod. “Sure, I guess.”
“Okay, then. Well, you already know I’m a Purge fan. Which means, obviously, I’m aware of the fact that nobody knows where Jessica Malcom disappeared to. If no one knows that after all this time, then I got nothing. Even my little angels aren’t whispering in my ear on that one.”
“What Toe means,” Shakeesha says, “is that we both pooled our abilities and totally failed.”
“Oh,” I say.
Shakeesha spreads jam onto her toast. “Not to worry, sweetie. That just means we had to resort to purely empirical research. Not exactly my favorite flight plan, if you know what I mean, but we did come up with something.”
“Trevor Harrison,” Tohru says, then waits for us to react.
I look over at Lauren but I can tell she has no idea either.
“T,” Shakeesha says.
Then I get it. “The bass player?”
“Exactly,” Tohru says. “Not too many people know this because he went by just ‘T’ the whole time. I don’t know if he ever played in another band but, if he did, he used a different name. Anyway, T’s name is actually Trevor Harrison the Third. Seriously, in real life he has Roman numerals.”
“I bet he had attorneys in his family,” I say.
Understandably, Tohru shoots me a quizzical look. When I don’t add anything more, she says, “Not that I ever planned on doing some sort of Purge manhunt or anything, but here’s how it worked out. The other songwriter? There’s like forty-million women in the world named Michelle Carter. The drummer, Brian Downes? Same deal. But there’s only so many Trevor Harrisons the Third in the world, if you know what I’m saying.”
I’m just about to take sip of coffee but I put my cup down again. “Hang on, are you saying you know where he lives?”
Tohru shrugs. “I’m just saying we might have a pretty good idea. But something tells me—and yes, this is my intuition talking—that you two need to chill for today. We will share the rest of what we know tonight. Right, Shakeesha?”
“That’s right, baby,” Shakeesha says. “That is our Psychic Potato-keeping plan. You too, Pajama Boy. You’re starting to grow on me.”
~~~
An hour later, we’re boarding a Nashville tour bus. The driver, an old guy named Hal, welcomes us aboard and directs the flow of passengers toward places to sit.
We take our seats and Tohru turns to Shakeesha. “I totally always wanted to do this.”
“I know, baby. Me too.” She turns to face me and points toward the old guy sitting behind the wheel. “P.B., if you have any questions, ask that man up front. For today, I am a tourist in my own town.”
I have my doubts setting out but it really is fun. Sure, it’s hokey as hell riding along in the tour bus gawking out the window alongside mostly senior citizens but everything is new and why would I care if I stand out as a Nashville newbie? We start out by the Country Music Hall of Fame and roll down Broadway, the same street we drove along last night. Even this early bands are doing sound checks, some already playing, music coming out of the open doors and windows of bars, a mix of blues, jazz and country. We check out the Ryman Auditorium, which I’ve actually heard of before. We learn how the place started as a church long ago and then hosted the Grand Ole Opry for years. On the bill tonight, though, Flaming Lips. I wish we could check out that show but it has to be sold out.
“Those guys are awesome!” Tohru says. “We saw them a couple of years ago.”
I try not to be jealous but I’m totally jealous.
We drive along the river learning about more of Nashville’s history and, before long, we roll past the Hard Rock Café with its giant mural of a Gibson Les Paul painted above the entrance. Les Paul himself was from Nashville, it turns out. Something I never knew. I stare out at the mural and my heart pings as I think about my beautiful sunburst Les Paul, probably already sold from Gary’s shop. But I take my eyes off the painting and look around at us—at Tohru and Shakeesha, at Lauren gazing out the window—and realize it doesn’t matter. Trading guitars was my ticket to get here. No matter what happens, I wouldn’t change that. More than a fair price to pay for just this moment alone.
After the tour, we pile back into Shakeesha’s ten-year-old Toyota Camry. It’s got to be over a hundred degrees in there and rolling down the windows makes no difference. Shakeesha starts the engine and blasts the air conditioner. I sit next to Lauren in back, waiting for some of that cool air to reach us.
“On to ancient Greece!” Tohru says.
“Okay, baby,” Shakeesha says, “you hurt my ears that time and I’m used to you.”
Tohru just laughs and points down the road. “The Parthenon awaits!”
~~~
“Seriously?” I say.
We stand in front of the Parthenon. Who knew that Nashville had a full-scale replica? Probably plenty of people but not me. Lauren’s eyes meet mine and she’s no longer fighting back the smile. She’s full-on grinning.
Tohru bounces on her feet. “Really? You guys didn’t know?”
“Prepare to be amazed,” Shakeesha says, giving me a wink and a smile.
And we are amazed, moments later, as we stare up at a giant statue of Athena. Her gold dress shines back at us, her face alabaster, eyes staring past us toward the sky like she’s w
aiting for Zeus to give her a signal. We’re dwarfed at the hem of her gold gown.
“She’s over forty-feet tall,” Tohru says. “We don’t mess around here in Nashville.”
Lauren drifts away from us to check out Athena from a side angle. She gets out her phone and takes few shots. She’s still staring up at the goddess when a guy walks up next to her. He’s got a hipster thing going on—skinny jeans and black-framed glasses, thin beard and tattoos.
“Hey, do you go to Watkins?”
It takes a second for Lauren to realize he’s speaking to her, then she says, “Me? No. I’m not from around here.”
“Which explains why I’ve never seen you before.” He smiles. “I totally figured you for an art student.”
Lauren smiles too. “Not exactly. I’m more of an English Lit type. With some other dabblings.”
“Right, cool,” the guy says. “That’s my minor. English. I’m thinking about maybe applying to an MFA program when I finish my undergad stuff. I write some poetry when no one is looking.”
Lauren laughs, that same laugh I thought might just be reserved for me. “Me too,” she says. “I never show anyone. I mean, it’s just stuff I scratch down, you know?”
“I bet it’s great. Hey, I’m Steve.” He holds out his hand and Lauren offers hers.
“Lauren,” she says.
I notice how different Lauren seems now that we’re no longer in Edmonds. She smiles and laughs. Her eyes shine. Unimaginable back home where she must have been keeping her defenses up the entire time she’d been growing up.
“What year are you in? Where do you go?” the guys says.
“I’m in high school,” Lauren says. “In Virginia.”
“Seriously? You must be a senior, right?”
“Next year,” Lauren says.
“Wow, cool. What are you doing here?”
I’m still pretending to be focused on the giant statue. But from the corner of my eye I see Lauren gesture toward me.
“Jack and I are on a road trip together,” she says. “We’re sort of on a mission.”
I feel the blood rush to my face. I hope it doesn’t show but I know it does. I look over at Lauren and the hipster guy. “Hey, how’s it going?”
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