The Ghost of You

by Tori Fox

  But unlike the rest of my family, I don’t let those secrets out. I keep them safe like an older brother should. I will protect my family no matter what. So I’ll let Mason try to get out of me whatever he wants but I keep my secrets locked down even better than theirs.

  “Oh come on, man. I know you like her.”

  I sit on the edge of the table I was near and shake my head. “She is just my neighbor. And too young for me.”

  “She’s twenty-nine, man, that is not too young.”

  Well, I didn’t know how old she was but finding out she is older than I thought opens up some possibilities, but I make my mind shut that door quickly. I keep a straight face as I listen to Mason. “Still not interested.”

  “Really? You don’t want to know that she is from a small town in Georgia, went to the University of Georgia, majored in music, moved to Asheville a little over a year ago, works part-time as a yoga instructor and as a bartender at the Beer Garden where Asher ground on her.”

  “I know about the Beer Garden. I had to pull him off her.”

  “She is also self-conscious. I can tell by the way she talks about herself but when she talks about music, she transforms into this whole other person. She lights up.”

  I wish I could see that. No, I don’t, I remind myself. “Sounds like your type, Mason.”

  “She is coming over on Monday to mess around with some new music we are working on.”

  I hope it’s not that shit I heard earlier.

  “Why are you cringing?”

  I look up at Mason. “Huh?”

  “You made a face when I said new music.”

  “Uh, yeah, nothing.”

  He pinches his brow when he looks at me but someone laughs and he looks in that direction. “She might be my type.”

  I follow his line of vision and see Anna laughing, head thrown back. Carefree, beautiful Anna. Definitely Mason’s type. “Don’t fuck shit up with that.”

  His head snaps back to meet my gaze. “With what?”

  “Her. Don’t just play music with her, fuck her, and leave her.”

  He grins at me. “I knew you liked her.”

  I look over at Anna and shake my head. “I just know that even though she seems carefree, she’s fragile.”

  I look back at Mason and find him staring at me. “What?”

  “Nothing,” he answers, putting his hands up in defense. “Well, I need to go mingle some more.”

  I just nod and sip my beer. I try not to think about Anna and Mason together but they are the perfect fit. And what better way to get her out of my head than by shoving her toward my brother. She and I are complete opposites. It wouldn’t work out. This is better for all of us.

  I swallow the rest of my beer and toss the empty. Mason is deep in conversation with some girl who barely has any clothes on. I know the direction the night is going for him, so I choose to leave without saying goodbye.

  9

  Anna

  I see Noah heading to the front door, so I end my conversation quickly before rushing to the front door to meet him.

  “Hey Detective,” I shout.

  He turns around with a smirk and the sight of his blue eyes nearly makes my knees weak. “Still a cop, Anna.”

  “I’m just trying to put positive vibes into the universe.”

  “Let’s hope it works.”

  Once again an awkward silence overcomes us. I don’t know how it always happens. I want to talk to him, get to know him, but it’s like the second he stands in front of me with that handsome face, that strong jawline, that slightly crooked nose, all my words just disappear.

  “Did you need something?” he asks.

  I brush my loose waves behind my ears. “Umm, did you want to walk me to my car? Men on the prowl and all.”

  He smiles and I look for something to grab on to because I think I just melted into a puddle. “You listened.”

  I nod. “My mama always said to trust a cop when he gives advice.”

  “Did she?”

  I laugh. “No. But I figured it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

  “Smart choice.”

  He pushes the door open for me, and I duck under his arm to walk through it. We start to walk a few feet and he stops at an SUV. “Not walking?”

  “You look cold. I’ll drive you.”

  “It’s two blocks.”

  He unlocks the car with a key fob and opens my door. “Do me the favor of not making me walk back alone.”

  “Okay,” I say as I climb into his SUV.

  He crosses in front of the car and gets in. He starts the car and presses a few buttons to turn on my seat warmer.

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem. Where is your car?”

  I tell him where it is and he pulls out onto the road. Our typical awkward silence hits again and I don’t even know how to break it. I think of all the things I could say but none seem to be very conversational.

  “Your brother’s recording studio is nice.”

  He looks over at me when we hit a stoplight. “It is. He worked hard this week to make it look like him.”

  “He invited me to hang out on Monday.”

  He turns back to face the road. “You should go.”

  “You don’t think it will be awkward? I don’t really know him.”

  He shrugs. “I’m sure you two have a lot in common. Besides, it can’t be any more awkward than when we saw each other naked.”

  I put my hands over my face. “I told you not to talk about that.”

  “I know.” He puts a hand on my shoulder. “But my brother is amazing at music. I don’t think you need to talk much if you two just start jamming together.”

  “Did you just say jamming?”

  “Yes.”

  I turn in my seat to face him as he pulls into the lot by my job. “What are you fifty? Ready to jam like back in the seventies.”

  He looks at me and laughs. “I don’t know what you young whippersnappers call it these days.”

  I laugh at that and open my door. “Thanks for the ride, Noah.”

  “Anytime.”

  I get in my car and shiver. I wish I had heated seats. I hate the cold. Okay, that’s not true. There is nothing more I love than fireplaces, sweaters, and tea, but I hate getting into cold cars. It is the worst.

  I pull out and see Noah waited for me. I follow him home. I wave as we both exit our cars and I walk inside. I don’t fail to notice him wait for me to make sure I made it inside my house okay.

  I can tell he is a protector. From the way he is with me to the little I have seen him with his family. He is always making sure everyone is okay before himself. I wonder if he has ever had someone to look after him. Protect him from the things that have hurt him. I have no doubt he has needed it at some point. I have a feeling he has been through something that destroyed him. There is nothing wrong with being the strong and silent type, but from my experience, it’s always because someone has been put through the wringer.

  I grew up with someone like Noah. He was a good friend to have around. I was sad when he moved when we were fifteen. But he had that protective gene that Noah has. I remember getting bullied one day when I was in middle school and he stood up for me in a way no one had before. He had been through foster care for a good chunk of his life and it hardened him. My friend, Becca, and I were always trying to get to know him but he kept his lips sealed.

  I wonder what it would take to get Noah to open up. Do I want to know him better? I think so. In more ways than just what his hands would feel like on my body. Because I am not going to lie, I have thought about that more than I care to admit. Seraphina doesn’t help by always talking about him.

  But I feel this pull to him. Like gravity wants us to collide.

  I fall asleep with thoughts of Noah in my head. Promising myself that tomorrow I will try to learn more about him.

  My plan of getting to know Noah didn’t go over very well as he wasn’t home when I woke up yesterday an
d I never saw him return. His car was in the driveway this morning though when I returned from yoga. Maybe he does have a girlfriend and I just haven’t realized it.

  I shower quickly and put on a pair of yoga pants, tank, and hoodie. I dry my hair and throw it on top of my head. I run into my music room and grab my favorite acoustic guitar and head out the door.

  My palms are sweaty as I drive to Mason’s studio. I haven’t played music with others in a long time. I’ve kept it to myself. Which is probably why it sucks. I need other’s opinions and expertise. I need to collaborate and learn. I need to put myself out there.

  It’s one of the reasons I keep putting off moving to Nashville. I can’t show up there, expect to get a gig anywhere, and perform without being comfortable playing in front of a crowd again. Hell, playing in front of two people sounds scary enough.

  I think back to when I was in college. I was playing in bands for crowds of hundreds and it never affected me. I never got stage fright. I never felt like puking when picking up an instrument in front of a crowd. But now I can barely play a chord without anxiety pummeling my chest or my lunch inching its way up my throat.

  Becca and Seraphina would both say it’s because of Kyle. Kyle and I played everywhere together. He was my rock on stage. Even if it wasn’t us doing our cutesy little acoustic alternative hipster music. When I would play with my folk band, he would sometimes just sit on stage or step in and play the cowbell a few times. But he was there. And when I lost him, the thrill I felt on stage disappeared with him. I knew if the events leading up to his death hadn’t happened, I might still be able to do it, still be the star on the stage. But those events almost made me lose my interest in music altogether. My family pressured me to keep playing, told me it would be my therapy. But it hurt too much. I never played the songs we wrote together again. I quit my folk band. I let the music in my soul die.

  And I didn’t touch it again for six years. Not until I moved to Asheville and Seraphina shoved a guitar into my hand. She kidnapped me one day as I put it. Forced me into a car and drove us back to my hometown to a storage unit I’ve kept all this time, where all my music, instruments, and memorabilia were kept. Seraphina unpacked it all in my sunroom, decorated it, brought the space to life.

  I cried for an hour when she showed me what she did.

  I felt the ache in my chest when I let my fingers glide over the keys of my keyboard.

  I suffered through the emptiness in my heart with the first chord I played on my guitar.

  But I did it. And I kept playing. She told me I didn’t have to be a star. I didn’t need to be front and center. But my music was what kept my soul alive. She told me to write, to let it out. Just do something to let me feel again.

  She was right.

  It helped. I’ve felt more alive every day since that intervention. I started doing yoga. I started eating healthy. I started caring about myself again. Music became my therapy in a way I never thought it could.

  I started to focus on songwriting and composing. It awakened me more and more with every note and every melody.

  I’m not a hundred percent healed. I still fall down that dark path when I think about Kyle. But I am getting better. And maybe one day soon it won’t hurt anymore.

  But right now, I am scared shitless of playing in front of people.

  I park my car and sit in it for a good ten minutes before I finally find the courage to get out. I grab my bag and my guitar out of the back seat. The door is locked, so I hit the doorbell and within a few seconds the buzzer sounds and the door opens.

  I was blown away by the studio when I first saw it two days ago. But it was full of people then. Now I can take it all in. The front area is spacious with a few dark brown leather couches. There is a receptionist desk with a calendar, a lamp, and a set of business cards, but no chair. I am guessing Mason hasn’t hired anyone yet since he isn’t open for business. Behind the desk is a beautiful navy wall, spray-painted with a logo on it, Starlight Studios. The logo is white, green, and yellow with stars and a mountain built into the words. The paint drips from the bottom of the logo in a completely intentional way. And from the matching business cards, I can tell Mason has had this dream for a while and has been working diligently for this moment.

  I walk down the short hallway to the room where the party was. The hallway is the same navy color but with a bunch of tiny lights built into the ceiling to make it look like stars. When I get to the big open room that’s part hang out room and part kitchen, I’m surprised to find it empty. A few empty beer bottles sit on the kitchen counter, but other than that the place is clean. An Xbox remote sits on the coffee table in front of the giant TV. I set my bag and guitar on the couch and make my way to the hallway that leads to the two recording rooms.

  A door opens once I start down the hall and Mason walks out. “Hey Anna. Glad you came by.”

  “Thanks for inviting me.”

  “I was just finishing up a mix I was working on. If you want to set up in the lounge, I’ll be out in a few minutes. My friend, Dee, is coming by too. I don’t think you met him Saturday. He had to leave early.”

  “Cool.”

  I watch Mason go back into the room and I head back to the couch. I pull out my guitar to make sure it’s tuned. I take my notebook out and grip it against my chest.

  No one has seen the words I’ve written in here. They are all new songs I’ve written over the past year and they are awful. Well, not entirely. But they need a lot of work. They need another set of eyes and ears to help them become beautiful.

  I’m kind of happy I am alone right now so I can adjust to the environment I am in. I pick my guitar back up and play a few chords as I warm up my voice. I can feel the fear creeping up my spine as I sing. Is it weird a stranger is the first person to hear my music? I guess I have no one else to turn to. I lost contact with my bandmates a year after I lost Kyle. They were tired of my depression and my lack of willpower to move forward, to play music, to put my agony and heartache to music.

  I start to sing one of my old songs that I wrote with Kyle. You think it would be hard to sing these songs, but it’s not. Because I know when we wrote these it was a much better time in our lives. We were happy then. These songs are not full of lies.

  “I ain’t heard a voice like that in a long time.”

  I come to a halt and screech when I hear someone come up behind me. I set my guitar down and turn my head to the side to see the man that walked in.

  “When the hell did you move to Asheville? And when did you start singing Sparrows songs again?”

  My racing heart slows as a smile takes up my whole face. Darnell Baker is standing in front of me. We were in the folk band together in college. He was one of my favorite people to write songs with. We always meshed perfectly. When you look at him, you wouldn’t think he would be in a folk band but he is a musical phenomenon. He can play almost any instrument. He loves hip hop and R&B as much as he loves country and folk.

  He pulls me to him and wraps his arms around me in a tight hug.

  “I didn’t know you lived here. Seraphina never told me.” He and Seraphina used to date, but now they hate each other. I don’t think anyone knows what happened with them.

  “You do remember I’m from here? Also, if she knew I lived here, do you think she woulda told you?” he asks me, his dark eyes squinting at me.

  I laugh. “She doesn’t know you’re here?”

  “This place is small. But it ain’t that small. We are in different circles. Especially now that she is more a hippie than ever before.”

  “She has her own way of seeing things.” I sit back on the couch. “So how have you been?”

  “Livin’ the dream.”

  I look over at him, one eyebrow raised as he pushes some of his long braids over his shoulder.

  “I just got back from a tour with my rock band last week. But I need to fly out to Atlanta and LA soon to help with some songwriting.”

  I smile. “You really are l
iving the dream.”

  He smiles back, his white teeth a stark contrast to his dark skin. “I’m not doin’ too bad for myself.”

  “For a boy from the wrong side of the tracks,” we say at the same time.

  “You two already become best friends? Did I miss my shot?” Mason asks as he walks into the room.

  “Man, you didn’t tell me Anna May Cooper was the one hanging with us today,” Darnell says.

  “I didn’t know you knew her Dee.”

  “You go by Dee now?”

  Darnell nods. “Dee Bak.”

  “So very gangster of you,” I joke. He always said if he made it big he was going to choose a rap name even if he was singing pop-country.

  “I told you I was gonna make it,” he answers back throwing a pillow at me.

  I look him in the eyes, trying to portray how proud I am of the kid who was a musical genius but couldn’t afford the shirt on his back. He got into the University of Georgia on a scholarship and he said it was the best thing that ever happened to him. “You did. I’m proud of you. But I’m calling you Darnell.”

  “Coopcake, you can call me whatever you want.”

  I smile at his old nickname for me.

  Mason scratches his head and looks at us confused, pointing between the two of us. “You wanna fill me in on this?”

  Darnell speaks before I do. “Remember me tellin’ you about my folk band, The Highway to Home?”

  Mason replies, “Yeah, what about it?”

  Darnell points his thumb at me. “She was the singer.”

  “One of them,” I cut in.

  “And she happens to be the lead singer/songwriter for The Sparrows.”