Page 24 of Lost Love on 6th Street

I’ve never dealt with an unaffable Bobby. This is the first time I feel myself teetering into a territory I don’t want to travel with him.

“You’re right. Stories matter because our histories are too rich to catalogue everything,” Eleanor swoops in. “But perhaps some stories deserve to be discovered too. Don’t they?”

Bobby looks at Eleanor with a lot more softness than he does me. Which I appreciate. I’d hate for her to be pushed away from the edge in his eyes. “They do. You’re not wrong there. I can appreciate that.”

Eleanor looks to me, almost for permission to continue. I tick my chin in her direction. Go on.

“The history of music here in Austin is vast and incredible. I mean, I’ve been here a little over two weeks and I already feel overwhelmed by its richness. I understand it’s difficult to conceptualize sorting through your history in order to provide me with more context. But I’m just a baby when it comes to all of this, you know?”

I watch her as she speaks, her conviction elegant and poised, yet not at all forceful. She’s earnest. Moreso than me.

“I know it’s a big ask for a picture that might mean nothing. I mean, for all we know, this could just be a tourist or a relative nobody. But she has a story too, right? We all do.”

Bobby’s nodding along with what she’s saying.

“I’d even offer to organize your attic for you if it would give me an opportunity to at least see if we can figure out who this woman is,” she says.

Bobby’s head droops forward as he shakes it. “Now, that’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard.”

Eleanor’s face falls.

I hold my tongue, unsure what to say.

“No, no, not going to have a young woman organize my attic just to find . . .” He sighs heavily. “I’ll take a look tomorrow and you two can come by for dinner. Mandy will cook. We can see what we come up with, alright?”

The relief is so great that Eleanor smiles into a gasp. “Really?”

Bobby’s eyes flutter shut, and he smiles. “You have my word.”

“Oh, thank you. Thank you so much,” she says, clutching the picture to her chest.

“Don’t thank me yet. Who knows what I’ll find up there? Might get bit by a spider and wind up dead before dinnertime,” Bobby says.

We say some quick goodbyes before Eleanor and I step out of Bobby’s domain. There is a buzz between us that keeps us silent until we’ve weaved back through the club, up the stairs, and into the Austin night air.

Eleanor takes a few steps toward the car, then stops, whipping around and letting out a hefty sigh. “Woah.”

“Yeah, woah,” I say.

“That was—that’s something, isn’t it?”

“Definitely something,” I say. I can’t shake the weird look Bobby gave me when he saw the photo. Almost like he saw right through me.

Eleanor pulls her bag further onto her shoulder. “Um, I’m sorry about your dad, by the way.”

I wince, gritting my teeth. “S’fine.”

“That must be hard.”

I don’t want to talk about it. My dad’s sudden death a little over a year ago. Heart attack. It's not unusual for men in my family, especially when they give up the ghost of paying attention to their cholesterol. Still . . . one day you’re talking to your dad about spring training over the phone, and the next you’re trying to console your mother in the emergency room.

It’s a mindfuck, to say the least.

“Yeah . . . it’s fine,” I say. Change the subject. “You’re really passionate about this picture, huh?” I ask.

Eleanor takes a step back as if my words had that much force. “We’ve had this conversation, haven’t we?”

“Well, yeah, but you haven’t put it in the words for me like you did for Bobby. Unless that was just a very well-crafted argument, in which case you should consider becoming a lawyer.”

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