Page 103 of Torch Songs

“Steak,” Tad muttered.

“Clam chowder,” Guthrie said. “Trust me. Nobody comes to Monterey to eat steak. How long until my truck’s done, and what do I owe?” He stopped when Tad growled. “Tad—”

Tad growled again.

“We’ll talk about the truck later,” Guthrie conceded. “I can see it’s a sore point. Anyways, I reallycoulduse the sustenance. Let’s go.”

And that was that. For the day, at least, Chris’s plan of repression and Guthrie’s skill at avoidance made for a pleasant time.

THEY ATEclam chowder bread bowls on Cannery Row and then—Chris’s insistence—went into Ghirardelli for ice cream, which they ate on the patio overlooking the ocean.

“It’s a good thing this is a weekday,” Guthrie said, taking a spoonful of their shared sundae. “Otherwise the line for this place wraps around the block.”

Tad glanced around, taking in the busy tourist spot and then, over his shoulder, a stunning view of a crystal blue ocean, the rocks and surf below them.

“I can see why,” he said softly. “You come out here often as a kid?”

Guthrie shook his head. “Not here. This was for rich folk. But when we were short, Dad would give me the guitar and tell me to play in front of the plaza.” He nodded to where a middle-aged woman with a portable electric keyboard was doing a passable Carly Simon impression. “I looked young—pocketed a lot of pity cash.”

“Did it get you home?”

Guthrie snorted. “More than likely it got us to the next gig. That was like the ATM stop before the trip.”

Tad sighed. “Why didn’t your dad play?”

“’Cause he was an asshole and usually got kicked off. The cops only let you go for a set at a time. Jock wasn’t good enough.” He shrugged. “What can I say. I was their best bet.”

“How old were you?” Chris asked casually, but Tad knew that voice—that was his “kid interrogation” voice.

“Well, I took up drums at fourteen,” Guthrie said, pondering, “and I knew my first three garage band chords a little after that.”

Tad remembered Guthrie telling him that he hadn’t been allowed to play the guitar onstage, but apparently here, where he was basically panhandling, it had been okay.

Tad took a giant bite of chocolate and ice cream, suddenly needing it. “No wonder you’re so good,” he said, trying to keep it light. “I’d be good too if I had to play for food.”

Guthrie chuckled. “Yeah, but remember, you’re only a real musician if you starve voluntarily. There’s a little bit of crazy in there—it’s a fact.”

“I’ll remember that,” Tad said, and next to him, Chris murmured, “We’re not likely to forget.”

Tad knew what he was thinking. Another puzzle piece into what made up Guthrie Woodson. Another note in a plaintive, lonely song.

After chocolate, they kicked around town for a bit, although they didn’t really have time for the aquarium. They wandered down to the beach and walked along the surf, or Tad and Guthrie did. Chris made himself scarce, saying there was a store with turkish delight, and he was going to get some for his wife so she’d forgive him for taking the trip without her. It was an obvious ruse to give them some alone time, but Tad didn’t mind. There weren’t many people on the beach, so Tad reached for Guthrie’s hand, relieved when Guthrie threaded their fingers together like he hadn’t forgotten they knew how to do that.

“Stop worrying,” Guthrie said softly, under the wind. “C’mon, it’s not a bad day. Your worry is killing me.”

“There’s so much you aren’t telling me,” Tad said, trying to keep recrimination out of his voice. “And everything I guess is just… awful.”

Guthrie shrugged. “Listen, when you’re changing a dying man’s diaper while he’s calling you shitty names, your day isn’t gonna be great. But me and Jock give each other breaks, and….” He sighed. “Getting to know Jock again without either one ofus worrying about Butch—that’s been nice. He’s… well, he’s not bright, but he’s got a good heart. Not his fault he was left in Butch’s care when he was as young as I was. I could have been Jock real easy if my mama drank like I think Jock’s did. And if I didn’t have Jock around to make things better, I wouldn’t have been me, I guess. So it’s good I’m here for him as Butch dies. Butch is a sonuvabitch, and the world won’t be worse when he’s gone, but he’s been the driving force in Jock’s life, you know? Jock needs to know he’s got someone. And like I said, good heart. I didn’t see it so much after Butch turned his back, but it’s been there.”

Tad peered at Guthrie curiously. “Wheredidyour mother go?” he asked.

Guthrie shrugged, seemingly not curious at all. “Probably anywhere,” he said frankly. “I mean, maybe she loved me, maybe she didn’t. But if she spent five years with Butch, they must have been years in hell. She ran away to save her own life, and I can’t be mad.”

“Oh I can,” Tad said darkly.

“I asked Jock about her,” Guthrie said, surprising him.

“What’d he say?”

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