Page 114 of Torch Songs

Jock practically lit up. “You’ll come around Christmas? Wait until you see the place then.”

Guthrie smiled to himself, thinking Tad might want to come, and then remembered something important. “He wanted you to sing,” he said. It was only a small lie. “Over his grave. He didn’t say what—I mean, you can sing ‘Born to Run’ and he won’t know. But that would’ve made him happy.”

Jock’s returning smile told Guthrie that maybe he knew the truth there, but he’d take the small gift. “I’ll think of that, then,” he said. “While we’re doing all this other shit. It’ll get me through.”

GUTHRIE LEFTtwo days later, early in the morning. The service would be in two weeks, because those things went slow, but Guthrie’s truck was on its last legs, and he planned to be in Colton in two weeks, so he couldn’t make any promises.

Jock didn’t ask for any, but he did haul Guthrie into a big, tearful hug as Guthrie loaded up his truck, his hair fresh from washing.

“Hey, boy,” he said, voice choking. “Stay there a minute. I got a thing for you.”

He ran into the house and came back with—oh God.

“Jock?” Guthrie asked, surprised. He knew exactly how much money Jock had on a day-to-day basis—between the two of them, they had just enough for Jock to pay the property taxes, buy the supplies to make all the improvements, and then eat.

“It’s your daddy’s,” Jock muttered. “His money, I mean. I… that first day I took his death certificate to the bank and unlocked his funds. There wasn’t a lot there. I was his only beneficiary, so I hope you don’t mind if I use the rest for his funeral and stuff. But there was enough for this. I figured the old bastard owed you. And I knowIdefinitely do. So you keep it. I asked the guy at the store, and he says it’s all charged up, and there’s every kind of car charger known to man in the box. I-I know you’ve got to go, but maybe… maybe you can sit at the table for some coffee while you fix that up.”

Guthrie stared at the brand-new phone—not a burner but the latest model, with a solid case—and wanted to cry.

“For this, Jock,” he said, voice choked, “I’ll drink an entire pot.”

He reached into the truck for his computer and all the info and dragged it back into the house. Yeah, sure, he’d planned to be out of there by seven in the morning, but God, if big gestures weren’t worth the wait.

Lights Will Guide You Home

AARON GEORGEwas going to make a difference in Colton, California, law enforcement—but he obviously didn’t plan to die trying.

He was safe, up to date, cognizant of working his people just enough to keep them interested and fed, but not so much that they burned out. Tough, compassionate, and funny.

All the things that had made him good to work withbeforethey’d fallen down a hole in the world still held.

He and Larx had greeted Tad, April, Chris, and Laura with a barbecue by the pool at Olivia’s house (apparently Aaron’s house, but she rented), and Tad and April got to hold the baby, coo at the baby, and pet all the dogs to their hearts’ content. They also got to swim under the dusty trees, and since swim season was not going to last in the mountains as long as it did down in Sacramento, they were grateful. April, Tad noticed, had bought a sort of long-sleeved swimming costume—something that hid the ravages of drug use on her arms but still flattered her slender frame—and she spent part of the day in shy, quiet conversation with Berto. Mostly, Tad thought, about dogs.

For his part, Tad spent the evening getting unsubtly grilled by Olivia about how Guthrie was doing. It was fun having a friend with the same hobbies, and Tad thought he and Guthrie could settle in here just fine.

But first Guthrie had to, goddamnit, get there.

“So,” Aaron murmured two weeks after the barbecue, “you heard from him lately?”

Tad grunted and peered out the window of George’s department issue, enjoying the interplay of dappled shadow andgold light against the green of the pine needles, the red-brown of the trunks, and the dazzling blue of the sky. They’d been taking turns on the schedule, partnering up with different deputies and taking different beats. George had spent part of his summer cleaning the department out of most of the people who’d sided with the faction who’d tried to take him and Sheriff Mills out when the whole “falling into the canyon” thing happened. The other deputies Chris and Tad had met had been a little undertrained—and a little resentful of outsiders—but not a lot. They’d mostly been hoping that the two new recruits wouldn’t be “too Hollywood” and that Tad, at least, would be “Aaron’s kind of gay.” Tad had no idea what that meant, but he seemed to be fitting the bill, and he was grateful.

Today he was on a ride-along with Aaron, one of his last before he and Chris got to patrol together, which they’d do for a couple of months before patrolling alone when needed or with various partners. Aaron didn’t want to break up a good team, he said, but he also wanted everybody to learn from each other.

Tad was grateful… and excited. It reallywasa different sort of police work. They’d given vagrants rides to a shelter by the freeway that had shuttles to bus stations and vouchers for temporary housing. They’d helped abused spouses either leave their abusers or, in one case, imprisoned the abuser for a good long time.

They’d broken up a meth house and relocated the denizens in a rehab facility in Auburn, with a voucher for the long-term facility April was helping to set up in Colton. They’d even, to Tad’s amusement, been part of the local school campaign to knock on the doors of kids who’d had a lot of truancies the year before and talk to the parents about the beginning school year and what could be done to get kids to the classroom.

“I’m not sure how well this is gonna work,” Aaron muttered, “but I promised Larx I’d do something after that kid went missing at graduation.”

“Well, you do what you gotta to keep the peace,” Tad said, which led to Aaron’s unsubtle question about hearing from Guthrie.

“About five days ago his father dropped his phone into the gears of one of those electric recliners,” Tad said in disgust. “He emails in the evening like he used to text, but you know….” He shrugged.

“Not great at communication?” Aaron asked.

“Well, it’s like song lyrics,” Tad ruminated, his foul mood about the whole thing coming to the surface again. “There are some great songs out there that evoke a whole host of images with just a few words, right?”

“Yeah,” Aaron said. “I’m a closet Swiftie, you know, thanks to my daughters. Between the sound of the music and the meaning of the words, whole novels take place, right?”

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