Page 120 of Torch Songs

“So,” the young salesman said, “are you getting it?”

Guthrie tried to breathe past the panic and remember the truth. The truth was, Olivia had probably already made the deal. All that remained was Guthrie signing on the dotted line. The truth was, even if the last two weeks were a fever dream, he knew how to make a living wage, and he’d find some way to pay his friend back.

The truth was, he could get to Colton in three days, exhausted, trail sore, almost frantic from missing Tad, with his pride in his hands along with the truth that he had no trust, no faith at all in Tad, in their friends, in the life and family they’d already started to forge together, or he could get there tonight, maybe have time to shower at Livvy’s, maybe be able to get something to eat since he’d skipped breakfast, and having a good story to tell, and then nothing—nothing—but time to remind Tad why he was worth waiting for.

And he’d have more than his pride with him. He’d have proof, maybe, that he trusted in the world, trusted in the homeTad had promised to make them, had faith in the people Tad had put faith into. He’d show up with more than pride. He’d show up with a whole heart ready to put, giftwrapped, into Tad’s hands so Tad could see it opened.

“I think Martin has the paperwork,” he said, his voice coming from far away, his relief at having made the decision enough to weaken his knees. At the last minute, he remembered his sense of self-preservation. “Any way I could get it in a different color?” he asked, only partly to give the salesguy shit. Ugh. The days of electric-lime paint—had he slept through those or just been poor enough to miss them on the road?

He anticipated the practiced smile of apology, and when he got it, he was ready to move in for the kill.

“Well, maybe not,” he said, “but is there any way the service guys could remove the lockbox in the back of the old one and reinstall it in the back of this one?”

And the salesguy was so excited to offer something to seal the deal, Guthrie got it for free.

MARTIN ANDOlivia had hammered down the terms and conditions by the time Guthrie weaseled into the office from the back entrance, and while the salesguy watched on, seeming a little bit bewildered, Martin walked him through the paperwork. At one point, Guthrie tried to cut Olivia’s loan down by offering the cash Adele had thrust in his pocket that morning.

Martin literally shoved it back at him.

“Oh my God, Guthrie—no. Just no. Pay it back to her, if you need to, but seriously. Take the cash, get a cup of coffee from the bistro at the corner, and wait for the lockbox to be installed.”

Guthrie tried to scowl at him, but he couldn’t. “They got good sandwiches.” He yawned wistfully, and Martin rolled his eyes before pulling out a set of keys from his own pocket.

“Better yet,” he said gently, “this one’s for my car—you know my Honda—and this is my apartment. I just moved in with Tracy. She’ll be at work in five. Hug her on the way out. I’ll text you directions, you go nap on the couch for two hours, and I’ll tag you when the truck’s done. It’s ten minutes away.”

Guthrie opened his mouth to protest, but a yawn came out instead. Martin smiled and pressed the keys into his hand.

“You never did tell me,” he said. “Did you make that recording session?”

Guthrie grinned at him. “It’s where the money’s gonna come from,” he confided. “Look for the Hot Crustaceans—the LP should drop right before Christmas.”

Martin sucked in an excited breath. “Oh God. Really?”

Guthrie nodded, and his heart must really have opened in the last three, four months, because his excitement spilled right on out. “I got six tracks on it,” he said, biting his lip. “Like, Fiddler—erm, Seth—he picked through everybody’s stuff, and there’s ten total, but he pickedsixtracks of mine, and we worked ’em, and they did…. God, they did magic stuff to my music, but the lyrics and percussion’s mine, and some of the guitar—”

“The voice?” Martin asked. “Did you do vocals?”

His grin broke free. “Yeah,” he said. “And… and Martin, I think you might… I think it might hit. I got no guarantees. You might be the only one to buy it, but—”

Martin squeezed his eyes shut in excitement. “It’s gonna be huge,” he said, and Guthrie heard nothing in his voice but happiness for a friend. “It’s gonna breakhuge, and every time it plays over the loudspeaker, I’ll tell anybody who’ll listen that Guthrie Woodson’s my friend, and he even slept on my couch on the way home from cutting a legend.” He opened his eyes and reached out to shake Guthrie’s hand. “My friend Guthrie. It’ll be epic.”

Guthrie’s eyes spilled over, and he couldn’t blame the tiredness—not on this. “Thanks, brother,” he said, and Martin pulled him into a hug.

“Go get some sleep,” he murmured. “Paperwork’s done. I’ll text you when your lockbox is installed and it’s all shifted over. If you want to get sandwiches on the way here,that’swhat you can do with your three hundred dollars. How’s that?”

Guthrie nodded and accepted the kindness with a full heart. “It’ll be epic,” he said. “Let me get my laptop and knapsack. The rest is my instruments—”

“We’ll treat them as gently as we’d treat Saint Peter’s testicles,” Martin said, his eyes dancing.

“I’m stealing that,” Guthrie promised, impressed by the wordplay.

“Epic.”

THREE HOURSlater he was on his way.

The nap reallyhaddone him good, and as he settled into the cab of the truck, a new coffee in the cupholder, his phone playlist hooked up to the Bluetooth—which was such a better setup than his old truck he couldn’t even believe technology had improved that much—he remembered to text Olivia that he should be there in Colton around six, maybe seven.

Come to Larx’s house,she replied.We’re doing dinner there tonight. We can give you directions to Tad’s, and you can call from the landline.

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