Page 21 of Torch Songs

Guthrie shrugged. “Yeah. Place ain’t upscale, but it’s not a single wide in a swamp either.”

“I’ll take it. Hope your couch is comfy.”

Guthrie nodded. “Newest piece of furniture in the place.” His first couch had been a hand-me-down with springs that would disembowel an occupant the hard way. The couch had been the only thing he’d really bought with his Fiddler and the Crabs money. He’d mostly used the proceeds to invest in his education.

Guthrie had a sudden thought of Tad on the couch while Guthrie curled up in his queen-sized and slept, and the thoughtmade him lonely. He wasn’t feeling particularly sexual—or even up to sex—but that kiss…. It hadn’t seemed to want anything from him but basic animal warmth.

With a grunt, he opened the door to Tad’s SUV, and Tad grabbed his backpack and Guthrie’s guitar and followed with nothing more than a warning glare.

“What?” Guthrie grumbled, making his way into the heart of the place. “What was that look for?”

“I was glaring at you before you could say, ‘Don’t worry, I got it, it’s mine!’”

Guthrie opened his mouth and then realized that wasexactlywhat he’d been thinking about saying and laughed at himself. “Yeah, ya got me there.” It was past nine o’clock at night, and many of the units were dark as folks either watched television in their bedrooms or were already asleep in preparation for an early morning. Some of the units were still lit, though. Some of them had what sounded like a family—kids arguing over what was on television, adults settling things down. Sometimes there was yelling, but it wasn’t a rule. This place was more likely to have young people hosting friends for pizza and videos or games than a fight of some sort.

He smiled a little as they passed the three-bedroom unit that housed probably ten people, all of them related. Mexican, he was pretty sure, because they ran a taqueria nearby. They were the ones who played the music, and most days they were more the fun kind of neighbor than the obnoxious kind. He was pretty sure the whole apartment complex tolerated the early Sunday music because a worn, once-pretty middle-aged woman brought by leftover Mexican pastries about once a month.

“Not a bad place,” Tad said as Guthrie let him into his ground-floor apartment.

“There’s some nice folks here,” Guthrie conceded as they walked through the door. He gestured toward the corner wherea dinette table would usually sit. Guthrie kept his music equipment there instead, and he had Tad set the guitar down there. “They watch out for each other’s kids. We keep a weather eye on the sixteen-year-old in the one-bedroom who’s pregnant and only has a social worker visit. I bring her food from the Washoe sometimes, and I know I’m not the only one. Sweet kid.” As he spoke he wandered around the little place, turning on the lights in the living room and the kitchen, which was only separated by a counter.

“I could ask my sister to make her a blanket,” Tad said, sounding pleased. “She’s always looking for another victim, erm, recipient of her work.”

Guthrie laughed softly. “Knitting or crochet?”

“Crochet. She, uh….” His voice trailed off, and then he gave a resolute little nod over the kitchen counter. “She picked it up in rehab. I guess yarn is her new drug. I mean, better than meth, and she goes through it slower, so I do what I can.”

Guthrie was aware Tad was peering at him from under nearly colorless lashes, as though this was some sort of test.

“Rehab’s hard,” he said. “I know folks who’d rather drink themselves to death than try to quit the sauce, and meth’s a nasty drug. So good for her. There’s a yarn store by my house. Tell me what kind and how much and I’ll get it for her.”

Tad grimaced. “Can’t you let me do a good thing too?” he asked.

Guthrie’s cheeks heated, and he felt like he’d been caught out somehow. “Yeah. Sure. Baby colors I guess. Let me know what I—”

“So help me, Guthrie, do not try to pay for it. If April wants to make it, that’s a big deal. Jesus, you’re stubborn.”

Guthrie let out a sigh. “I don’t want to fight about it anyways,” he said. “Fine. Jaya would be happy for a handmade baby blanket. I think she got kicked out of the house. She’s trying—getting her GED, working in a retail store—but you can tell the idea of a baby on her own is scary.”

“See, helping people can be a group project,” Tad said. His voice, which had grown a bit stony, softened. “And I don’t want to fight about it either. Were you going to get something in there or not?”

Guthrie smiled a little. “I was gonna ask you if you wanted a beer.”

“Wouldn’t mind one,” Tad said, glancing around the place.

With the exception of the music equipment corner, which housed a keyboard, music books on shelves, and Guthrie’s drum set out of the cases, the rest of the apartment wasn’t bad in Guthrie’s opinion. Couch was leather and mostly new, with some store-bought throws on it and some pillows. TV was in the right spot, and Guthrie had some streaming services for the comedown after a gig. He had a shelf of books and some nice lamps that lit the place up and some prints on the wall—concert prints, mostly. Folks he’d seen live. One or two posters his dad had made up when they were Fiddler and the Crabs.

“Got some snacks too,” Guthrie said. “Sarah usually gives us more than soup.”

“You looked in pain and out of it,” Tad said, coming to rifle through the fridge. “What you got to eat?”

Actually it wasn’t bad. Some of those grocery-store soups, a fresh loaf of bread, some prime cold cuts, some salads-in-a-bag. Eggs and cheese. Living like a bachelor was one thing, but living like a pathetic bachelor was something Guthrie worked very hard not to do. No fridge full of old takeout, no living room decorated with pizza boxes and beer cans. Guthrie may have wanted a little more spare time—he’dreallylove a pet—but he had to live here, and he didn’t want it to suck.

“Here,” Tad said, pulling out stuff. “You go change or shower or whatever you like to do after a gig, and I’ll make us something.”

Guthrie opened his mouth to protest, and Tad held up his hand.

“For fucks sake, Guthrie, let me take care of you a little.”

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