Page 27 of Torch Songs

“Jaya,” Tad said, remembering the name.

“Yes,” April continued, hopping in the car and letting Tad stow the yarn. “It would be nice if she had her own blanket. It’s good Guthrie’s neighbors are looking out for her. I like doing good things for strangers. There’s none of that awkward emotional commitment, but you know you’ve put something good out in the world.”

Tad blinked. “Isn’t that… I dunno. Like teaching or volunteer work?”

“Did you hear me?” she asked. “I said there was no awkward emotional connections. My God, Tad, I’m a recovering junkie. How many spoons do you think I have?”

Tad shook his head. April had tried explaining “spoon theory” to him—the idea that she only had X amount of energy in her for making human connections, but he always got lost at the place where she got more spoons from being alone.

In the end, he sort of figured that if she said she didn’t have the emotional reserves, he should respect that and not ask her what her fuel was. He had a suspicion it came in yardage of wool/acrylic worsted, and he’d never been good at math.

“Well, if you have enough spoons for Guthrie’s neighbor, I think that would be nice,” he said. “And I’m grateful.”

“If you want to be grateful,” April said, “tell me more about this Guthrie person that you’re so excited to watch sing.”

Tad tried to fight a blush. “No excitement,” he lied. “We’ve known each other for five minutes, and there’s been texting.” And some reallygoodkisses. And sort of a promise that there’d be more kisses that night. And maybe more than that.

“Does he seem like a solid guy?” she asked as he started the car up and headed for the beach. “Stop for some sodas and sandwiches, okay?”

He glanced at her happily. “I’ll go to that deli you like.”

“You’re a good egg, big brother,” she said with a quiet smile.

He slid a glance at her, saw her auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail, and her eyes—a sort of restless gray-green—were less troubled than he’d seen them in quite a while. Suddenly he wanted him and Guthrie to work out forAprilas much as he wanted it to work out forhim. Then he thought of Guthrie, practically fainting to finish his gig, the commitment he’d made to his band, to the bar, all of it, driving him to play beyond pain.

Tad wanted him. So badly. He wanted them to work forGuthrie. He knew better than to try to judge a performer by their performance, but there was something so sublimely lonely about Guthrie, singing heartbreak songs for a rowdy crowd who, nevertheless, sank into his heartbreak and embraced it as their own.

“So,” April said, breaking the silence, “we’ve established you’re a good egg—nowtalk, egg,talk.”

“He’s a musician,” Tad said with a shrug. “And he’s skittish. He… he says he was in love once, and the guy was in love with someone else but was still really kind. Guthrie’s got nothing bad to say about the guy, but you can tell. He’sterrifiedabout caring for someone else who isn’t going to love him back.”

“Yikes,” April said. “That sounds… dangerous. Like he could hurtyou.”

Tad grunted. “The thought has occurred to me,” he admitted.

“But you’re going to see him anyway.”

She couldn’t help it. She didn’t have the memory of Guthrie sprawled against his chest, so tired he could barely talk but still pouring out his heart. “I went to watch him perform three times before he even noticed me,” he admitted. “I mean…three times.”

“Was the person as good as the performer?” she asked.

“Better,” he admitted, remembering Guthrie’s calm way of taking care of the mugger, his irritation and lack of self-pity when he’d failed to ward off a second attack. “He’s got this strength in his heart. And, you know, good egg. Like, I think hereally wantsa cat, but he doesn’t want the cat to be in an empty apartment, and he’s got a day job and gigs and rehearsal and stuff, so he hasn’t gotten one.”

“That’s a good guy,” April said decisively. “He knows how many spoons he has, and he doesn’t promise spoons when he can’t deliver.”

“So yeah,” Tad said. “I’m going to go watch him play tonight.”

“And when are you going home?” April asked, raising her eyebrows.

He shrugged. “Maybe tonight.”

“And…?”

“Maybe tomorrow,” he admitted, his cheeks heating.

“Take care of your heart, big brother,” she murmured. Then, “Ooh—let’s get some ice cream before we stop at the deli!”

So they did that too.

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