Page 28 of Torch Songs

Doran Beach was one of their favorite places. They brought a kite and flew it for about an hour before, thighs and arms aching, feet cold from wading in the surf, they retreated to the car in time for Tad to take her home.

He helped her into her room with her giant bags of yarn, and she gave him a hug before he left.

“Thanks for the visit,” she said, her voice going rough.

Some of her well-being slipped away, and he was aware, again, of how lonely she was here.

“I’ll always visit you,” he said. “Are you sure you don’t want to move up to Sacramento with me?”

In the past, he’d never been able to finish the sentence without a violent brush-off, but now she chewed her lip.

“I… I saw an old friend of mine,” she admitted, surprising him badly. “She… she looked awful. Was wandering the street, half-naked. She didn’t recognize me. And… I wanted to go help her, but I was suddenly so afraid. If I helped her, I mightbecomeher again. Tad, I don’t want to be that person anymore. But here….”

She had no choices.

“I’ve got a guest room,” he said softly. “You can get a job in a… I don’t know. Craft store. I can’t promise you won’t see temptation, but….”

“But it won’t know me by name,” she said with a short laugh. “Let me think about it. Talk to some people. Maybe there’s a halfway house in Sacramento I can move into, okay? I-I do better when I see you, Taddy. I wish I could be less needy, but….” Her voice wobbled, and he hugged her again.

“Hey, hey,” he soothed, his eyes burning. “Baby, you need me all you want. You ask me for help. I ammadeto help you, okay? Tell me what you need, when you want to move, I’ll see what I can do from my end. Deal?”

She pulled back and smiled at him, her cheeks shiny with tears but her smile gentle. “Deal,” she rasped. Then she sniffed. “Ifyougot a cat, andIlived nearby, I couldvisityour cat. That would be fun, right?”

“I’d love that,” he said, seeing it so clearly it was all he could do not to stop and pick up a kitten on his way to the Washoe bar and grill. “Just like I’d love it if we lived close. I mean, I’d still be late, and I’d still work some weekends, but—”

“But I could wander over to your apartment when I was alone and feeling sad,” she said. “And play with your cat.”

“And play with my cat.” And raid his DVDs and use his streaming service and play games and cards and go with him to farmers markets and… and be hissisterand know that someone was in her life to make life not so lonely.

“Good. We’ll do our homework and see what we can manage,” she said. “Now go. You don’t want to be late!”

One more hug. So much hope. And then he left.

HE GOTto the Washoe as the band was setting up, Guthrie sitting on a bench by the bar, sulking.

“They won’t let you set up?” Tad asked, sauntering in, hands in his pockets, and Guthrie glared at him.

“No. No they won’t.”

“Won’t let him play guitar,” Neal said, walking out of the little back room with a stand for his keyboard.

“He can play the drums,” Roberta said, poking her head from behind the kit. “But I get to set them up. It’s fun, by the way. It’s like giant Tetris!”

“I’m just mad,” Guthrie muttered. “Ilikeplaying. And we’ve only got three more weeks here before Sarah kicks us to the curb.”

“They switch up bands in the summer, Guthrie,” Roberta said with patience. “They did it last summer too. YoulikeTickety-Boo.”

Guthrie blew out a breath. “It’s true,” he admitted to Tad. “I do like Tickety-Boo—they’re a good summer band. And we’ve got another gig down closer to the city we play, but these guys allhave a theater run from mid-June to September.” He scowled. “It’s not like I’m gonna miss them or anything!”

“Yeah, Guthrie, we’re not gonna miss youat all,” Owen muttered, rolling his eyes as he stood up and set his cello by the stand. Then looking right and left, he said, “And I may be able to get us a one-night-a-week gig in July. Don’t nobody count on it, but that way we can work up our winter season playlist.”

“Cool,” Neal said, and Roberta grinned.

Guthrie, on the other hand,lit upinside, and Tad suddenly realized what this band meant to him.

He’d said it, of course. The classical musicians all had paying jobs—they had plays, they had orchestras, they taught classes. Music was their livelihood.

Music was Guthrie’s lifeblood, even Tad could figure that out. But it didn’t pay his bills.

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