Page 62 of Torch Songs

“I am!” he said, because he was. “But… but not having that sort of thing returned, that leaves a mark.” And so help him, that’s as honest as he’d been with anybody but Olivia, who had guessed it, so Kelly’s sisters maybe really were super geniuses.

She sighed. “Yeah. Watching my brother when he and Seth had their breakup, I guess I can see that.”

“What about you?” he asked curiously. “You ever had your heart broken?”

She shrugged. “It’ll come,” she said. “But first, I want to get a cat.”

He stared at her. “What is it about cats? April and Tad want a cat, you guys want a cat—”

She raked him up and down with her eyes. “I think it comes with liking scrawny musicians,” she said with a shrug. “You like scrawny musicians, you need a cat. There’s probably a rule. Now go.” She motioned with her hands. “Pack. Agnes and I brought groceries, so we can fix you better than sandwiches. I’ll let you cook.”

AN HOURlater, after a thoroughly enjoyable lunch of homemade carne asada burritos and fruit, Guthrie and April were finally on their way to Sacramento. Following his GPS, Guthrie made his way past midtown to an old, yet sound, apartment complex, and he parked his truck in one of the few spots along the road.

Guthrie eyed the place and decided that April didn’t havethatmuch stuff for the ground-floor apartment, and the two of them sat back and blew out a breath.

“It’s cute,” she said critically. “The trees around it make it less like inner city and more like a suburb. And Tad’s been on his own a while. How bad could it be?”

He smiled slightly, tired from the drive but still taken by her optimism. “Let’s go see,” he said, and together they hopped out and grabbed their bags before making their way to his apartment number.

“It’s nice,” April said, peering inside. “I mean, it’s not lived in, really, but he decorated, and there’s a dining room table you can see the top of and everything. And two bedrooms. I mean, that’s better than your place, right?”

“Yeah, well, given I didn’t have any sisters of my own, you can’t blame me for collecting them now,” Guthrie said dryly, “but yeah. Not bad at all.”

It was, in fact, homey. The walls were decorated with prints, the furniture was used but not battered, and there was warmth and color almost everywhere. Together, he and April checked out the guest bedroom, and he was encouraged to find the bed there and made, albeit in a spartan, utilitarian way. There was a mostly empty set of drawers and a closet used to hold Tad’s dress blues and some tools on the top shelf. The room was a blank slate, Guthrie realized, and wondered if Tad hadn’t been hoping for April to come live with him all along.

Together they schlepped all her boxes into the room, and April glanced around, an almost beatific contentment on her face.

“You going to be okay here?” he asked, checking his phone. Tad’s partner had buzzed him, and Guthrie was going to have to leave.

“Could you bring back some takeout?” she asked. “I can be mostly unpacked by the time you get back.”

Guthrie laughed a little. “Preferences? Anything else you need?”

She shook her head. “Naw—you choose. I’ve got everything I need right here.”

Spontaneously he went in for a one-armed hug and got a full body press in response. “You look pretty happy here,” he said softly.

“I… I feel free,” she said back. “I’ve never wanted junk less in my life. I… I’mwantedhere. How could I not see my brother wants me in his life?”

He clutched her tighter, a little bit afraid. He knew that often it was at their very highest that addicts would search out their greatest adversary to find a way to fall again, because they weren’t comfortable happy. But she was so hopeful.

“You deserve a place where they want you,” he said gruffly. “You gotta promise me you’ll be here when I get back, though, okay?”

She pulled back and nodded soberly. “I’m not letting go now,” she said, looking around again. “I finally have somewhere to hold on to.”

He breathed out a sigh of relief, and his pocket buzzed again, and he had to do what Tad did and trust her while he went to take care of business.

Not Afraid

“YOU LEFTher at my place?” Tad asked, his eyes wide, and Guthrie’s determined swallow was his answer.

“Man, they kicked her out,” Guthrie said defensively. “They kicked her out, and you know what? Just the fact that she ain’t—hasn’t used while she lived there is probably a testament to how strong your sister really is. Tad, that place was awful. I mean… it wasawful. I hated it—that woman was pure meanness. April…. God, you should have seen her. By the time I dropped Chris off at home after he brought the SUV over, she’d redone the bed and put up curtains and found boxes for her craft stuff. She’s… she’shappythere. And I promised I’d come up and get you, right?”

In the end, Tad stayed in the hospital for four days, which was some sort of record, even with a shot in the ass. When Guthrie returned, the caveat was that if he could stay fever free overnight, they would load him up on painkillers and he’d be free to return home and resume care with his regular physician. Tad would miss the people in Colton. Aaron had visited every day, and while Larx was still in a darkened, quiet room, Tad had been given ten minutes to visit to at least thank the guy for everything he and his kids had done.

And the kids had visited too. Maureen, Aaron’s middle child, had gone back to her home in Southern California, but the entire “passel of teenagers” Guthrie had told him about had come to visit in various configurations, often with foodnotspawned in a hospital. Tad hadn’t been allowed to be lonely, and he hadn’t been allowed to fret over his sister or his gun-shy boyfriend (Were they there yet?) or any of the other things that would have ridden him.

Which was why on the afternoon Guthrie returned, the news that April had been kicked out of her halfway house because she’d come to make sure Tad was okay was something of a shock.

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