Page 64 of Torch Songs

“My mother’s name was Lucy Hawkins, and my father, Charlie, died when April was a baby. I don’t remember him at all. She was a dental hygienist and raised us with a lot of laughter and a lot of vinyl albums. I was probably the only kid in my class who could sing Judy Collins, and believe me, that didn’t make me a tiny bitlessgay. Your turn.”

Guthrie scowled. “God. Fine. I grew up in a tiny town by Monterey. My mom took off when I was three, and my dad and Uncle Jock did most of my raising. They were honky-tonk musicians, and they made me pick up a tambourine when I was seven, the drums a few years later. I picked up the guitar on my own, but they didn’t let me play ’cause that was their jobs in the band. All the guitar work you see me do is my own practice. It’s mine. I got ownership of that, so there you go.”

Tad sucked in a breath at the almost angry recital, and suddenly so much about Guthrie became clear—including his pride. Forced to pick up an instrument when he was a little kid? Well, he would earn his own damned way forever after, wouldn’t he? Wouldn’t let him play the guitar because that was a man’s job? Well Tad’s boy was going to prove he was a man, dammit. Hewas.

Tad nodded, smoothed the back of Guthrie’s knuckles again, and decided that was a start. He smiled slightly. “Know any Judy Collins?” he asked, feeling sleep creeping up on him.

Guthrie leaned forward and smoothed Tad’s hair from his forehead. “Yeah,” he said, voice gentler. Then he opened his mouth and sang “Both Sides Now,” and the song—written by Joni Mitchell—was almost as heartbreaking as “Long, Long Time,” but that was okay. Tad’s eyes may have burned and his throat gone a little achy, but he fell asleep clutching Guthrie’s hand and smiling, ever so slightly, to himself.

THE NEXTday, Aaron and Larx saw him off after he’d been released from the hospital. Larx’s daughter, Olivia, begged them to stay another night, and Guthrie put her off with a wink and a smile, saying they had to go check on April, which was nothing but the truth. But when Guthrie fled the room to go pick up Tad’s prescriptions, Tad called her over.

“You look worried,” he said.

She shook her head, smiling at her father, who was still pale and pained, having just been released that morning himself. “Just… careful,” she said softly. “You know Guthrie lost his job, right?”

“For what?” Larx asked, surprised.

“For leaving work to come check on Tad,” Aaron filled him in.

Tad nodded. “He just told me,” he said and then grimaced at Olivia. “I can’t believe he told you.”

“I kept wandering in on him when he was having uncomfortable conversations,” she said dryly. “By the way, you should have heard your boy defend your sister to the awful woman who runs her halfway house.”

“Ran,” Tad said dryly. “That’s why we have to go check on her. April’s living with me now, because Guthrie didn’t have the heart to send her back there.” He smiled fondly. “April is probably much better off for it, so it’s not a bad thing.”

“I’m just saying,” Aaron told him. “If you want to come work for me, we’ve got a couple of good venues up in Truckee where he could play. There’s cafes and roadhouses, and it’s all very artsy, and if he’s looking for something bigger, there’s always Tahoe.”

“I’d go listen to him,” Larx said wistfully. “After that serenade the night we were in the canyon, I could listen to him play for a week.”

Tad grinned at him. Apparently, praising Guthrie’s playing was a way into Tad’s list of friends, which had grown considerably since he and Aaron had fallen into a canyon together.

“I could listen to him play forever,” he said pointedly, and then he lost some of his bravado. “I just need to get him to take the gig.”

Olivia nodded. “Be… patient,” she said after a moment. “Just….” And like April had, she made that indeterminate gesture around her chest.

Tad wasn’t stupid; he knew they were trying to warn him without warning him.

“Too late to be careful,” he said softly. “I’ll have to be patient instead.”

The others nodded, and Guthrie walked in, small brown bag of antibiotics and painkillers borne proudly aloft. “And with this, my lady and gentlemen, Detective Hawkins and I can be on our way.”

THE FIRSTweek back was uncomfortable and woozy and exhausting, and Tad didn’t remember much of it besides Guthrie or April bringing him his medication and changing his bandages, a thing that he hated having them do but that they didn’t seem to mind much, either of them. There was a lot of falling asleep in front of the television while sitting on a donut pillow specially placed so he didn’t put pressure on hiswound, coupled with playing with his tablet while he lay on his side in his own bed. Everything hurt, he could barely go to the bathroom by himself, and it felt like all of his energy went intonotripping the faces off the two people who were running around taking care of his apartment and taking him to the doctor visits and generally babysitting his stupid wounded ass without whining about it, so he tried not to whine either.

Tad freely admitted he would have had a hell of a time without April and Guthrie, a thing madeveryapparent when Guthrie left to play his two-day gig with his band.

It wasn’t until he left that Tad realized that a) Guthrie had been sleeping on the couch since he’d gotten back, and b) he didn’t know whose couch Guthrie was sleeping onnow.

Suddenly he wasn’t toodling around on his tablet anymore; he was talking to the guy who’d been pretty much unpaid labor in his home with absolutely zero emotional returns.

I’m sorry—you left while I was napping. I forgot to ask who you’re staying with.

My old apartment—I get the couch, the girls get the room. They’re fun roommates. Apparently, their brother taught them how to cook, because I’d get fat here if I lived here all week.

Tad smiled faintly, knowing it wasn’t true. Not much could make Guthrie fat. Too much restless energy in his body—even when he wasn’t taking care of Tad, he was always flicking his wrists, like he was drumming a set or fingering imaginary fretwork or frowning over lyrics only in his head. Tad had never realized how consuming music could be for a musician until he’d zoned off into space for an hour next to Guthrie and realized the man had spent the hour drumming his favorite Led Zeppelin songswhile mouthing the lyrics, and doing it with so much passion, his hair was drenched in sweat.

Why are there girls in your apartment again?

Because Seth and Kelly are buying their parents a house on the West Coast while also buying one for themselves and the kids on the east coast, and Seth’s stretched a little thin. He’s world-class, but that doesn’t mean made of money.

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