Page 92 of Torch Songs

Chris sighed. “I don’t know. Me and Dunderhead have been running down a ring of thieves by tracing pawned merchandise, but Kryzynski and Christie have a murder that might lead directly to this same ring of assholes. Dunderhead”—which was Chris’s charming name for Jim Draper, his interim partner, whom he detested—“doesn’t want to work with them because it would mean he has to work, but I think offering you up to help them run down leads from the desk might help getmeon that case. I’m just saying. I’m as excited about going back in the game as you probably are.”

Tad gave a sigh of relief, glad to know he wouldn’t be stuck on paperwork forever. “You know, there’s no guarantee Colton will be much better,” he said, because he was trying not to build the new job up in his head.

“It’ll be different,” Castro admitted, piloting the SUV to the police station on Richards. “I mean, there will be just as much boring time in the car, but the scenery will be better. We’ll be dealing with the same ratio of shitheads, but we’ll get to know the people better. Same problems will be there—domestic abuse,drugs, theft, murder—but we’ll have a better chance of dealing with it because there’s fewer people. And George, he’s trying to set up things like rehab facilities and an abuse shelter, so instead of writing a referral to a social worker, we cantakesomebody to the abuse shelter and then track down the abuser and put him in jail and make sure the restraining order gets filed and he’s prosecuted. I mean, people will still be dirtbags, but we’ll have a bigger sponge per square mile to clean them up a little.”

Tad grunted. “Wow—you’ve been thinking about this.”

“I called George again last week. I was wondering if I’d built the job up too much in my head, so I asked him, you know. ‘Hey, what’s that like?’ And he’d spent time down in Sac before he moved his kids up to the small town. He knows whatwedo versus whathedoes, and he was able to explain it really well.”

Tad allowed himself to relax a little, even though he was still worried about Guthrie. Chris was putting some of his worries about uprooting his small family to rest. It wasn’t that he hadn’t enjoyed growing up in a small town, but he’d worried that what was good for April—and, he suspected, for Guthrie—wouldn’t be the most exciting career trajectory forhim. But knowing his new boss was somebody who had done city police work as well as small town law enforcement, and found the small town satisfying too, that soothed some worries he hadn’t wanted to admit to.

“It’s good to hear,” Tad said. “I-I want the move for April, really. She puts a good face on it, but she’s not comfortable living in the apartment complex, so close to so many people. And Guthrie….” He worried his lower lip. “I’m not sure what Guthrie wants. He seems to think of any place he settles down into as a hub, and he’s a satellite, going off to gigs. I get that on the one hand, but on the other….”

“You want him to be home,” Chris said softly.

“I want him to beappreciated,” Tad said, with considerably more passion. “He’s good, Chris. I know you haven’t heard him play, but… but the songs he writes arereallygood, and his voice is just…. Do you remember the first time you heard Neil Young play ‘The Damage Done’?”

Chris made a quiet sound of discomfort. “I cried,” he whispered. “I… I was in my twenties, and someone at my college had just OD’d. I didn’t even know the guy, but that song… the way it made everything human, even someone dying of drug abuse. It was a gut punch.”

Tad nodded. That song had gotten him through that terrible, terrible time with April—herefusedto let her promise, her person, be destroyed like the friend in the song.

“Guthrie’s voice, his guitar playing, even his songs, theydothat. Not just to me. I’ve seen the look in the eyes of the people he plays with. None of them play rock or pop or even country—they’retheatermusicians—but I swear they put their life on hold to play with Guthrie. I just… people should come to seehim. He shouldn’t have to uproot his life to get a chance to play out in the world.”

Chris opened his mouth to say something, but while Tad had been talking he’d pulled up Guthrie’s audio files—this one, “Iris.” Turning his phone up to top volume, he turned off the radio and hit Play as Chris found a parking spot near the front of the building. Chris let the car idle as the first notes filled the air.

They listened to the song, and Tad closed his eyes and let the longing of unrequited love wash over him before the song ended and he reset his phone.

“Well,” Chris muttered, “fuck you for that, because now I’m all verklempt, and I’m supposed to be aman, dammit, but you didn’t have to screw us both up emotionally right before shift, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

Chris shook his head. “Ihaveheard him play, kid. I was there that night, eating the food that Aaron George’s kids had rounded up and Guthrie helped distribute. I was looking at that miracle thing they built in the moonlight before it hauled you guys up in the morning, and saying all the prayers to all the saints, and he started to sing. You don’t have to tell me he can make someone’s heart stop and then drive them to hope all at the same time. I’veheardit. And you’re right. He deserves to have people come seehim. But you know what he deserves more than that?”

Tad grimaced. “I know this one,” he said.

“I know you do, but I want to hear you say it.”

“A home,” Tad said.

Chris tapped his nose. “Got it in one. Now let’s go inside before the pavement starts melting our shoes. God, getting off the city streets at the end of July is enough of a reason to move.”

AS BORINGas desk duty was, it was still considerably more interesting than Tad’s apartment at this point, and the day passed fairly quickly. Tad remembered to text April near lunchtime, asking for “proof of life” photos of the kittens, and she obliged. He asked her if she wanted to take his SUV to go anywhere, and she replied,Going to the pool. Taking phone. Don’t worry so much.

She sent him a selfie of her out in the sun, and then another one an hour later of the TV at the end of her toes as she worked on her newest yarn project.

You’re bored, he typed.When we get to Colton, you need to get a job.

Your sheriff guy has one for me. I want to do that.And then, to his surprise, sheemailedhim a file of ideas she’d put together for Aaron’s proposed rehab center. Good shit. Things like fiber craft and woodcraft and mechanical skills to be taughtto the recovering patients, as well as basic housekeeping and cooking skills, in which the patient contributed to their own upkeep and their own environment.

This is great,he texted.I’ll send it to Aaron. He’ll be happy you’re on board.

There was a pause then, and she typed,But not too many hours to start with. Is that okay, Tadpole? I feel like I won’t be good if I’m ON too much. I don’t want to disappoint him.

Aw, man. His sister. He realized that the past five weeks, if nothing else, had given him a chance to see his sister come back to herself. Quieter. Not quite as confident. But still wry and funny. Still smart. But now more balanced—and more of an advocate for her own self-care.

You take care of yourself, and then you can take care of your job and other people. I think he’ll be fine. I know *I* am more proud of you than I can say.

Blargh. So drippy. Go away and solve crime.

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