Page 30 of Secondhand Smoke
He took it between his fingers, and she was grateful for how gently and respectfully he handled it, like he was touching an ancient artifact that could be damaged if he handled it too roughly. In her head, it was a sacred thing.
To think she was letting Barrett see what was on it felt more intimate than sharing her secret with him.
He studied its contents with knowing eyes. His head began bobbing rhythmically, and it took her a moment to realize thathe had a beat in his head, matching whatever the notes might be on the paper. Her heart tugged and sped up.
The same way someone’s laugh and face and voice faded and became forgotten over time, the tune of KC’s song had grown fuzzy in Nell’s memory. She didn’t know if she could recollect even the pace or the sound of KC’s voice. The words, though, she’d never get out of her head.
Yet Barrett, who’d never heard this song in his life, must have seen the penciled-in notes and was capable of playing them in his head.
Her throat caught, and tears started to punch the back of her eyes.
She watched him, astounded, as he adjusted his guitar in his hands and plucked out a note. Then another. Then another.
The corners of her vision started to move slowly, disconnecting and tunneling into Barrett’s movement.
The blood drained from her face as her body went cold.
The notes alone meant nothing, but as he effortlessly pieced them together, each one stabbed her directly in the heart with the flick of his fingers.
“Wait!” she snapped, her breath coming out faster and faster.
He didn’t hear her. He kept playing.
“Wait. Stop.”
The sound froze.
She sucked in a deep breath and held it.
It took a moment, but when she could bring herself to look at Barrett’s face, she was both relieved and devastated that it wasn’t KC’s dark brown eyes looking back.
Barrett’s brows furrowed, and she instead was treated with warm but worried chocolate-y eyes as he took a step closer to her. “Hey. You okay?” His voice was soft and gentle, like he was afraid that speaking too fast or loud would set her off.
She took several deep breaths and blinked away the tears. She cleared the phlegm from her throat. “Yeah. Yes. Yes. I’m okay. I’m fine. Uh . . . Can we just . . . Can we wait to do that? Until later?”
He paused a moment, studying her, before answering, “Yeah, yeah, whatever you want.” He folded up the paper.
She wasn’t ready. She justwasn’tready to hear it yet. Give her some time, and she’d be ready. Just not yet.
“Thank you.”
They stood in silence for a while, and she couldn’t tell if Barrett was waiting for her to break it or if she was waiting for him.
Luckily, he took the first step and smiled to lighten the mood. “We’re wasting precious study time. Do you know anything about open chords?”
“What are those?”
He whistled low and shook his head. “Looks like we have a lot of work to do.”
* * *
Nell now knew there were twenty-four open chords on a guitar.
Her beginner’s book showed them all, named them all, and had pictures visualizing where she should place her left-hand fingers as her right hand strummed the strings. She tried to mirror the pictures as best as her stiff fingers would allow.
However, it was Barrett who nitpicked by manually adjusting her fingertips around onto specific areas, guiding her in a way only someone who really knew what they were doing could.
Her hand felt too small for this. It was hard to keep her digits bent and pressed down in the right places without touchingothers. Her pinky wouldn’t move far enough from the other fingers at times to complete one chord.
