Page 62 of Love Felt Like This

Poe: tic tac toe but a cooler name

Royce: Wrong.

Poe: well with all this time i can finally learn

I lock my phone.

If the clock above the TV is correct, I should trek up the mountain again soon. I should go write children’s songs for Beverly. But my eyelids won’t fully lift, and the thought of the winding roads makes me feel sick.

I stare at my stagnant guitar. The other day, for one single moment, I wondered if maybe I’m just done. Maybe my music talent has dried up. But that made my stomach ache, so I wrote yet another song about colors.

At least I’ve got that skill in me.

My phone lights up again.

Dom: Griffin, you know we’re only joking

I pull in a breath and let it go. I’ve played with Dom for years. He has a family. I’m responsible for my bandmates, and I’ve already strung them along enough. Now I’m responsible for Beverly too.

Ava shifts in my arms. Christ, the idea of driving Ava up those winding roads again…she hates that path. It can’t possibly help with her sleep issues either.

What would Robin do?

The side table next to me holds my leather wallet and rental-car keys. Beside them, the key to the Lark guesthouse shines back.

I close my eyes and attempt another nap, and when I wake up an hour later with at least a little more energy, I pack our bags.

As I roll our suitcases into Beverly’s apartment, rays of morning light peek through off-white curtains. The filter of tangerine sun beams across a room already coated in warmth.

It reminds me of my granny’s house, where I spent my nights while my parents were out doing whatever made them happy that didn’t include me. She barely wanted me in the house, either, pushing me out the snapping screen door first thing in the morning to go play and not allowing me back in until the sun disappeared. This place seems like it might have kinder memories.

Ava makes a beeline to a pile of toys in the corner—blocks, cars, plastic horses, Barbies…they’re gathered beside a toddler-bed pallet covered with pink movie princess sheets. The corner of my mouth hooks into a smile, and any cold I felt from being outside is overwhelmed by the heat in my chest. None of this was here last night. There’s no doubt in my mind that that corner was made specifically for Ava. She doesn’t hesitate to grab a small red car and zoom it over a cityscape rug.

There are a couple of boxes of diapers on the couch. Beside it, a small end table with a lamp holds a gift bag. And finally, behind the door, is a walnut upright piano.

It’s funny how quick I step closer, like the instrument is calling my name. I lean the guitar strapped over my back against the couch and take a seat at the bench. I plunk down one piano key. It resonates through the room and deep into my chest. It feels a little like home.

“Daddy!” Ava calls to me. I look up. Her tiny hand waves. I return the gesture, and then she turns back to her car. All she wanted was to say hi. I smile, staring for a few moments more at the way she concentrates, how that little dot in the corner of her mouth is so similar to Robin’s.

Why aren’t you writing, Harv?

Robin was always insistent like that. If you want to do it, just do it. She’d normally say that before going on her motorcycle, or hopping on a roller coaster, or skydiving. She just did things.

Why aren’t you writing?

A distant door snapping shut brings my attention back. I pull aside the faded curtains and glance out the window. Down the gravel path, coming from the main house, is Beverly with a mug in one hand, laptop and notebooks in the other, and a small plate covered in tinfoil balanced on top.

I take in her outfit: Orange corduroy pants. A faded T-shirt with a sock puppet illustration that reads Puppet Jam 2018. And a massive purple faux fur coat that makes Beverly look like a puppet herself.

I bite back my tired smile.

She crunches up to our door and knocks before cracking it open. Beverly beams. “Good morning, Harveys!” Leave it to her to be all peppy this early in the morning. But when I glance closer, I see dark circles under her eyes as well.

Huh.

Beverly crosses the threshold, and Ava instantly stops pushing her car, instead watching our new guest.

Beverly waves. “Hello again, Miss Ava.”