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Would anyone really care?
I opened up my iPad and started searching. When Woodstock came up in the search history, I felt the rightness. I’d always loved going there to shop. To walk through the galleries and other handmade shops.
Maybe.
Just maybe it would be right for me too.
Twenty-Two
I’d never been much for goodbyes.
The one I’d had with Zoe probably ranked as the most memorable—and heartbreaking—but since I couldn’t say goodbye to Flynn with my member, I settled for a tip of the cap a few days later at the train station when I finally took my leave.
While Flynn was away, the band and I had enjoyed a stretch of productive days “jamming in the studio”, to borrow Lark’s phrase. Together, we’d done the hard work of laying down the backing music for our track.
Even now, my single with Flynn was winging its way to radio stations across the country. And iTunes. And streaming services. And wherever else Sabrina could send the down and dirty, crude version of our song.
She’d actually liked that it lacked polish, considering Flynn’s studio wasn’t quite up to the caliber of Ripper Records. Said it felt more raw and real that way. Since releasing it meant I could potentially be a wage-earning part of society again sooner rather than later, I was all for crude.
I was also all for getting back to LA. Not because I missed it particularly. The memories were thicker there, though they tended to follow me regardless. But I wanted to deal with the loose ends I’d left dangling.
My recording career.
My brother and Margo.
Zoe.
She wasn’t in LA right now, but I’d stolen one last look at her Instagram and figured out her current location. At least as of a couple of days ago. I had to hope she’d still be there when I made it back across the country after speaking with my brother and his lovely wife.
She’d gone home to Happy Acres.
It sounded so bucolic. Surely I didn’t belong there. But I was going to New York just the same and adding another check on my travel bucket list.
I’d been there before, briefly. But I
hadn’t been north of the city. Way north. I hadn’t gone to an apple orchard with my heart on my sleeve and my pride at my feet.
At her feet.
That leg of the trip would be via plane. I wanted to see the country, but a man could only bear so much solitary confinement in a train car. Especially when he had a lifetime’s worth of amends to make.
Before I boarded the train, Flynn asked one more time if I knew what I was doing.
Not about going back to LA. He agreed I needed to see Simon. More about traveling there via train.
It was a valid question. To quote Flynn himself, this would be “a long ass trip.”
“I need some time alone with my thoughts.”
“You haven’t had enough alone time out on the lake?” Flynn waved me off before I could answer. “Nah, I get it, man. Alone with someone else isn’t the same as true solitude.”
“It’s the closest to it I’ve ever come.” I cleared my throat and reached for my ponytail, only to find a stub instead of the long length I was used to. It was truly humbling to realize how attached I’d been to my hair.
Hair, for pity’s sake.
The corner of Flynn’s mouth ticked up. “Is that a compliment? I can’t tell.”
“It is.” I cleared my throat again. Spit it out, buggering bastard. “Your friendship means the world to me. Having this respite here… It made a difference. Thank you.”
