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Kate took in Tom’s words. She hadn’t known how Tom had come to work in wood. Again, the years since college yawned between her and Tom. She perched her head on her knees, suddenly feeling sad.
“Thanks, Ethan,” Tom said. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
“No problem,” said Ethan. “Glad to help.”
Hearing Tom’s hopeful tone, the trace of excitement still there, Kate found her sadness ease.
Twenty-Seven
The sound of the guitar was almost hypnotic as Tom played a well-known Doobie Brothers riff on Ethan’s classic D’Acquisto archtop guitar. Kate hadn’t ever seen one, let alone played it. The sound was bright and energetic, and she couldn’t help but smile. It was a magnificent guitar, one she hadn’t known he’d possessed, but the moment the three of them had arrived at Ethan’s cabin Tom had prowled around and investigated all the instruments he could find. At Ethan’s encouragement, he’d tried out each one, throwing out comments, praise, and admiration as he did. His favorite by far was what Ethan had told them was a 1928 parlor guitar similar to the one Joan Baez played. Tom had almost been afraid to touch it.
Kate had watched it all, silent in her place at the dining table, sipping the hot chocolate Ethan had made her earlier, just after they arrived. Tom’s mug lay half-drunk on the table, long abandoned. Ethan was sitting next to her, smiling at Tom’s delight and appreciation over his explorations. Max had found a place to curl up under the table between her feet and Ethan’s, his head on her shoes and, she suspected, his rear on Ethan’s. The light in the room was starting to dim as the afternoon headed toward evening. This late in the fall, she knew it would be dark very soon.
She rose. “We should get back, I suppose.”
Ethan put a hand on her arm. “Stay. I’ll cook dinner. Zig’s coming over a little later, so I’m cooking either way. It’s no big deal to add a little extra.”
“You’re cooking?” she asked, her eyes widening.
He gave her a wry smile. “After a fashion. It’s only spaghetti. But I do a mean spaghetti, I’ll have you know.”
“Yeah, cool,” said Tom. “Count me in.”
Kate laughed. “You’d do anything to be able to hang out with those guitars.”
“Hey,” he said. “It’s not every day I’d get a chance to play one of these beauties, let alone all of them. You must have spent a fortune on these, Ethan.”
Ethan shrugged. “I’ve been collecting them for a while. Some are ones I’ve always wanted, like the one you have there, or the parlor guitar you played earlier. Classic sounds.”
“The songwriting business must pay well,” said Tom, grinning. “Looks like I picked the wrong field.”
“You’re a really talented craftsman, Tom,” said Ethan. “I’m sure it won’t be long before your pieces are in high demand.”
“I agree,” said Kate “Don’t let anyone tell you anything different. And if you need help with getting images together of your finished pieces, let me know. I’d be happy to take pictures of them.”
Tom looked at her, his expression wide and happy. “Really? That’d be great. I’d like that.”
Kate nodded. “Sure. I can do some tomorrow if you have any pieces ready.”
“Give me another day, and then you have yourself a date.”
“Fine,” she said, matching his delight with her own smile. She felt lighter, somehow. Pleased and already thinking about how she might approach the project without even having seen the pieces Tom had created.
Ethan rose. “You two carry on. Try out whatever guitars or whatever you want. I’m just going to start dinner a minute.”
“Let me help,” said Kate rising quickly. “I can be your sous chef.”
Ethan laughed. “A sous chef for spaghetti? No, no, you’re fine.”
“Let me throw together a salad or something. Or peel onions, chop garlic and peppers.”
“Okay,” said Ethan. “Consider yourself head salad maker.”
She headed for his fridge, glad for a task. The thought of trying out any one of the guitars was tempting, she realized, much to her surprise, but she wanted to help Ethan. It was the least she could do.
An hour later a delicious herby aroma filled the air as the marinara simmered on the stove. In the end Kate had chopped the garlic while Ethan had unearthed the tomato puree, peeled tomatoes and all the other secret ingredients he claimed came from a vague source who taught him cooking several years ago. She’d enjoyed it, the two of them working in comfortable silence while Tom strummed and finger picked his way around a few guitars, occasionally humming, occasionally singing. Once or twice Ethan pitched in singing along in a low voice, tempting her to join him. He’d grinned the first time she did and the second time it had been more of an exaggerated mime of a rock star, as she grabbed up a cucumber as a surrogate mike, singing soulfully to it. It was his laugh that had got her then, so joyful and full of mirth that his eyes had crinkled. She found herself laughing in response and she wanted to hug him, to keep that joy and hold it inside of her. In the end he put his arm around her and pulled her into his side, the laughter still in his face.
“You are definitely rock star material with that act,” said Ethan.
