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Tracy handed it over to her. “The design is amazing. There’s so much symbolism and all that. It relates to the songs.”
Kate nodded absentmindedly, her curiosity overwhelming, and trying to imagine what kind of band would take over that song and change it so much Ethan was reluctant to play it. It made her question how he felt about the other songs he’d written for them. No wonder he suffered from writer’s block.
She looked on the back of the album and took a brief look at the list of songs. The last one was “Navigation.” Beside it, where the songwriter was credited, was the name Elijah Harmon.
The album was folded out, and when she opened it the image of the band greeted her. It was a black-and-white photograph that emphasized the contrasting shadows that fell in almost deliberate angles across the band members’ bodies and faces, carving and chiseling them in their bare-chested poses, each facing slightly different directions. Greek Gods, or a study in Greek sculptures. The concept was clever, tying into the band’s name. At its center was the lead, a torso, neck, and hint of a chin and the edge of his low-hanging jeans, barely visible. His arms were splayed out, palms up, as if he had stigmata. Chains were fastened at both wrists, pulled taut to the sides to eventually vanish at the sides of the image. It was stark and stunning, the lighting playing off the muscles of his chest and abdomen. And in the center of the stark, sculpted torso was a tattoo. An eagle, its beak open, placed on the right side of the abdomen, just where the liver would be.
Kate stared at the image, the beat of her heart suddenly loud in her ears. The torso, bound by chains remained unmoving, the eagle still posed to peck as the sounds of Prometheus Bound’s version of “Navigation” wafted out of the bedroom. Ethan had been right to dislike it, because the overproduced, loud, rock song with its flangers, bass guitar riffs, keyboard, and drums obscured the simple beauty of the song. But even the overproduction couldn’t disguise the voice. The familiar deep, rich baritone, only barely changed by a rougher-edged quality and a lower key that no doubt reflected the producers’ approach and vision. The song finished and Kate heard Ethan remove it from the turntable and close down the stereo system.
A moment later, Ethan walked back into the room. Kate looked up at him, her eyes wide, her mind frozen.
“God that’s awful, if you ask me,” said Tom. “What were they thinking?”
Kate leaned over and handed the album back to Tracy, muttering her thanks. Tracy stood and took the LP back from Ethan, studying him carefully, her eyes narrowed.
“Am I crazy or what?” she asked. She turned to Zig. “It’s him, isn’t it?”
Zig gave Ethan a panicked look and shook his head. “No, what? No.”
She swung back around and grinned at Ethan. “I am right. Can’t miss that voice. I’ve heard it often enough. When you were playing the guitar just now, I thought it was possible, and listening to the record only confirmed it.”
“I think they just used a voice similar to his,” said Kate, interrupting.
Her mind was whirling, trying to make sense of what she knew to be the truth. A truth that even Tracy had picked up. And the voice inside her. A voice that kept repeating “Why didn’t he tell me?” over and over, the sense of betrayal so strong it nearly stopped her breath.
“Oh, that’s definitely the case here,” said Tom. “If you knew what record producers can do, you’d be amazed. In fact, you are amazed because that’s definitely what happened here. But if you listen to the flanger action and the woof and reverb you can tell there’s been some distortion there.”
Kate heard Tom’s garbled and jargon-filled explanation with a detachment that was born of her own numbness, conscious, all the while, of Ethan’s eyes on her. She was afraid to meet his gaze, see whatever message they contained, because she just didn’t know. Didn’t know what she was feeling except betrayal. It was just too much.
“It’s what Tom said,” Zig told Tracy. “I mean, I don’t know all the ins and outs, but Tom does. He’s an expert on it. His father was in the music business for years.”
Tracy gave him a doubtful look before turning to study Ethan one last time, a look that Kate saw for just a moment before she turned her gaze away. The neutral expression on his face, the forced shrug, tugging at her in ways she just couldn’t make sense of. Ethan the reluctant rock star. She forced down the sudden wave of hysteria that rose inside her.
Zig popped up and lunged for an ornament inside one of the boxes. “We have a job to finish here. Ethan, man, you’re falling down on the job. Our glasses are empty.”
The glasses were refilled, the remaining ornaments unpacked and hung on the tree. Kate helped, though she was desperate to leave. Her actions were automatic, just going through the motions. After about a half-hour Zig made his excuses, corralling Tracy into her coat. Tom prepared to leave, and Kate found herself following suit, asking Zig if he could drop her off as well. Zig had tried to hide his surprise with a loud assurance, so Kate had collected her empty containers and her bag, conscious of Ethan’s unspoken plea and brief hand on her arm as she left the cabin.
Thirty-Nine
Sitting at the kitchen table, Kate stared at her phone, hardly able to believe the images, let alone the number of likes, shares, and screaming comments on the screen. Tom had called her to tell her to warn her about Tracy’s Instagram posts that were nearly vibrating with all the action they were getting and how high they were trending. Kate didn’t dare check TikTok for those statistics. And a Google of the band’s name had left her panicked and wondering about the impact. She could only be grateful that, despite all Tracy’s Instagram activity, her photography skills were woefully inadequate, and the one photo of Ethan, the one at O’Connor’s, was mostly obscured by the back of Tom’s head. And the part that showed Ethan had only half of his bowed head and his guitar. The post of Tracy and Zig at the lake were largely filled with her face and little of any significant points of the lake and dock. Though, as much as this might reassure her, the location was named. And that was the problem.
Tracy had definitely not believed any of the hastily created misdirection about Ethan. It had been laughable really, though Kate had never found any humor in it. Tracy had taken matters into her own control and decided sharing the scoop of the music world was worth the sacrifice for whatever fallout would happen to her and anyone else. Kate had no idea where Zig was in all this, but couldn’t imagine he would have betrayed Ethan in this manner.
Kate could only be grateful that Tracy didn’t know her last name, though she knew it would be only a matter of time before others figured it out. Or neighbors posted it, and her own location was exposed to everyone. She had no idea how Ethan was feeling, or what it meant for him. She’d refused to answer his phone calls or texts, too confused and filled with emotion to talk. The shock that he’d kept it from her, the knowledge that she hadn’t known who he was really since she’d returned, left her shaken and filled with uncertainty. It was like she’d lost someone close to her, someone she loved. Even Tom’s words of reason, spoken only this morning on the phone, had done nothing to help her out of the fog that seemed to surround her.
The back door opened and a helmeted figure wearing a leather jacket, jeans and heavy boots entered. She didn’t need Ethan to remove the helmet to know it was him. She hadn’t heard his motorcycle draw up, but given her distraction, it wasn’t surprising.
He removed the helmet, shaking out his hair. He’d omitted the glasses today, his eyes, haunted and dark rimmed, were clearly visible. Dark stubble covered his chin.
“Kate,” he said, his voice raspy. “Sorry for coming in like this. I had to talk to you and…it was the best way to ensure a bit of privacy.”
She looked at him, the pain so evident in his face. “I’m sorry, too, Ethan. About Tracy’s actions. You certainly didn’t deserve that.”
“Do you mind if I sit?” he asked, studying her carefully.
She shook her head, sighing inwardly. She’d needed to talk with him, and it looked as if now was the time. “No, go ahead. There’s coffee there if you want.”
He laid his helmet on the table and fixed himself a cup of coffee silently. Kate sat in her seat staring at her mug, her fingers gripping the side.
