AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Hey, Albert, I was hoping you could do me a huge favor. My phone isn’t getting service out here, and you know that Robbie doesn’t do internet or landlines. Would it at all be possible for you to call someone for me and let them know I’m fine, just snowed in, and will probably be able to contact them myself by tomorrow? Over.”
“Absolutely, kid. No trouble on my end at all. Who am I calling? Over.”
I exhale with relief.
“Actually, it’s two people, if that’s okay? Over.”
“No trouble at all. Over.”
“Thank you SO much. I really appreciate it. The first is June Hendrix.” I rattle off her cell number to him. “Could you just let her know I’m fine, just snowed in up here? Over.”
I swallow, hoping to God that June is savvy enough to just go with it and not be weird when some strange man with a Maine accent calls to let her know I’m bunked in with “Uncle Robbie”.
“Got it. And the second? Over.”
“His name is Chuck Garver, my boss. You’ll probably get his secretary.” I run off that number before clearing my throat and wrinkling my nose. “Also, and I’m so sorry if this makes this weird, but…he thinks I’m on a work assignment, not visiting family. Over?”
Albert laughs heartily.
“Ayuh, I know that story. Don’t worry about a thing, Melody. I’ll just let ‘im know you’re snowed in and not to worry. That work? Over.”
“Perfect. Thank you so, so much, Albert. I really appreciate it! Over.”
“Not a worry, not a worry. Tell your Uncle Grumps we’ll see ‘im after this snow lets up. You two take care over there, ayuh? Over.”
“Will do. Thanks again, Albert. Over.”
“And out,” Jackson mouths quietly.
“And out!”
A little while later,I’m back on the sofa, noodling around on the guitar. But I pause, frowning as I look up and realize Jackson’s been gone from the immediate vicinity for…a while, actually. I set the guitar down, standing as look around.
“Jackson?”
When I hear nothing in response, I walk over to the front door, peering through the peep hole for signs of footprints in the snow outside. The snow itself has stopped falling, and my eyes search the ground for signs of Jackson maybe slipping out to his garage while I was playing.
But no dice.
Strange.
He’s not in the basement, and I’m about to furtively go explore upstairs—which, I actually haven’t seen at all yet—when I hear it.
Music.
My face heats as I pad barefoot through the house in the direction of the studio. And sure enough, when I get to the half-open door, there he is just inside.
He’s at the desk to the side of the control counter, hunched over an electric guitar. I watch quietly, spellbound as he fingers out a soft, sultry, bluesy line through a warm-toned amp beside him. But then he stops, frowning as he reaches for a pen and scrawls something in a notebook open in front of him.
He grins to himself, nodding with a sigh before he leans back in the chair and starts to play again. And I’mspellbound.
The notes pour off his fingertips like a lover’s touch. And the words that fall from his lips—garbled, and haphazardly thrown together they may be—reach into my chest and touch something buried deep.
It’s just one stanza—one verse or a refrain of some kind. But it’s so fucking haunting, and so sultry and beautiful that I’m practically falling over myself to get closer to it—as if proximity will let it sink deeper into my skin like a tattoo.
That is, until I actuallydoget closer, and accidentally push the door open a crack.
Jackson jumps, the spell broken as he whirls on me.
