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But I wasn’t about to leave her high and dry. She’s still Devyn Rosario, the first woman I’ve ever loved.
“Are you sure it’s okay Sarge and I stay here?”
“It’s not like we’ve never shared a place before, Dev.” I open the door and let them in. “Let me show you the guest room.”
Pulling her luggage, I lead her past the indoor garden with a banana tree ready to be harvested and a macadamia nut shrub in dire need of a trim. “This was Sawyer’s room before he married and moved next door.”
Devyn’s eyes are wide as saucers as she takes in every detail of my sustainable home. Built with south-facing windows designed to harness the sun’s rays in the winter while the bermed part of the structure to the north keeps it cool in the summer, it’s been my home for the last eight years. The walls are thick adobe covering a foundation of stacked tires rammed with earth. The bottoms of different colored glass bottles taped together and arranged in a colorful circle on one of the dividing walls filter in the light in hues of greens, browns, and copper.
“Todd, this… this is magical,” Devyn says as she stands before a waterfall that flows in front of the fireplace. “You and Sawyer built eight of these things?”
“They’re all not like this. The rentals are a lot simpler. You could say this was our trial and error model.”
“I can only imagine what the final model looks like,” she says.
“Our best one would be the Pearl,” I continue. “It’s where my buddy lives with his wife live with their twins. If you want, we can stop by.”
“I’d love that.” She sets her guitar and backpack next to the bed, sheet music sticking out of the front pocket. “I hope you don’t mind, but can I take a shower?”
“Of course.Mi casa es su casa. You can do whatever you want.” I show her the bathroom, how to prime the hot water for her shower, and lift the lid to the toilet bowl so she can see that it’s normal for the water to be brown. It’s water that starts in the sink or shower and drains right into the indoor garden through special filtering units before ending up in the toilet bowl to be flushed after use. “Water is used three times before it ends up in the septic system. So I hope you don’t mind using whatever shampoo and soap are already in here. They’re all organic, so nothing will harm the plants when the water drains into the garden.”
“This is amazing, Todd. Thank you for letting me and Sarge stay over.” Devyn reaches for my hand, her brow furrowing as she runs her fingers along the rough skin of my palm and fingers. “These are not writer’s hands. They’re worker’s hands.”
Electricity shoots through my body at her touch, and I clear my throat as I pull my hand away. “Your hands get pretty rough when you’re building these things. Anyway, I’ll be in the kitchen getting dinner ready. No rush. Just do what you need to do.”
Before she can say anything, I step out of the room, my heart beating fast. The last time I saw Devyn was two years ago when she sang the last song of her career as the other half of the duo Devyn + Yorke with Harrison Yorke, her singing partner, at a concert. They were in the middle of their tour across the country, and it was the last song of the night, a song she changed the lyrics to right onstage, turning a song about love into breaking up.
Looking back at the videos people posted online, I could see the stress on her face after the intermission. Something had happened, and that something must have been the last straw. The video’s still online, still getting views every time Harrison tries to resurrect his career with a new partner by his side, and every time he does is a reminder that lightning doesn’t strike twice. Nothing could replicate the chemistry he and Devyn had onstage.
I frown. Is that why she’s in town? With Harrison scheduled to perform at the music festival, is there a possibility they’re getting back together again?
* * *
Devyn emerges from her room an hour later, her hair still damp. She’s wearing a sleeveless t-shirt and loose pajama pants and looks adorable.
“I hope Sarge wasn’t bothering you,” she says as she joins me in the kitchen. “I guess he snuck out when I was in the shower.”
“He sure did, but not to worry. He’s a good boy.” I take the pizza from the oven and set it on the dining table. “You ready for dinner?”
We enjoy the salad and pizza we bought at the store for the next hour with a bottle of wine in my cellar. Devyn is curious about the houses my brother and I build, but I’m more interested in talking about her. What has she been up to the last two years?
Sure, there’ve been sightings of her on the road, with people uploading pictures or videos of her in Joshua Tree or Mono Basin to their social media, but what about her music? At least, the fact that she took her guitar with her tells me she hasn’t given that up. There’s also the sheet music I saw sticking out of her backpack.
“I can’t believe it’s been ten years,” she says, the smile on her face fading. “Todd, I’m sorry about what happened.”
“Don’t be. That’s life. You can’t stay in one place forever.”
“I know, but I should have–”
I reach for her hand from across the table. “No could-haves and should-haves. What’s done is done. We’re here now, and that’s what matters.”
We don’t speak for a few moments, concentrating instead on finishing the pizza, although I find myself watching her more. The mannerisms are still there, like how she pretends to push a lock of her hair behind her ear when she’s nervous or when she bites her lower lip as she smiles, as if not sure if she’s doing the right thing or not.
“You ever get lonely out on the road?”
“Sometimes.” Devyn finishes the last of her wine, and I reach over to refill it. “But I don’t think I’ve ever felt as alone as I did when I thought I had everything. The ‘successful’ career, fame, the house. Industry friends.”
“What happened after you left ‘the industry’?” I ask. “Did they remain friends?”
