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That’s grief, I guess. There are five stages, but no one says those stages are in order. They jump out at you when you least expect it.
My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, words trapped in my throat.
After long seconds, I turn back to face him. “I don’t think she meant to be either selfish or selfless. She sounds protective. She sounds like a mother.”
She sounds an awful lot likemymother.
He swallows, his throat bobbing, and my fingers twitch with the want to reach out and touch the day-old stubble on his jaw. To knead out some of his tension.
But I can’t do that.
I don’t think it’s my touch he craves.
He doesn’t utter another word, and I don’t ask.
I won’t test my luck.
Distracting myself, I hum, drumming my fingers against my thighs. I keep my eyes on the road, refusing to squirm when I feel blistering eyes on me as he glances back and forth throughout our journey.
He doesn’t moan about my singing. Instead, he taps a matching rhythm against the steering wheel with his ring finger.
***
“Fresh Air Blue? Claire, I’m pretty sure you’re just fucking with me now.”
I hold up my fingers. “Scouts honor. After my time with Henry last night, I did lots of research. Fresh Air Blue is the most calming color according to scientific research.”
“Infuriating,” he grits out so low, I’m unsure if he means for me to hear. Face tensed, he turns back to the shop assistant. “Have you got…” he hesitates before casting a doubtful glare my way, “Fresh Air Blue?”
The shop assistant nods, tapping the counter with his knuckles. “Sure. What size tin do you need?”
I clap my hands, eager to get going. “A big one.”
***
Jake eyes the front of the music shop when we get out of the car. “Why here?”
To be fair, he didn’t protest when I asked him to drive the forty minutes to East Fort instead of going to a music shop in the city.
It felt like the ultimate betrayal to go to another shop.
Besides, this one is my favorite.
I’m also not here for just instruments.
“The music teacher I promised. She’s right in here with everything else we need.”
My sister’s head pops up from her hands when the bell rings on the door. “Hey, sis. What are you doing here?” She takes in my overalls. “Picasso called. He wants his clothes back.”
I nudge Jake in the ribs when he snickers.
Her eyes dart from me and the rigid wall walking behind me.
“Hi,” she says slowly, and I know she’s wondering if I failed to tell her about a new boyfriend.
I wrap my arms around her neck and kiss her cheek. “Missed you.” She smells like guitar strings. “Amy, this is Jake. Jake, this is my sister…Older sister,” I tease.
She slaps my arm. “Bitch.”
