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When I got back to Felix and Reed, they had their arms around each other on one side of the room. They jumped apart.
I flapped my hand at them. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve already noticed you two. Don’t worry about it. I just told Luna that I want to be with her forever. I’m a new man. How are the lyrics?”
Reed looked relieved. “We’ve finished them.”
Felix blinked between Reed and I. “Yep, they’re perfect.”
I picked up the sheet on the table and looked over them, and grinned. “I love it. Now let’s get the music sorted.”
Luna
Each morning I rose early, before anyone else, and took a cup of coffee outside to stare up at the mountain peaks that rose above and around us.
My dad had always worked antisocial jobs, odd hours, unusual locations, but this was his remotest posting yet. He’d stayed in town, I supposed, until I’d finished my education. Then, there was nothing keeping him there.
My mom had loved the mountains. She’d go on long hikes, sometimes taking me or my dad or both with her. There’s pictures of the three of us atop a mountain when I was just a baby, strapped to my father’s chest.
When she’d gone missing, it was hard to console myself with the fact that she had died doing something that she’d loved. Instead, I blamed myself for not accepting the invitation to go with her. Maybe I’d have been able to prevent her death somehow. Or maybe I’d gotten lost alongside her. At least she wouldn’t have died alone.
It was a morbid thought, and one that I had emotionally moved past. Now, looking up at the blue mountains, I wondered if my father had moved here to feel close to her, as if her spirit still inhabited the mountains she had so loved in life. We weren’t a religious family, so that would be the closest thing we had. My mom, guardian spirit of the mountains, watching over us and protecting us from harm.
Besides the quiet, contemplative mornings I spent thinking about my mom, my days were spent hanging out with the band, rehearsing for my solo performance, cuddling in bed with Sylvester and spending some quality time with my dad.
One day, a few weeks into our stay, I sat rehearsing yet again in one of the empty warehouse rooms. I’d started to feel like I’d rehearsed all I could, that I was weirdly ready for the gig, and rehearsals were becoming boring, draining all of the fun out of playing.
I heard a small noise and looked up. To my surprise, Monica, Winston’s wife, was in the doorway. She was quite introverted, like me, so we hadn’t talked a lot so far. Only politely, and usually in the company of others. What I knew of her, I liked.
She was a photographer who had started in abstract work, moved into commercial work for celebrities and models, then found a way to fuse her passion for interesting, unusual photography with her work for high-profile clients. I admired her for that – for doing what I’d never been able to do.
She was also somewhat intimidating. But I knew that was just my own self-consciousness and insecurities speaking.
Her voice was soft and gentle. “Hi, Luna. How are you doing?”
I smiled. “A little tired of practice, if I’m honest. I think at some point there’s a curve at which practicing too much is gonna make me worse at it, y’know? There needs to be some rawness in a live performance.”
Monica nodded. “I totally get what you mean. It’s like if I spend too long editing a photograph. It gets all distorted and overly processed. Plus, your voice is lovely naturally.”
I was almost blushing. “Thanks.” Female friends were somewhat rare in my life, due to my ‘resting bitch face’ and tendency to compare myself to others unfavorably.
“Since you’re a bit practiced out, anyway... I was wondering if you’d like to come on a little walk with Max and me? Not too far, so we don’t get lost, but the scenery around here is beautiful, and I think we’d all benefit from getting some fresh air.”
“Yeah, actually, that sounds really nice.”
“Would you mind being in some photos for me? You don’t have to if you’d rather not. But if you want, I can send you the edited pictures. You could use them for promo or something.”
I was a little overwhelmed by the offer, even if I was happy she thought I was photogenic enough to be in a picture. “I’m not sure... I feel all pregnant and bloated, even though I’m not showing much yet. I’ve not done my hair, or make-up... and my clothes...”
Monica laughed, not unkindly. “Luna, I think you’d look beautiful in a plastic sack. You’re naturally gorgeous, honestly. I prefer to shoot without make-up. And you’ll suit the mountain landscapes.”
“Are you saying I’m rugged-looking?”
Monica wasn’t sure if I was joking or not. “Erm – no! I mean, not in a bad way. Not rugged, just...”
I had a habit of over-deadpanning jokes. I winked at her. “Sorry, bad habit.”
Monica swatted at me with her non-camera hand. “Come on. Max is fascinated by you. He calls you ‘ghost lady’ and makes up stories about how you died.”
I laughed. It was every goth’s dream to be thought of as a dead ghost by a child, of course. “Oh, I’ll only add to his collection.”
