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Talking around the cap pinned between my teeth, I mutter, “Writing it down so we don’t lose it.”
“I won’t lose it.”
My pen stills, and my gaze drags up to his.
He shrugs as if to say, What?
Spitting the cap to the side, uncaring as it skids away, I run a hand through my hair, and say, “Well I need to write it down. Especially seeing as it’s not finished. I work better when I can…see it and work it out this way.”
Shawn says nothing to that, but when I look up, he just makes a gesture for me to hurry up.
Smiling to myself, I finish the final chord.
“I think I got it.”
He hands me the guitar without a word, and I play through what we’ve got so far, then slide my fingers up, pushing at the E string to raise the pitch, and give it a sort of keening sound, before quickly sliding back down and transitioning to the same chord progression as earlier but this time half-a pitch higher. Making it feel like it’s climbing toward something.
“I like that.”
Nodding, I do it a couple more times, slower, then faster again, ensuring he’s got it. Handing him the guitar, I grab my notebook and jot them down. Erase and redo when he tweaks it some, making it better.
We must sit in the hallway for hours, going back and forth, until we have an entire two-minute acoustic song that is…well, probably far from perfect, but it’s…it’s something.
By the time we stop, the sun is peeking in through the window from down the hall. Our eyes are bleary, and my fingers are numb and there are words—lyrics—taking shape in my head. And when Tom stumbles out of his room, he cuts us a funny look. “Thanks for the lullaby, guys.”
When he turns away, Shawn and I look at each other.
“We stayed up all night.”
He grunts at that, and runs his fingers through his hair. In doing so, I realize at some point he must’ve rolled up his sleeves. When he lowers his arm, my gaze catches on the marks going up his arm. Little bruises and divots.
My eyes fly to his just as he shoves his sleeves down.
He scowls and pushes to a stand, the guitar neck squeezed in his fist as he goes to bolt.
“Shawn,” I say.
He pauses, halting at the sound of my voice. But his back remains to me.
“I’ll see you later?”
He turns his head, showing me his profile as he gives a short nod.
And then he’s gone, disappearing into his room two doors down from mine.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Mom and Dad are selling the house. Idk how I feel about it. Idk how I feel about a lot of things these days.
For Mom and Dad’s sake, I’m glad, I guess. Relieved. They bought an RV. Plan to travel for a while… especially with me moving out.
I start college in January. Move into the dorms right after Christmas. I’m nervous, but excited too.
Well, excited might not be the right word. Impatient is more like it. I just want to get the newness of it all over with. I just want my life to finally begin.
It’s gonna be a huge adjustment. For all of us, but Mom especially. She’s in counseling though. Dad too. They’ve both come a long way these last few months. Really, ever since the funeral.
I wouldn’t say it was easy for them to accept your death. Those first couple weeks were dark. Really dark. And then we had the funeral, and it got even darker…
