I pad down the first few steps, stopping in front of my favorite blue electric guitar. It’s the one I had on our final tour, and I played our last Whisper Me Nothings show with. I could barely stand to touch it long enough to even hang it on these hooks.
Now, my fingers itch to grab it. To feel its familiar weight. My hands shake slightly as I pull it off the wall.
I don’t know what I expected. Some sort of earth shattering moment. A lightning bolt to strike me down for all the sins I caused to put this beauty in retirement well before it deserved it.
But nothing happens. I hold it in my hands like I always have. Like I never stopped.
It still has my favorite black leather strap attached and it fits like a glove over my shoulder as I slip it on. The weight settles onto my left shoulder and I finally feel…balanced again. Like I’ve been off-kilter ever since I took it off after that final show.
I run my fingers over the smooth blue alder body. It’s cool beneath my touch, like it’s been waiting for me to bring it to life once more.
I know this trip isn’t about creating music and gettingour careers back on track, but I need to bring this with. It’s a resounding thought pounding through my skull. It just feels right.
We made albums with this thing. Played sold out arenas with it. It’s seen the highest highs and the lowest lows. I don’t know if we’ll play music together while we’re there, but if the time comes, I want to be prepared.
A thought pops into my head and I grab my phone again. I pull up Penny’s number. She shouldn’t be at work since she told me this morning that she doesn’t work until three.
The line rings and rings and rings. I double check the time, thinking maybe she went in early, but the line finally clicks.
“Hey, had a quick question for you,” I say by way of greeting. “Would you be willing to let me borrow your guitar in a couple weeks? I uh, I decided to do the retreat bullshit and I just thought—I don’t know, I thought it’d be special to take it.” My palms grow itchy, the idea sounding corny as I say it outloud. “I’ll loan you one of mine in the meantime so you have something to play at work.”
The line is silent.
I frown and pull the phone away to make sure the call is connected.
“Penny?”
“Yeah, I’m here.” Her voice is quiet, scratchy like she’s been crying.
Concern immediately shoots through my body, causing my spine to go rigid. “What’s wrong?”
I hear a small sniffle over the line before she answers, “My, umm, my mother called me.”
26
Aspen
Inormally don’t go into work early, but Kevin was tired from closing the night before and asked if I’d be willing to come in a few hours before I was scheduled.
I also don’t normally answer random numbers, but when it called for the third time in a row, I decided to answer.
Bad decision.
Bad, bad fucking decision.
“Aspen? Aspen Andersen?”
“Yes, this is she.”
“It’s—I’m Linda. Linda Thompson. Well, I, my maiden name is Andersen.”
She didn’t need to tell me she was my birth mother. I knew the second she spoke.
Call it intuition. Call is the blood that binds us together while love didn’t.
But I knew it.
I wish I never pickedup the phone.
