The night stretches ahead, promising honesty or oblivion. But as the hot water relaxes my muscles, I find myself readyfor whatever truths might surface. Some things can’t stay buried forever, no matter how deep we try to hide them.
19
BASTIAN
“The reverb in here is different,”Stone announces, head tilted like he’s listening to something only he can hear. “Must be the temperature change. We should adjust the?—”
“If you touch one more setting,” Fox warns from his corner, “I will personally ensure your next drum solo involves nothing but a cowbell.”
The space feels smaller with all of us crammed in the small studio. Stone at his kit, Fox perched on an amp with his bass, while Nikko balances his tablet on his knee as he scrolls through what looks like concert dates, probably for the Christmas Festival. The only absence is Mik. They went back to Stillwater but promised to return for the festival once Kay is out of school for the holidays.
Sheet music litters every surface. I pick up my guitar and let muscle memory find the opening chords of the song we’ve been working on all morning.
“About the album timing. Daisy—” Nikko starts, but Stone cuts him off with a particularly aggressive cymbal hit.
“We’re not rushing this one,” he says, voice carrying the tone that means he’s prepared to die on this hill. “The last album felt forced. This one needs to breathe.”
He’s right. Every song we’ve written since our hiatus feels different, more grounded somehow. Like we’re finally writing what we love instead of what we think people want to hear. “I agree. Besides, we’re supposed to be on a break. Even without a tour, an album still needs promoting, and I’m not ready to leave Vermont.”
“Speaking of not leaving Vermont,” Stone says, rolling his sticks around his fingers. “Elm Street in town. What’s it like to live on?”
I know the question is directed at me because the only person who knows Winterberry better than I do is my brother, and he’s not here.
“It’s a good area. Quiet family homes. Why?”
He puts his stick down. “A house went up for sale there, and I think I’d like to buy it.”
Silence follows his words. To say I’m shocked is an understatement. Stone has always been a California guy, but I won’t lie. This is excellent news.
“That’s right next door to the hot vet,” Fox says casually.
I laugh. “How do you know?”
He shrugs. “Overheard someone talk about it at Noëlle’s the other day. Word on the street is that pet adoptions are on the rise in Winterberry because of him.”
“That’s ridiculous and irresponsible,” Stone says, standing all of a sudden. “Pets aren’t toys. They’re a responsibility.”
“Maybe you should tell him.” Fox laughs.
We fall back into the practice, the music flowing beautifully because that’s what we do. Twenty-five years of performing together means our bodies know the rhythms even when our minds are elsewhere. My fingers find the right chords while mythoughts drift from calving schedules and winter preparations to documents waiting for my signature in Dad’s office to a certain orchard owner who still hasn’t answered my texts.
We play until the natural light starts to fade. Something is happening to us, individually and as a band. I can feel the change, even if I can’t exactly point out what it is. But it’s bigger than the biggest band in the country announcing an indefinite hiatus.
I retreat to the cabin after the guys leave, but it feels too quiet, the silence broken only by the occasional pop from logs settling in the woodstove. Gouta has claimed her usual spot among the chicken brigade in the corner, all of them huddled together like conspirators plotting revolution. The sight sparks something in my mind. An idea reckless enough to work, or at least force the confrontation I’ve been craving.
My phone sits dark and silent on the counter, offering no distraction from all the thoughts that seem determined to surface. Three days of unanswered texts mock me from its screen.
It started with me trying to draw him out to talk about what happened.
Bastian:
Can we talk?
We need to talk about it.
It doesn’t need to happen again.
Then I tried to appeal to his sense of responsibility.
