Carlene didn't direct.She stood by the specials’ chalkboard and watched like she had at the barn, quiet and alert.She kept an eye on the room and let it move.Every now and then, she lifted her phone to take a quick shot, then set it down again.No angles.No staging.Just what was there.
A girl no older than eight slipped through the cluster, braid bouncing, clutching a notebook with unicorns on the cover.She looked up at Jami as if she were evaluating a very tall tree she planned to climb.
“I wrote a song,” she said.“Do you want to see?”
“I always want to see,” he said, and crouched to her height.
She opened the notebook and showed him words written in big letters and carefully drawn lines.My dog is my best friend, it began, and the chorus was about peanut butter and loyalty.
“I think you have a hit,” he said.“You have a chorus that says what you mean and a verse with details I can see in my head.”
Her mother blinked back tears.“We listen to your music every morning before school,” she said.“Thank you for being kind.”
“Thank you for bringing your writer,” he said.
They took a picture together.The girl slipped the notebook back into her backpack like a treasure.The room exhaled and then filled again.
When the last person had their moment and the coffee machine sighed a final refill, Hanna waved them all toward the back door.“Break,” she said.“You can get out to the courtyard before someone else invents a reason to come ask for a napkin.”
They stepped outside into a rectangle of shade.Potted herbs lined the wall.A small fountain trickled.Jami sank onto a bench and stretched his legs out until his heels hit the edge of a sun patch.
Carlene followed and took the spot beside him, not quite close, not quite far.She had a cinnamon roll in her hand, which she had not taken a bite of yet.She spun the paper wrapper without looking at it.
“You did good,” she said.
“So did you,” he said.“That room could’ve turned into chaos.”
“It wanted to,” she said, and smiled.“But the cinnamon rolls helped.”
He looked at her.Some of the polish she wore like armor had softened in this light.The line of her throat looked less like a defense and more like something he wanted to trace with his mouth.He looked away, annoyed with himself and a little amused.
“You were right,” he said.“About starting here.It felt like we were talking with people, not at them.I haven't been down here in a long time.I just realized, I stay up at the farm most of the time.”
“That's the point,” she said.“If they feel like they know you, they'll carry the song for you when you're not in the room.”
He nodded.“About that clip.You want to post it tonight?”
“Tomorrow morning is better,” she said.“I want people to wake up with it and carry it into their day.I'll drop two stills later this afternoon from the bluff.Quiet, then the video.It tells a story without your voice yet.”
“Okay,” he said, and meant it.
A breeze slid through the courtyard.She tore off a small piece of the cinnamon roll and finally tasted it.She made a face that said she was surprised by happiness, then tried to hide it.He shouldn't have loved that as much as he did.
“Phase 3,” he said, because it needed air.“I know we're not moving on it, but I keep thinking about it.”
“So do I,” she said softly.“We'll be careful.”
“I want to be honest,” he said.“If we do that part, I want it to feel like choosing, not working.”
Her gaze held his.“Me too.”
Hanna stuck her head out the door and ruined the moment like an angel with good timing.“I have a cinnamon roll that doesn't know it needs to be eaten,” she said.“Anyone feel called by destiny?”
Axel appeared at her shoulder like he had a tracking device for sugar.“I feel called.”
Livia laughed and reached for Tony’s hand, then gestured at Jami and Carlene with her chin.“You two want to split it?”
“I'm good,” Carlene said, and set her wrapper on the table like she had to put something down or she would say something she couldn't take back.
