Neither of us had mentioned her five days off.
They started tomorrow.
Me:How personal?
Her answer took several minutes.
Annie:A recording.
I stared at the word.
Me:Released?
Annie:No.
Then:
Annie:Extremely no.
Hank remained in the doorway.
“You can stop pretending not to watch me.”
“I’m watching the dog.”
Captain Pancake was asleep under the desk.
“His condition appears stable.”
Hank glanced at Lexi’s card.
“She gave me hair.”
“Artistic freedom.”
“It suits me.”
“It appears to be seaweed.”
“Still flattering.”
My phone buzzed again.
Annie:It is unfinished. It may remain unfinished. You can say no.
That should have simplified the decision.
It did not.
Songs were not neutral.
Music was how Savannah filled arenas with people who felt as though she had written directly to them. It was how one private feeling could become something thousands of strangers carried into their own lives.
Annie could say a recording asked for nothing.
That did not mean it asked for nothing.
Me:Is it about me?
