Page 93 of The Serpent King

It was almost as though Lydia could read his mind. “Hey, Dill.”

He coughed and cleared his throat. “Yeah?”

She patted the MTSU hoodie in the bag on the table. “You did it.”

It was dark when they got back to Dill’s house. His mom would be home in about an hour. Lydia leaned over her seat to kiss him goodnight.

“Hang on,” Dill said. “Come in with me. I have something for you.” He hadn’t planned on this. It wasn’t quite ready yet. But he’d realized that day that there was no better time for it.

Lydia followed Dill inside for the second time ever. Dill motioned for her to sit on his sagging, tragic sofa.

“Do you want me to turn on the lamp?” she asked.

“No. I like the dark.” He went to his room and grabbed his guitar. He stood in front of Lydia, blushing. He hoped she couldn’t see.

He quickly checked his tuning. “Um…okay. So, this is a song I wrote for you. It’s called ‘Lydia.’ ” He made one last tweak to his tuning. “I guess I could’ve just told you that the song was called ‘Lydia’ and you’d probably have figured out that I wrote it for you.”

“Probably.”

He played “Lydia” for her. It was a song that was somehow soaring and quiet at the same time—the way his heart felt when he was with her. He heard her start sniffling about thirty seconds in, and saw her take off her glasses. It was messy and imperfect. But he was never prouder of how it sounded.

“Anyway, I hope you like it,” Dill said when he finished, still blushing. “I’m not doing a video of that one. That one’s just for you. I mean if you want—”

But Lydia stood and cut him off with a kiss that felt like a summer storm.

When Lydia got home, her dad was playing his electric guitar (he wasn’t faring well compared with the performance she’d just heard) while her mom sat on one of the porch rockers, reading, with a glass of wine.

“Hey,” her mom said. “You’re home late.”

Lydia flopped down in the rocker next to her mom. “I took Dill to tour MTSU. He got in today.”

Her mom set down her book on her thigh. “Really? That’s wonderful. I gather that’ll be healthy for Dill to get out of here.”

“No kidding,” Lydia said.

They rocked for a while, not saying much. Lydia sat cross-legged in the rocker. “So…out of curiosity, tell me more about how you and Dad ended up getting together.” She tried to sound nonchalant. Just shooting the shit about something I’ve never once cared about. No big deal.

Her mom gave her a canny squint. “Just curious, huh?”

Mental note: be more slick. Lydia refused eye contact. “Can’t I be interested in the process that led to my existence?”

Her mom set down her wine glass. “Honey, I was born in the morning, but not yesterday morning.”

“Fine. Busted. Good job,” Lydia muttered.

“Hey, it didn’t take a master detective.”

The electric guitar fell silent. A few seconds later, her dad opened the front door and poked his head out. “There’re my girls. What are—”

“In,” Lydia commanded, pointing. “Back inside.”

He gave Lydia a wounded look. “That’s a nice way to—”

“In. Side.”

“Denny, darling,” her mom said gently. “Girl talk.”

Her dad raised both hands in surrender and backtracked. “Okay, okay. I’m retreating. I’m making no sudden movements. Don’t hurt me. Glad you made it home safe, Lyd.”