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“No.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Are you somewhere that would upset me? Like that motel in Missouri that’s shaped like a piano? Or the crossroads in Mississippi where Robert Johnson supposedly sold his soul? Or—god help me—are you at Dollywood? Foster, please tell me you’re not at Dollywood without me.”
I actually laugh.
“I’m not in Missouri, Nikko.”
“Swear.”
“I swear.”
“Mississippi?”
“Not there either.”
“The guitar water tower?”
“Nikko, I promise I have not seen a single music-based landmark on this trip.”
“You better be telling me the truth. Because if I find out you went to Sun Studios without me—”
“I’m just figuring some stuff out. Give me a couple of weeks.”
“A couple of weeks?”
“I’ll meet you in Vermont for Thanksgiving. I promise.”
“Fox, that’s fourteen days.”
“I can count, Nik.”
“What are you doing that takes fourteen days?”
“I already told you. Rigorous research. I have a list—”
“Wait. Are you with someone?”
“Bye, Nikko.”
“Foster.”
“Give my love to Nina. And Pete. And Ari. Especially Ari.”
“You are the worst brother in the world.”
“I love you too.”
I hang up before he can push any harder.
I put the phone face-down on the table and stare at it for a second, waiting for it to ring again.
It doesn’t. Yet.
CHAPTER THREE
