The chords shifted on their own, and I let my fingers wander. It wasn’t like I could focus on anything anyway. Every time I tried to zero in and concentrate, all I could see was Cora. I had spent the entire morning fighting off little recollections of her, and I was tired.
“Gotta sleep more,” I muttered to myself.
Moving on should have been easy. Cora and I didn’t really know each other despite having grown up in the same small town. We were still worlds away from each other. But Tyson had informed me over coffee that Cora was still in town and that it looked like she planned to stay.
Cora was just down the street.
I stopped playing and then started the new chord progression over. It was just easier to give in. I closed my eyes and saw blue, blue like the satin skirt Cora had been wearing the night we met. I remembered her understated curves; she hadn’t come to seduce me. Cora had been a reluctant party-crasher, and I laughed when I remembered how we happily avoided all the celebrating guests.
Then I gritted my teeth and started the song over.
“It was all a lie,” I reminded myself.
Despite my resolution, the song played with the idea of a hesitating woman come to plead for her hometown. Only to mistake her rich target for just another local guy, one that she found herself falling in love with.
The guitar twanged as I swore.
It had been over a week since I’d realized Cora’s true intentions but somehow, I couldn’t help imagining she had really felt the same way as me.
I dropped my pick and cursed some more.
How did I feel about Cora?
The mansion felt ridiculously huge without her. Somehow, Cora’s presence had scaled every room down to livable, and I had gotten comfortable. During our short time together, Cora had fit into my life so perfectly that it all felt ready to fall apart without her.
No, don’t be stupid. You already know how to play the blues.
But the more I played and the more a newly inspired song formed, the more I mocked myself. I had always known there was a reason for every cliché but now I fit into my own music. Not only had I found and lost the girl, but here I was sitting alone and playing my guitar when I realized it: I was in love with Cora.
It felt like a blues rite of passage and the song I was playing took off. I was just reaching the resonating finish when I saw something move in the corner of the room.
Bobby stumbled out of the secret passage, smiled, and gave me a casual wave. Then he stepped aside, and Rick slunk out, clearing his throat awkwardly.
“New song?” Bobby asked, completely at ease with the odd situation.
“Did you guys just break into my house?” I asked.
Rick looked sheepish but wouldn’t be distracted. “Was that a new song?”
“You guys just broke into my house!”
“Somebody’s got to stop you from going all reclusive rock star on us again,” Rick said. He crossed my music room and sat down at a drum kit.
Bobby shrugged. “You should thank us. Now you know how loose your security system is.”
I groaned. “So, you’ve seen me, and we’ve chatted. Now get out.”
“I’ll go get us some beers,” Bobby said. He shuffled out the door.
Rick started up a soft rhythm that fit the new song perfectly, despite me glaring at him. “Glad you’ve been writing new music. It’s a good sign.”
“Who told you about the secret passage?” I barked.
“You know. Otherwise, it wouldn’t bother you so much.” Rick peered over the drums at the floor strewn with scribbled sheet music. “She was worried you’d stop playing. We made a bet.”
My fingers plucked the first chord of the new song and I groaned again. It was useless to pretend around my friends, and I was suddenly very happy those two idiots had broken in.
“Who won?” I asked.
Rick grinned. “Me.”
We played for a few minutes, messed around with the bridge, and then Bobby returned with the beers. He handed them out and then stooped to pick up random pieces of sheet music.
“Yes. Yeah.” Bobby handed a few to Rick and they clinked beer bottles. “You totally won the bet.”
“Are you going to tell me more about this bet or just pretend I’m not sitting right here?” I snapped.
Bobby chuckled but didn’t answer. Instead, he picked up one of my father’s old bass guitars and settled onto a chair across from me. He slugged his beer, set it down, and started to play an accompaniment to the sheet music melody in front of him.
“I’ve never seen you actually write the music. Man, this is good,” he said.
Rick saw the vein start to throb in my forehead and took pity on me. “Cora came to the record store and asked about you. I assured her you were still playing, but she knew no one had actually seen you. She bet against me just to get us to come up here.”
“We were coming anyway,” Bobby said. His accompanying bass line took off on a new riff.
I started to play along. “And what’d you win?”
“One of her framed prints. You should see it, Storm. It’s got a new place of honor on the record store wall,” Rick said.
Bobby nodded. “Your old man’s guitar collection. Such vibes, man. I almost cried.”
It took me a minute to come back to the music room. The thought of Cora’s photography framed and on display had sent my heart soaring. Her talent and her passion hadn’t been faked. We had really connected over her view of my life. And I longed to see her work for myself.
“I thought she’d be back in Manhattan by now,” I stammered.
“Nah. That wasn’t ever really for her.” Rick tapped out a new beat. “She’s freelancing out of Caroline’s studio, and she’s really good.”
“In between thinking of ways to save the town,” Bobby said.
Rick cringed as my playing became discordant. “Not that it needs saving. Murtaugh just needs an update, that’s all.”
“The town’s got its own webpage and social media and all that,” Bobby informed me.
“What about her mother’s gallery?” I asked, picking up the tune again.
“It’s up for lease but there are no takers yet. The landlord wants to develop the whole corner but, so far, the town council is turning him down,” Rick said.
“Though he’s proposing to throw a lot of money into it,” Bobby said.
“Jesus, B! Are you helping or what?” Rick yelled.
I laughed and paused to take another drink of beer. “So, you’re telling me I don’t need to worry about Murtaugh but someone really needs to save the town?”
“Don’t worry, Cora’ll do it,” Bobby said.
Both Rick and I burst out laughing, knowing he was right. We all stopped playing and the music room settled into an easy silence. Bobby sifted through more of my scattered sheet music, and Rick pulled a chair up closer to me.
“So, can you just admit it now?” Rick asked.
“Admit what?” I frowned at him and finished my beer.
“She and I are just good friends,” Rick said. “And it’s okay for you to love her. In fact, I think you two are perfect for each other.”
“Oh, man! Some of these even have lyrics,” Bobby called out. “You gotta admit it now.”
I gritted my teeth, but it was no use denying it when Bobby was holding hard evidence in his hands. “So what if I love Cora? It’s all screwed up.”
“Present tense; that’s a good sign,” Rick said.
I punched him in the shoulder. “You do remember that she lied about who she was and her motives, right?”
“Yeah, but we know her better. You know her better, Storm.”
Bobby agreed. “She’s your Muse.”
The sheaf of sheet music in his hands backed up his point. I hadn’t even made it to the bottom of my front steps that day before Cora had inspired another song. Even when I was blindly angry at her, Cora was still woven tight into my thoughts. And it was starting to feel like she belonged there.
It was time for me to face the simple truths that had hounded me since I left Cora. I admired her intentions. I hadn’t recognized how big of a part the small town of Murtaugh played in my life until Cora pointed it out. It also made me feel like I knew her, and she knew me; we were connected through our hometown and our shared experiences there.
I had to forgive her for all the confusion. When Cora and I had met, she was just as lost as me. We’d bonded over coming to terms with our real passions, no matter how expected or impractical they turned out to be.
“So, she’s really a photographer now?” I asked.
Rick smiled. “Seems like you’re her Muse as much as she is yours.”
The ache in my chest loosened. “And it doesn’t really matter what she was before.”
“An accountant!” Bobby chuckled. “That’s going to be funny for years.”
Then reality hit, and I bristled. “Yeah, well, it’s a lot easier for her to change.”
“You still imagine the public will tear you to shreds?” Rick pulled out his phone. “What if Cora has paved the way for the new Storm Morris?”
The first photograph he showed me was Cora’s view of my father’s guitar collection. The light was so golden it almost felt like a presence, and I could almost feel my father in the photograph. A simple caption explained the heavy presence I felt, and loved, all through my young career.
As I scrolled through the photographs that Cora had taken, I saw for myself that our connection was real. Not only had she seen who I really was, but she understood where I had come from. Her photographs highlighted the distance I felt from my father at the same as pointing out our close similarities. Cora’s simple captions expressed to the world the things I thought too complex to overcome.
“So far, it’s just been the collection, but people are clamoring for more about where you are,” Rick said. “All we’d have to do is add your name to the clips we’ve already posted, and you could be re-famous tomorrow.”
Where there used to be fear was now just a longing for Cora. I rubbed my chest and kept scrolling through the photographs she’d created for me. In them, I saw the man I could be, the man I wanted to be.
I handed Rick back his phone and picked up my guitar. Bobby clapped his hands and swung into the chair across from me, waiting to hear what bass line was needed. Rick grinned and returned to the drum kit.
“Do we really want to be famous?” I asked.
“Nobody said you had to,” Bobby said.
Rick shook his head. “It’d ruin the record store.”
The song flew out from under my fingers. Suddenly, anything seemed possible. “So no to some long international tour?”
Bobby shrugged. “Isn’t that what the Internet’s for?”
I laughed and the last of the tension in my chest let go. There was suddenly no reason why I couldn’t be myself. I didn’t have to compete with my father, I didn’t have to return to my ridiculously young self and shoot for the top of the charts, and I didn’t have to take the stage in any far-flung place.
“What are you gonna call this one?” Rick asked.
“‘My Muse,’” I said.
Cora wasn’t there but I knew how to get her back. All I had to do was open my doors and let the music play.