My daddy took me and Charlie to the Louisiana State Fair the summer I turned sixteen. It was a five-hour drive up to Shreveport on I-49, and I just about threw myself out of the car numerous times during the trip. Charlie sass-talked my father the entire way, second-guessing his every move and regularly accusing him of embarrassing her for one reason or another. I remember her griping to him about the broken air conditioner in the Buick. She said the wind was going to make her hair look like a hickory horned devil by the time we got there. When she wondered out loud how she was gonna nab herself one of those cute rodeo boys with her hair all wild and crazy, he passed her the bandana from his pocket and told her to tie it over her head like Bret Michaels. For a hot second, I thought Charlie might literally explode with fury.

She gritted her teeth for the rest of drive, and the moment my father parked the car in the fairgrounds parking lot, she was out the door. We didn’t see her again until we came back to the car ourselves, nearly eight hours later, and found her leaning against the fender with a rodeo boy’s tongue shoved down her throat. Daddy didn’t cuss at Charlie or lay a single hand on the boy. He just asked her if he could please have his bandana back. Then he got in the car and drove the three us to a motel for the night. Neither one of them said a single word to each other for the rest of the trip.

I always wondered why he didn’t yell at her that night. And about a million other nights. Maybe if he would’ve yelled, she wouldn’t have ended up where she is, waiting at some Western Union for her little sister to bail her out of trouble. Maybe yelling would’ve proved to her that she’s worth more than that. Maybe yelling would’ve gotten the message through.

It’s too late for yelling, though. Way too late. Now it’s just a matter of keeping Charlie afloat.

Adam holds the door open for me as I walk into the Western Union on Chestnut Street. He was a patient listener this morning when I told him about my phone conversation with Charlie. He didn’t judge or question my motives; he just said he’d be happy to drive me wherever I needed to go before heading in to see his grandmother. So after a quick shower, we stopped for breakfast and then hit the ATM. Between the pawnbroker’s cash and my checking account, I have just enough money to cover Charlie’s request. The clerk at Western Union counts it carefully as I fill out the paperwork with Adam’s hand resting against the small of my back. Charlie’s eight hundred dollars will be at the Houma location in an instant. Now all I can do is mentally cross my fingers and hope it gets her what she needs.

On the drive back to my place, I think about Adam’s words from last night. I’m grateful his father changed his mind about moving Ms. Sinclair, but I do wonder what caused it. Maybe Dr. Kopsey managed to work some magic in the conference room yesterday morning after all. Or maybe it was my harsh reminder about his mother’s condition that convinced him to let her stay put. Regardless of the reason, Adam is obviously taking a fair amount of comfort in the fact that his gram isn’t going anywhere. He’s chatting about his plans to take her outside today so she can see her birds a little closer. He asks me about Pine Manor’s rules for such “field trips,” and I tell him as long as they stay on the grounds, he can push her wheelchair wherever he’d like. He seems excited by the possibilities. It feels good to see him this way, especially after the emotional turmoil of yesterday.

A few minutes later, we pull up to the curb in front of my building. Before I hop out and head upstairs to use the rest of my day off to request bill deferrals and clean the bathroom, I ask Adam if I’ll be seeing him at The King’s Court tonight.

“I’ll be there,” he says with a smile. “Of course I’ll be there.”

“Good. Oh, and tell your gram I said hello.” I open the car door and start to climb out. “And enjoy your walk.”

“Will do.” There’s a long pause while I close the door behind me. I turn to look back at him through the open car window. “Bye, K’acy. Love you.”

A familiar bass riff resonates deep in my chest, summoning a smile to my lips and a flutter to my heart. My lungs release a silent sigh, one filled with sweetness and contentment. Happiness.

“Copy that, and send it back.”

* * *

Jarrod’s already at The King’s Court when I carry the StingRay off the bus and walk into the bar. By the time I’ve unpacked and set up, he’s finished his first beer. I walk over to the bar to say hello and have a drink of my own before I start my set. I haven’t talked to Jarrod since the brief conversation we had on Monday morning when I came back from Adam’s to get ready for work and found him sprawled across my bed. The only words his hung-over brain managed to form that morning were a quick “thanks for the crash pad” and a sarcastic cocktail of comments hoping my night at The Mister’s was worth the wait. When I sit down on the barstool next to him, he hands me a full beer and raises his own in a toast.

“To us,” he says, his voice completely devoid of its usual sarcasm.

“To us,” I return. We clink glasses and each down a few sips of beer. I wonder what has him in such a generous mood. We’ve never toasted to ourselves before.

“I’ve got two bits of good news, though neither of them is as miraculous as the sell-out at The Upstage.”

“Little could be.” There’s no sarcasm in my voice either. I’m damn proud of Crackerjack Townhouse for filling up the place nearly two weeks before the gig’s arrival. Jarrod puts his hand on my shoulder and squeezes it in agreement.

“True. But you’re gonna hear about them anyway.”

“Well then, go on. Tell me.”

After he takes another swig of his beer, he says, “One: I’ve managed to fully recover from having to spend a night in your bed. Alone, fully clothed, and with the toilet seat down. And two: I have a date.”

Whoa. Is he serious? “Really? With who?”

“Geez. Try not to sound so surprised, Kace.”

“Sorry. But, you can’t blame me for being surprised. Dating isn’t usually your thing. I mean…this is good. This is really good. Who is she? Wait. Wait.” I hold my hands up in front of me, fingers spread and palms out. “Please tell me she’s a librarian. Or a kindergarten teacher.”

“Neither. She works at the call center with me.” He shrugs. “Actually, she’s a manager.”

“Seriously? What’s her name?”

“Grace.” The epic ass shaker Jarrod Wilcox is blushing over a woman named Grace. The obvious irony of someone with such a pious name going out with the man doesn’t escape either one of us.

“Well, isn’t that just a kicker? Is she as holy as her name?”

“With any luck, I’ll get to find out on Friday night.” The sarcasm is back. He wiggles his eyebrows up and down, just like he does every time he’s planning to take someone home.

I shake my head in exasperation. “Jesus, Jar. Keep it in your pants. At least for the first date, okay?”

“I can’t promise anything. The ones with the biblical names are usually the kinkiest.”

“Totally TMI.” I roll my eyes and contort my face. He gets a few chuckles in at my expense and then turns the tables.

“And how about you and your biblical boy? Anything kinky happening in the Garden of Eden?”

Now I’m the one who’s blushing. “No kink. Sorry to disappoint you.” I hesitate for a second, deciding if I should tell him any more. But isn’t sharing good news what best friends do? “Just a lot of ‘falling in love’ stuff, that’s all.” I shrug it off as if my words are no big deal.

Jarrod’s mouth drops open, and his eyes widen. “Are you serious? You put your cards on the table already? It’s only been like, what, two months since you met the guy?” He clasps his hands in front of his chest and closes his eyes as if in prayer. “Just please tell me you didn’t say it first.”

“I didn’t say it first.”

He opens his eyes and drops his hands. “Wow. That dude is a brave, brave man. What’d you do when he said it?”

“I asked him if he’d been drinking.”

“And?”

“Completely sober.”

Jarrod shakes his head and smooths one of his hands against the front of his mouth, as if it might help him think.

“Did you say it back? I mean…do you love him back?”

“Yeah. I did. ’Cause I kinda do.”

“Damn.” Jarrod’s head tilts up and he leans back in his seat, resting his spine against the bar and crossing his arms over his chest. A huge smile jets across his face. “That is stellar, Kace. But I knew it already. I see the way he looks at you. And the way you look at him. I’m happy for you. Both of you. You deserve it.”

I don’t say anything in reply because no sooner are Jarrod’s words out when I see Adam approaching us from across the room.

“Speak of the devil…” Jarrod adds, winking at me just before Adam comes into earshot.

“Hey,” Adam says as he nestles up to my barstool and slides his arm around my waist, kissing me on top of the head. He smells like Pine Manor mixed with Melio’s Pizza. “Sorry I’m a little late. I had to get something to eat on the way. I was starving.”

“No worries, man. She was just about to get started.” Jarrod stands up, grabs my hand, and pulls me off my barstool. He guides me toward the stage as if he has important private business to conduct with my swooner. As I lift the leather guitar strap up over my head and lightly stroke the cobweb painted on the pickguard, I turn back to see Adam now sitting in my vacant barstool, finishing my beer. The mischievous look in his eyes makes me wonder what the two of them talk about every Wednesday night while I’m chasing the worries out of my soul with a chain of songs. But my wonder only lasts a moment because once I start playing, Jarrod and Adam and Mr. Sinclair and the driver of the black car—and everyone else for that matter—leave my thoughts.

It’s just me and the StingRay, tossing our love out into the air, note by beautiful note. With each flick of my fingers, the sins of these two hands are forgotten. The memories I have of the last breaths of life are temporarily set free, if only for a few hours.

As long as I’m playing, I can forget. I can shut it out. My mind is quiet.

Tonight, I start my chain of songs with “Soul to Squeeze,” instead of finishing with it. I do it, because now that I know how Adam feels, I’m not worried about giving too much away.

* * *

When I get to Pine Manor on Thursday morning, Sondra’s already there, putting her lunch bag in the break room refrigerator.

“So, I’m gonna go ahead and take a guess that things are a little tense now that Ms. Sinclair’s son is here,” she says, closing the refrigerator door behind her.

“What makes you say that?” She’s certainly right, but I wonder what drove her to make such an appropriate conclusion.

“’Cause yesterday, when I went to get Ms. Sinclair for lunch, her grandson was in the room talking to his father and neither one of them looked happy.” Sondra’s words remind me I never even asked Adam how his day was after we left The King’s Court last night. In fact, I didn’t even ask about Ms. Sinclair. I was too exhausted to function, so he dropped me off at my door, just like every other Wednesday night.

“Let’s just say they don’t get along very well.”

She crosses her arms over her chest and shakes her head at me. “Just watch what you’re getting yourself into, girl. This is the last time I’m gonna say it, but patients and personal lives don’t mix. I know it’s too late now, ’cause you and that boy are probably already in it too deep, but just be careful. Especially if his father is as nasty as I hear he is.”

“Nasty?”

“I heard Marie talking to Ellis about Dr. Kopsey’s notes, saying that Mr. Sinclair was a belligerent and bossy son of a bitch. His words, not mine.”

“Sounds about right.”

Sondra doesn’t say another word. She just purses her lips and shakes her head at me again before turning and walking out of the room. She’s right about me being in too deep, but the truth is, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I may not trust Winston Sinclair, but I do trust his son. And Miriam Hansen.

A few minutes later I find myself standing outside Ms. Sinclair’s room, looking at her through the open door. She’s sitting in her wheelchair watching The Today Show, her bony fingers unwrapping a Starlight mint. She looks so sweet. I try not to think about what I saw in her eyes the day the checkerboard found its way into the trash can because I don’t want to be reminded of the sorrow that will come with it. There will be sadness, and plenty of it, but at least there won’t be pain. That much I know for sure. Because I will make sure of it.

“How’s Gram doing this morning?” I turn my head to see Adam walking down the hallway toward me.

“Good. She’s already dressed.” I step away from her door to meet Adam a few paces away. He’s wearing a blue T-shirt, jeans, and a smile. I want to hug him, but I can’t. So instead, I ask him what I should’ve asked him last night. “I just realized I never asked you about yesterday. How was your day? Did you have a nice walk with your gram?” I’m hoping he offers me more than just an answer to my questions.

“It was okay. The walk was great; she loved it. But my dad showed up, so that made it a little challenging.”

“How come you didn’t say anything about it last night?”

He shrugs. “Because, frankly, I’d like to forget he even exists and bringing him up wasn’t going to make me feel better. It was just gonna piss me off. It felt good to not have to think about it for a little while.” Light dances in his eyes, as if he’s about to say something really special. “Plus, I knew I’d be seeing you today—and hopefully every other day for the rest of my life—so I figured I could just tell you about it some other time.”

Embarrassment and elation course through my veins, weakening and strengthening me at the same time. “I won’t be distracted by your charm, Adam Sinclair, though I do understand why you didn’t want to talk about it last night. But today is a new day, and I just want you to know that I’m here for you, whenever you want to talk. Okay?”

“Okay. But the truth is, there was nothing revolutionary about yesterday. My dad was just his prickly self, ordering people around and treating Gram like she’s an idiot for having Alzheimer’s. I don’t even know why he bothered to show up. He was only here for an hour. He couldn’t get out of here fast enough.”

“Sounds like his quick departure was for the best.”

“It was definitely for the best.” He reaches for me, putting his hands behind my neck and pulling me in for a kiss. It’s super quick; just a peck, really. But I wasn’t ready for it. I wasn’t ready to take the chance. When he pulls away, Adam must see the look of shock on my face because he apologizes. And then he hurries into his grandmother’s room before I can say another word.

I sigh to myself and put my hands into my pockets before heading back to the nurse’s station. When I turn the corner at the end of the hallway, Winston Sinclair is standing there, still as stone. I nearly walk right into him.

“How’s my mother doing this morning?” His voice is raw and cold. He pauses for a second before he adds, “It’s K’acy, isn’t it?”

I’m surprised as sin he remembered my name. “She’s quite well, Mr. Sinclair. And, yes. It’s K’acy.” He doesn’t so much as blink, let alone step out of my way. I focus on the tip of his nose, even though I’d very much like to look him in the eye. “Your son just got here. I saw him heading back to her room.”

“Is that so?”

I don’t quite know what to do because he isn’t budging. He’s just blocking the hallway with his overdressed, overconfident body.

“Yep. Well, I’ve got to run. Have a nice day, Mr. Sinclair,” I say, internally hoping he has a lousy day instead. I step to the side of the hallway and turn my body so my back is flush with the wall. Making room for him to pass seems like it might be the only thing that’ll encourage him to get out of the way.

He doesn’t return my nicety or even say goodbye. He just starts walking.

* * *

I spend the rest of Thursday and Friday working, and Adam spends them at his grandmother’s side. His father doesn’t bother to show up at all on Friday, and his Thursday-morning visit lasted only an hour, just like Wednesday’s. Adam will not leave his gram’s room when his father is here. He’s like a papa bear protecting his cub.

Ms. Sinclair’s become less and less lucid over the last few days. The effects of her medication change are starting to settle in, and she’s more confused than ever. She’s even gotten mildly aggressive a few times, yelling at Adam or one of the staff members for doing some small thing that annoyed her. Adam’s distress is apparent every time she lashes out. I do my best to explain to him there’s nothing unusual about her behavior. Everyone here understands it’s the medication and the Alzheimer’s talking, not his grandmother.

After work on Friday, Adam and I meet in the parking lot. The dark sedan, backed into a spot in the far corner of the lot, unsettles me with its presence yet again. As Adam and I pull out of the lot, I watch the reflection of the dark sedan in the passenger’s side mirror. Relief comes only when the car doesn’t leave its parking space.

On the drive back to my place, Adam tells me his father wants to meet with him again tonight. Apparently, the giant dickhead said he has some important things to discuss with his son.

“I hope to hell one of those things is that he’s going back to Seattle.” Adam’s words are confident, but doubt and skepticism seep through in his voice. “I really don’t want to meet him, but I kind of feel like this might be my last chance to press him for answers.” He’s still hoping his father will give him more information about who Bradley is. He was right; the whole ignorance is bliss thing is never going to work for him.

“Just be careful how hard you press. He seems like the kind of guy who might press back.”

Adam drops me at my door and promises to text me later. Then he kisses me goodbye. When our lips connect, the music in my heart is as loud as always, but something about it is different. Because this time, it’s distorted with worry.