Page 10 of For the Record

Rachel’s eyebrows drew closer, her face tightening as she pursed her lips. She was seeing right through me, and there was nothing I could do. It wasn’t like I could come out and say sorry to seem like a stalker, but I’ve hardly slept at all in the last week because I keep thinking of your laugh and the really grotesque jokes that come out of such a pretty mouth.

“What kind of record?” she challenged.

Kind? There were kinds?

“I…don’t know.”

She snorted and gave me a soft smile, apparently not going to call me out on my crap. “How about we go look at some soft and easy classic rock? Not anything too heavy. More of a…foot-tapping kind of smooth rock?”

She stepped out from her post and walked across the checkered floors to the rock section of the store. It was impossible to ignore that the place clearly needed work. The vinyl floors were pulling up in some spots. Walls needed paint too. And although it was well-staged, there were undeniable structural issues underneath my boots as I followed her. The floor rose and fell under my feet, and I immediately began wondering what kind of foundation this was on. Seemed like this place was on a slab, and if so, there shouldn’t have been a need for wavy floors. Unless they had previous water damage somewhere.

Was that why they wanted to sell soon? Too many renovations to take on? I had an incredible urge to ask, but my time here felt borrowed, and at the end of the day, I’d come in here for her name only.

Rachel hummed along to the next song as the music switched over, her tongue clicking and feet tapping. She reached the rock section and settled in place before turning my way, taking me in from head to toe and nodding to herself. As if it was some kind of evaluation.

“I’m thinking…early Eagles. Maybe some Billy Joel?” Her fingers flipped through the vinyls organized in front of her while she muttered a hmm, then a nah, a nope, maybe, and wait a second. Eventually, she pulled out a black-and-white album with a man sitting on a striped bed and a mask sitting next to him.

She looked me up and down once more with a smirk, clearly satisfied with her decision. “The Stranger fits you very well.”

I wasn’t really a music person. Didn’t complain if it was on, but I certainly couldn’t piece together what kind of artists fit me best at the moment. I was more of an audiobook or plain silence in the car kind of guy. Any other time I could have been listening to music, I just… didn’t. Maybe I needed to now, though.

There was hardly anything for me to say without giving away my complete ignorance over the genre, so I simply nodded and stuck both hands in my pockets.

She nodded back and began to turn around and head back to the register. She looked over her shoulder, curling a finger her way. “Come with me.”

As if there were anywhere else I could go. My legs followed her before my brain could catch up. It felt like I blinked and was on the opposite side of the register from her, as if I had floated there.

I watched as she flipped the record over, typing the numbers from the barcode into an older-looking system. Her lips rested in this soft smile, and I wondered if she always looked this happy, or if my presence had any slight effect. Her long, painted nails tapped away as she rang me up, and it dawned on me. Records were…valuable, right? I had heard of other people collecting them for money. Was I looking to spend fifty dollars or five hundred here?

It didn’t matter, really. I was good enough at saving money that it was almost concerning how little I spent on what some people considered fun items. Each check I received went to bills, groceries, savings, and donating. In that order. No need for anything extra. Before now, anyway.

Rachel slammed her hand into the side of the register, clenching her jaw and rolling her eyes. “Come on, you piece of—” She pushed the device once more, brows furrowed, until a small light at the top turned green.

“Ah, there we go. She just needs to be manhandled a bit.”

I cleared my throat at the word manhandled and quickly handed over my card.

She took it from me, her fingers grazing mine and reminding me of how sweet it had been to hold her hand.

Tapping my hands against my pants, I watched as she wrapped the record up for me. I wasn’t ready to leave, despite my earlier hesitation, and it felt like I had to grasp for any reason to see her for a little longer.

“What got you into records?” I asked, hearing the rasp from my voice but unable to control it.

She smiled to herself, looking up at me as she finished wrapping. “I always thought it was so neat how they work. How much better the quality is since it’s not passing through a phone speaker like what we have now.” She paused as she tucked a corner of the gift wrap down and stuck a piece of tape to it. “Plus my dad and I used to collect them. He has early onset dementia now and can’t do it as much, so this is kind of keeping the memories alive in both of us.”

I briefly remember a couple of comments the other night about her father. He was prior service, a SEAL. She’d mentioned his slipped memory once, but I hadn’t considered it was anything as far as dementia.

This girl was real. Authentic, genuine, whatever else you wanted to call it. She held such substance. Way too much for someone I had planned on having a single night with and tossing out the next day. No wonder I couldn’t easily forget her. She was cemented in my brain.

I recalled her other discussions about music. How she said it was an escape. How she felt like every moment needed a soundtrack, and that she was really good at picking them out. My eyes dropped to the record she’d placed in the bag. The Stranger. Huh. I was going to have to listen to it tonight, to see a glimpse of how she truly thought of me.

I wasn’t good with words. Never had been. Always liked to communicate in actions. People could speak all day long, but who knew if any of it was authentic? Actions said more, spoke volumes louder. Maybe that’s how she felt with music. Maybe this was her way of conversing without having to say the hard things.

“So you are pretty familiar with it, then?” I blurted.

Her brow cocked. “With what?”

I pointed to the gift bag holding my record. She twisted her lips, feigning confusion, as if pulling me to say every thought out loud.

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