Page 35 of Love and Other Lost Things

He hadn’t said that second part out loud back then, but she’d felt it. On the long walk up to the stage. As she’d settled the guitar on her lap. When she’d taken a deep breath and sung her first note. He’d been there with her, just like always.

And he was telling her he’d be there with her now.

She glanced over at Pete, who motioned toward the mic in an Are you ready? gesture. Jane nodded. Pete finished his call and headed across the café to climb onto the stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Pete said into the microphone. “We have an extra special guest with us today. One of Linden Falls’ own.” He gave Jane a wink. “Jane McCaffrey.”

Dozens of faces turned in her direction. A murmur went through the crowd. Chief McCaffrey’s long-lost daughter is back, Jane imagined people saying.

Before she could change her mind, Jane straightened her shoulders and followed Pete onstage. She reached for the guitar, the fingers of her left hand wrapping around the neck as she slowly lifted it. The weight of it felt awkward, heavier than she’d expected, and it banged against the stool as she turned to sit down, vibrating through her solar plexus.

Jane cringed. “Sorry,” she said into the microphone, and it came out too loud in the quiet room.

She sank down on the stool and gave the guitar a tentative strum. The G string was a little sharp. Even after all these years, she could still hear that slight bend in the note and, instinctively, she reached up to give the tuning peg a quick turn. One more strum told her the guitar was perfectly in tune now.

Maybe she could do this. It was like riding a bike, right? And then she made the mistake of looking up. Somehow, even more people had settled into the seats since she’d crossed the café and climbed up on stage, and they were all staring directly at her.

What the hell was I thinking?

She was supposed to be lying low. Her gaze skated across the café, past the tables peppered with coffee cups, the people shifting in their seats. Was it too late to get out of this?

And then her eyes landed on Nik. He gave her a slight nod, more of a hitch of his chin, really. A tiny gesture that meant everything.

They’re going to love you.

Jane formed her left hand in the shape of a chord, using her right to strum down, up, down again. Her fingers stung a bit since she’d long ago lost the calluses that protected her skin from the texture of the strings. But after a few moments, she settled into the rhythm of the song. She didn’t have the courage to sing one of her own—that was asking too much today—so she chose a song by one of her high school idols, an indie-folk singer who’d just been starting out a decade ago, but who had gone on to win a handful of Grammys in the years since.

Jane still remembered all the words, about a girl determined to live life on her own terms. Back then, she’d loved those angsty songs questioning everything and had internalized them in the way of a teenager with a lifetime of possibilities ahead of her.

Jane opened her mouth, and the sound that came from her throat was tentative, a tiny bit hoarse, but right on key. She closed her eyes, breathing into her diaphragm, singing the next line with more confidence, more clarity. At the chorus, she tried a slight deviation from the melody, ended the next line in a run. She opened her eyes now, looking out at the audience as she delivered the next verse. For the first time in years, the meaning of those lyrics came back to her, and she felt them deep in her soul.

Maybe I still have a lifetime of possibilities ahead of me, Jane thought, as the words rang out across the room. If I’m brave enough to reach out and grab them. And with that came a realization that something she’d thought was lost forever was still buried deep inside her, waiting to be found.

Jane came to the end of the song almost before she realized it, the last note of her voice carrying across the café, fading a beat after the guitar strings stopped their low vibration. For a brief moment, the room was silent—the people of Linden Falls, of her past, all staring up at her. And someone let out a whoop, another cheered, and the applause rang out, hands clapping at every table, a couple more high-pitched wooohoos cutting above the din.

“Thank you,” Jane murmured, dazed, as she stood up and set the guitar back on its stand. “Thank you so much for having me.”

She made her way back to the table where Nik sat with a proud grin on his face. He leaned in to be heard over Pete’s announcement about the next singer. “You were amazing.”

“I feel kind of amazing.” Jane felt her lips curve into a smile. “Thank you for encouraging me to get up there. It’s nice to be back on that stage.”

And then her phone buzzed, and all the wind was knocked out of her. It was a text from Matteo. Jane flipped her phone face down on the table before Nik could see the name. “I really should go,” she murmured. “My mom…”

Nik nodded. “I’ll walk you out.”

Jane quickly fired off a reply to Matteo while Nik pulled some bills from his pocket and dropped them on the table.

A cold wind hit them as Nik pulled open the door and they stepped out onto the sidewalk.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Jane said, not really sure how to walk away now that they were standing here. Not wanting to walk away.

“Hey,” Nik said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. “I know it’s silly, but I was wondering… Whatever happened to that old guitar I gave you?”

Jane froze. How could she tell him the truth? He’d saved for months to buy her that guitar from a pawn shop in Westbrook. It wasn’t pretty—the body scratched, the resin worn off in patches—but he’d doodled over all the blemishes with flowers and vines and her favorite song lyrics. And the sound it emitted was deep and rich and textured, like it had wisdom and experience buried deep in the wood.

“I—” Jane stuttered. “Of course I still have it,” she blurted out.

Nik’s eyebrows rose. “Oh,” he said. “That’s great.” But a darkness crossed over his features, so fleeting that she wondered if she’d imagined it. And then it was gone, replaced by a smile that felt a little more detached than it had a minute ago. “Well, it was good to see you, Jane.”

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