Page 27 of Over the Edge

“So your album, you think this is the best place to write it?” I continue to work the soft felt between the strings.

“I’ve been struggling with it. Inspiration. Theme. Everything. My last album was a mess,” she says, her voice growing heavy. “I thought coming somewhere so dedicated to romance and love would help. Like, if I couldn’t draw from my own experiences I could observe other people’s.”

A spark of an idea starts to flicker in my mind. I might not be able to see Hartsfall the way tourists do, but maybe I don’t have to. “So, you’re what? Going to all the spots and taking notes? Stalking people?”

“I’m pretty sure a friendly conversation or two will help more than stalking. I’ll do all the touristy things for the next few weeks then lock myself away to write with a diet of instant ramen and desperation.”

“Don’t forget the cereal,” I say.

“An essential food group,” she agrees. “And because you seem allergic to the idea of those places, even though you’ll be here longer you won’t be seeing much of me."

“What if I wanted to join you?” I ask.

Despite growing up in a tourist destination, I’ve never been good at vacations. The empty swaths of time overwhelm me. I need to be moving toward something not sitting in place. The allowances I make to come up here on weekends serve a greater purpose than enjoying the sights. I need to get this vacation right this time around so I can get back to my caseload. If that means asking Evelyn to let me join in on her itinerary, so be it.

“Then I’d assume you’d been swapped with your good twin,” she says, then pauses to consider. “Why would you subject yourself to that? You said it yourself yesterday that it’s not your thing.”

“I’m supposed to be here on vacation. Apparently, I’m failing on that front. So I might need your help.”

“Seriously?” The word is accompanied by a chime of laughter.

I finish with the felt then turn. I can’t see her eyes behind her sunglasses, but her mouth is turned up in amusement.

“I don’t expect you to do it for free.”

“Seeing you trying to look like you’re enjoying it would be payment enough.”

“I’ll help you with your album if you help me.” I think it’s a fair offer, but as the idea enters my mind, I realize I’m anxious for her to agree. If I can do that I won’t be wasting my time on the tourist traps and endless miles of hikes. There’s a chance I’ll be able to experience that same alchemy that washed over us when we played together two days ago.

“You’ll what?” Shock has frozen her face in pinched confusion

“I’ll help you write,” I say. “I wrote half the songs for Fool’s Gambit.”

It’s not something I ever expected to do again. But I used to love it. There was something freeing about creating something, then months later seeing people react to it live, causing a thrum in my pulse that I’ve never been able to replicate. I shouldn’t get ahead of myself. This isn’t my album. I won’t be performing it, but that doesn’t prevent the ache from building in my chest.

“If I agree to this, promise to keep your pessimistic storm cloud in check. If you’re coming with me I want you to at least make an honest effort,” she asserts.

“That’s reasonable,” I say. “If possible, I want to know in advance when you want to do things. I might be on vacation, but I like to know my schedule in advance. Also, I need you to take pictures of me.”

“Need me to send an invitation with an RSVP every time?” she asks.

“That would be nice.”

“I was joking.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You rarely ever are,” she says and shakes her head in mock disappointment. “And what exactly are you expecting? I love a good letter, but that feels a bit excessive.”

“Send me a Google Calendar invite with the details and I’ll show up,” I offer.

Her head tilts to either side as she mulls it over. I half expect her to go back and insist on letters just to make things difficult.

“I can manage that,” she finally agrees. “So for the next two weeks, you tag along on what I already had planned and then you help me write?”

“Yes. If you’re satisfied with that arrangement, can I tune your piano in peace?”

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