Page 41 of Shattered Chords

“Mr. Moreland or his brother.” She spun and gestured toward two men standing on the opposite side of the lot. They looked to be in their fifties, with streaks of silver in their hair, and wore the same T-shirts the rest of the crowd did. One of them held a small pup in his hands.

The girl was gone almost as quickly as she’d appeared. Without looking at the flyer, I slipped it into the back pocket of my jeans and continued my walk through the buzzing lot.

A few heads turned, which was expected. It didn’t bother me that people wanted to stare or talk. It’d been my reality for over two decades. But it did make me feel odd, something I hadn’t felt before I’d gotten clean. It was almost like looking at the world without a prism and seeing it for the first time, seeing all these people and how simple and fun their lives were, seeing what I’d missed out on.

A car wash… Who would have thought?

“Hey, stranger!” a voice called out over the racket, and I turned to see who it was.

Camille’s friend—temporarily labeledMy-ex-boyfriend-loves-your-solo-work, because his real name slipped my mind—tossed his hand in the air and gave me a wave. He looked much better than when we’d met on Friday night. Sober. Dressed in a pair of khakis and a white T-shirt with a photo of a pit bull spread across his chest.

“Need your car washed, Dante?” He tucked a stray lock of his wheat-colored hair behind his ear and grinned.

“Maybe.” I made my approach. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember your name.” Back in my booze and cocaine-filled days, I would’ve just brushed that fact under the rug and called him the first word that popped into my head, but I’d been trying to practice honesty.

My therapist had recommended it.

“Harper.” The guy whipped out his hand.

I shook it. “You feeling better, man?”

“Alive and kicking.” A grin.

Still somewhat disoriented, I glanced around the lot. A line of freshly washed vehicles were parked by the curb. Three more were being hosed down by kids in puppy tops that matched the one Harper was wearing. Spurs of water splashed all over, leaving white soapy rivulets on the cracked asphalt, and I heard the purr of an engine as another vehicle drove up.

“Camille’s in the back,” Harper explained. “She’s on lunch duty.”

“I guess I should go say hi.”

“I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“You definitely will.” I nodded with a smile and headed to the rear of the building.

The shop sat on a lot that bordered a small park. Behind it, in the alley that separated the business from the city property, sat several plastic tables and a pile of chairs. Pop music pulsed through the air.

I stopped for a second and scanned the crowd. Camille was too easy to spot. Her hair gathered on top of her head into a messy bun shone like midnight fire against the greens of the trees and the blues of the sky. She wore the same pit bull top everyone else did and a pair of loose jeans with rips across her knees that seemed a little too retro yet completely adorable. If I didn’t already know she had a teenage daughter, I never would’ve guessed she was a mother.

Slowing my pace to enjoy my anonymity for just a second more, I drank in the view. A woman in bright pink capris emerged from the back of the shop with a small dog. She neared the tables and the crowd collectively swooned. Camille stopped what she was doing and took the pup in her hands.

“Hey!” It was Ally’s voice that greeted me as she stepped away from the group of people surrounding her mother and raced over. Her hair was clipped back, and for once, I could actually see her entire face. True to form, she wore all black. The dog on the front of her tee was done by hand with some kind of paint. “You need your car washed or are you helping?”

“Well.” I paused to think about which answer would ultimately place me into a category where I’d get more time with Camille. It almost made me feel guilty—wanting the woman whose kid I’d apparently befriended. “Do you need an extra pair of hands?

“Always.”

I held up a fist and she bumped my knuckles with her small ones, grinning. The way her lips slowly curled at the corners one after the other reminded me of Camille’s smile. There was something sweet about that imperfection they both shared.

“You want to show me around?”

“Totally.” Ally jerked her chin. “We’ve got help!” she announced as I fell into step beside her.

Heads turned.

Try not act like an entitled asshole, I reminded myself while making my approach.

Then everyone introduced themselves. As always, I got to shake some hands, answer a few questions, and dodge a couple of sloppy advances from the most promiscuous in the group. It was just like any other event I’d attended, but evidently, no one here besides Ally knew who exactly I was. It felt nice being the regular guy instead of the guy who’d just gotten out of rehab. Obviously, sooner or later someone would figure me out, but for now, I was simply enjoying my anonymity.

“I didn’t think you’d show up.” Camille smiled, cradling the pup like a newborn.

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