Page 32 of Same Time Next Summer

Sam decided to give it up to the universe. If she got into NYU, she’d stay. If she didn’t, she’d go to Los Angeles. As the end of March approached and the NYU decision was getting nearer, she started to realize that she’d gone from longing to see Wyatt to being terrified to see him. She was finally sleeping and spring was coming.

38

Wyatt

After ten months in Los Angeles, Wyatt’s anger became more manageable. He knew he’d been harsh with Sam, and he knew he needed to apologize. He woke up in the mornings and imagined what it would feel like to have her there with him. He’d just written his first good song, and he wanted to play it for her. It should have been easy to reach out to her and tell her he loved her, but when he tried it out in his head, the way he felt about her still got all mixed up with how he felt about what happened. He didn’t want to hear about how well her family was doing. He didn’t want to tell her that he was still just surfing and pumping gas.

It was at this time that Wyatt saw a flyer at a music store for an open mic night at a bar in the Valley. He’d seen lots of ads like this before, but they were in Hollywood, in big venues that seemed impossibly daunting. The Valley felt anonymous, with a low risk of failure. Who cared if they didn’t like him in the Valley? What did they know? It occurred to Wyatt, as he drove over the hill, that he’d been afraid this whole time. Working on cars while he waited tobe a rock star was one thing, but actually trying and getting rejected was another. He wasn’t sure he was prepared to find out that he was just a guy who works on cars. He knew that if Sam were here she would have forced him to try months ago. Sam was brave like that and unafraid to jump into anything. Of course, he didn’t have Sam with him, but she was in his songs, and he hoped that would give him the courage he needed.

He arrived at El Roca at eight p.m., guitar in hand and sweating through his T-shirt. There were only about ten people seated at the tables in front of a small stage, half of them with guitars waiting to play.

“It’s like this on Mondays,” said the bartender. “That’s why we do the open mic, to get musicians in here, hopefully thirsty.”

“So much for my big break,” he said. “I’ll have a beer.” He sat at the bar and listened to the other musicians and wondered what he was doing in LA.

He was working on his second beer and had mostly forgotten his guitar when the bartender said, “Holy shit.” Wyatt looked up to see Carlyle Trickett, in dark glasses, find himself a table. At six foot five he was impossible not to notice, and with his perfectly cut silver hair he was impossible not to recognize.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Wyatt asked.

“He sometimes comes on his way home. He lives on Mulholland, I think. It’s time you man up and take your turn there, buddy. This isn’t going to happen to you twice.”

Wyatt drained the rest of his beer and walked over to the side of the stage, where a woman with a perfect countryvoice was finishing her song. The musicians and a few of her friends clapped. Carlyle stared at the stage, disinterested.

Wyatt took the stage and sat on the stool behind the mic and started to play the new song he’d written on the water. It was about Sam and the way he felt like he’d taken her into his being. At the sound of the first few notes, he relaxed. He avoided the audience as he sang, singing for himself and seeing the notes as they came from his guitar. He could feel Sam everywhere around him, as if the song had taken him back to the happiest time of his life.You catch your breath, and I catch your breath. We’re locked in together. Sam, I am.

As he played the last note, he felt certain that that song was going to change his life. He looked up at the applauding audience and risked a glance at Carlyle, who was waving him over.This is it.This was the moment where he was seen for what he was supposed to be, and the rest would be history.

Wyatt made his way over to Carlyle. “I’m Wyatt Pope,” he said, extending his hand. He waited to be invited to sit.

Carlyle removed his glasses and did not invite him to sit. “The music sounds good, but you’re not going to make it.” It was now clear that Carlyle had been served someplace else before he made his way here. “The music is good—hell, the song is great—but your voice. It’s just not enough to carry a band, not enough for a solo career. It’s just not strong enough.”

“My voice?” Wyatt was a little stunned.

“Yeah, I feel bad for a guy like you. Probably came out to LA to make it. I’ve been doing this for thirty years, Iknow a voice that will record. Yours isn’t it. I thought you should know.”

Wyatt had the odd sensation of being able to feel his heart. He stood there, nodding. “Well, if anyone would know, it’s you. Thanks for telling me.”

39

Sam

Sam was accepted at NYU on a day when she was the one to collect the mail from the lobby. She ran up the two flights of stairs to find no one was home. She opened the envelope and laid all of the pages out on the kitchen counter.WELCOME TO NYU!She felt something like relief with a chaser of excitement; something was bubbling up in her and it felt like it might be the future.Welcome to NYU!

She couldn’t wait to tell her parents. They’d be happy she was staying local and thrilled to take advantage of the tuition break that her dad got as a professor. She should call them. Her phone rang in her backpack, as if to answer her question.

It was Wyatt.

God’s messing with me.That was the first thought she had when she saw Wyatt’s name next to a years-old heart emoji pop up on her phone. She hadn’t gotten the green at Fourteenth Street on her way home. She hadn’t done an extra lap in the pool. Of course he would call the exactsecond she felt like it was possible to move on. It rang three times before she accepted the call.

“Wyatt?”

“Hey.”

She was silent for a second, just letting the sound of his voice land and fill her head.

“Sam?”

“I’m here. Have you been stuck in traffic or something?”

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