Page 83 of Out of the Blue

“Yeah, well, in the meantime, have you tried journaling?” She points to the blank book she gave me. Which has remained blank.

“Nah, haven’t felt like it.”

She picks it up and turns it over to me. “Why don’t you try to put down your feelings about Braxton?”

I drop the book. “I’m not a fucking head case.”

“Didn’t say you were. I thought, if you wrote down your feelings, it might open the flood gates.”

“Yeah, well I don’t think so. We had a moment yesterday. I met his kids.”

“Your brother and sister,” she corrects.

I wave my hand. “Whatever. They seemed cool and maybe under other circumstances—”

“There aren’t other circumstances. This is your new reality. With people who want to get to know you.”

My thoughts scatter, replaced by sheer emotion. Anger, disappointment, longing, disgust. Too, too many feels. “I can’t.”

She retrieves the journal and places it back on the side table. “Fine. It’ll be here for you, when you’re ready. I think it might help you.”

Fascinating how she knows I’m running on my base feelings. I decide to turn the tables. “Why don’t you tell me how you’re managing to do social media for a band that’s not touring?”

Cordy knows when a subject’s closed. She launches into her strategy to keep TLR—even I’m referring to the band with her hashtag—in the spotlight. Gotta hand it to her, she is a dynamo.

“In fact,” she concludes, “why don’t we give your fans an update? I haven’t done one of those since you made it through your surgery. How about a photo?” She picks up her cell phone.

“I look like shit.”

She feathers her hand over my hair, tugging on the end of one of my dreads. “No. You look amazing. Believe me.” She flutters her long eyelashes.

“How can I resist?”

“Great!” She jumps up and arranges the blankets over my lower half, playing with them to get the right angles. Satisfied, our social media manager takes about a dozen shots. “Okay, one of these should work.” She flips through all of them before settling on one. “What do you think?”

I shrug. Never been too high on pictures of me.

“Well, I think it’s a perfect thirst trap.” Her focus moves to uploading it. Her thumbs tap out the post. “There. Done.”

“You rock social media.”

Cordy blows on her fingers. “I do, don’t I?”

As we laugh, a ping from her phone captures her attention. “Huh. Seems likeIn the Knowran some sort of piece about TLR.”

They’re a reputable entertainment news show on a major network. “We made national news?”

Without taking her eyes off her phone as she taps away, she replies, “Looks like it. Here.”

She settles on the bed next to me, hits the “play” button, and maximizes the video on the screen. The well-known music introduces the piece, which features a close-up of our band we had taken well before going on tour with Hunte. I hadn’t even grown out my dreads.

TheIn the Knowhost dives right in. “We wanted to share with our viewers that Trent Washington, lead singer and guitarist for The Light Rail—or #TLR as they’re known on social media—is recovering nicely from his kidney transplant surgery in a New York City hospital. After Washington suffered a motorcycle accident last week, it was discovered he was born with only one functioning kidney, which was severely damaged in the accident.” They play a clip from Doctor Patel back in New Hampshire, who explains her diagnosis, and how my condition is more common than people think.

Cordy presses pause. “Such great exposure! I can use this clip to further the band’s push toward organ donation.”

“I love how your mind works. I was thinking it’s great they didn’t mention the black ice or how idiotic I was to be out on the roads in the first place.”

“You.” She leans over and kisses me.

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