Page 124 of Out of Tune
“Think of it as a loan. Start it. Tell me what you think.”
Later that night, I’m staring at the dedication—as far as I’ve ever gotten in his books—when Wes crawls in bed beside me. Herests his head on my shoulder as I reread the words, unable to turn the page.
To my daughter who is just starting out in this world. This book holds every hope I have for you. And for George, who keeps me steady each time I doubt that I’m capable of being the father she deserves.
“Mom gave this to you?” he asks after a few minutes pass.
“Just borrowing it. I’m tired. I’ll start tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to do this alone.”
“You’re going to read it with me?” I ask, half-joking.
“No.” He reaches over and plucks the book from my hands. “I’m going to read it to you. Okay?”
“Okay.”
He turns the page and starts.“I meet her when I least expect it. It’s a thing of the heart, how in an instant my world shrinks to one person.”
I fall asleep as the love of my life reads my father’s words.
Christmas comes, and George insists on making salt dough ornaments to celebrate the holiday as a family. She and Wes roll out a massive slab, large enough for all three of our hands to fit. It breaks almost immediately. We try again with heart indents made by pressing our fingers in at alternating angles.
We stay the night after splitting a bottle of red wine and commentate on how hot the ghosts are in an animated version ofA Christmas Carol.
On our last night in Caper, we crawl onto the roof outside Wes’s room.
“I swear this window got smaller,” he says, shimming out to join me. We’re both the same height as last time we were out here. But he’s gotten far broader in the shoulders.
A chill cuts through the night, biting at the tips of my fingers where I hold my blanket tight around me. When Wes joins, I open it wide for him to slide in with me, combating the cold with our combined warmth. Wind nips at us and causes the pine trees to rustle and quake.
Stars shine brilliantly overhead, as if someone has poked millions of holes into a black paper and pressed it against a light.
“I wish we could stay like this forever.” The words slip out.
Home. I’d forgotten the peace that comes with it but now I feel it deep in my bones. Now that I have it again, I don’t want to leave. I want to bury myself in it. I’ve seen the world, taken a damn bite out of it, and nothing is as satisfying as going to sleep knowing I’ll wake up here in the morning.
“It will always be here when we come back,” he says, holding me tighter, reminding himself that I made it here at all.
“What if we never left?”
“Yeah, just dip out on the rest of the tour. Absolutely a brilliant idea.”
I shake my head. “I think I want this to be my last one. My last anything, really. I mean, I’ll always keep playing, but just for myself.”
“How long have you been thinking about this?”
“It’s just been building in the back of my mind. I feel like I’ve been running a marathon and my body is about to fail. I don’t know how much more I have left to give. I don’t want to quit because I have to, I want to quit when it feels right. I’ll always love music, but my favorite part of this tour was finding my way back to you. This is the right time. And I’m not asking you to quit, but it’s the right choice for me.” And as I finish talking, I know it’s true.
I’ve done everything I set out to do. Reached the summit. I spent years performing how others told me to, but with Wes’s help I found my way back to myself. I’ll always have music, but now I don’t feel the need to make it for anyone else.
“Okay.” Wes shifts, and for a fraction of a moment, I think he’s getting up to leave. There’s a crinkle of paper and then under the blanket Wes hands me a folded piece of paper with something wrapped inside.
I flip it open and into my palm falls a playing card. Red Uno reverse. My lips tip up as I run a finger over the edges. I shift my attention to the paper, hotel stationery. The moon is a sliver in the sky but there is some light coming from the house so I’m able to read.
The words on top are familiar, the items on my list.
Then under it there’s more:
