Page 34 of Catch
The morning was heavier than I thought it would be. Miles seemed to take it all in stride. He wasn’t sad, but I guess he wasn’t the one in shock, either. I was heartbroken for him, but he had already lived it and grown up, never moving on from the loss, just learning to live with it. It made me think that leaving my life because I was “tired” was petty and insignificant. If he could live and thrive after such a loss, how come I couldn’t tough it out on stage for another few months?
Miles hadn’t given me too much time to go down that rabbit hole, though. He lightened the mood by telling me funny stories and showing me his old treehouse. He pointed to the room that had been his, telling me if I looked closely, I could see his first guitar. He’d been nine when his dad got it for him.
Then he showed me where his handprints were stamped into a piece of concrete near the back door. His dad had built his mom a planter, and though the structure was no longer there, the concrete he’d helped lay was still proof of the love they put into it for her.
By the time we got back to the oak tree, I was smiling, still holding hands with Miles, and feeling lighter than when we showed up. He shared so much of himself with me, and though it started off being a sad story, Miles reminded me that there was still a lot of happiness surrounding the house that built who he was.
I wanted to be like Miles. I wanted to rise from my own sad story and let the world that had surrounded me shape me into who I could be in the future.
As Miles got on the lawn mower, I grabbed the guitar from the Jeep and leaned against the oak tree. Looking around, I strummed a few chords and hummed whatever came to my heart at that moment. I took a few glances at Miles, especially when I saw him lift his shirt off and throw it over his shoulder while continuing with the mower across the huge patch of land.
Then I started singing, a song that I’d need to eventually thank Miles for inspiring. Or no, better yet…
“Thank you,” I whispered to Miles’ parents, as if they were there listening. “Not just for the inspiration and the song, but for Miles. He’s been my hero.”
As soon as I said it, I wanted to laugh at myself, but Miles looked my way as if he could sense that I was talking about him, and waved. His smile was bright and he rubbed his tummy, thenpointed to the Jeep. If he was trying to tell me to grab the food, it worked, and I did, laughing as I laid everything out in a picnic.
Just as I was finishing, the lawn mower turned off and Miles started walking toward me from the old barn. His jeans were dirty, his chest was bare, with sweat dripping down, and his hat had been turned backward. He looked like he belonged on the cover of an album or a magazine.
He caught me staring and winked, turning his hat back forward and then squatting down in front of me. “You keep looking at me like that and we may not need to worry about fixing the tile in the shower, Lox.” My face turned red and I tried to look away, but he grabbed my chin and finished his thought, looking deep into my eyes. “Because those eyes make me want to tear the wall down.”
He let his words sink in before sitting down on the blanket across from me. He grabbed a peanut butter sandwich and a bottle of water, then quietly ate while I jotted down a few new lyrics. Then he laid back and looked at the sky between the large branches that were creating our shade.
“The yard looks good, Dad. But I may need to tell West’s yard guys to get the fence-line better.” My breath hitched when I realized he was talking to his parents. It felt like I had intruded on an intimate moment, and I had to remind myself that not only had I been invited, but he knew I was there and listening. He looked over at me and smiled, then back up to the sky. “And Mom? I know you’re partial to Sammi Smith, but Loxley is incredible, right? Voice of an angel.”
Chapter Nineteen
MILES
After I murmuredthose few words to my parents, I nudged Lox’s knee and smiled. She turned her head toward me, giving me an almost shy smile. Her gaze lingered on mine for a moment before drifting back toward the oak tree. We didn’t say anything else, just held on to the silence that neither of us wanted to break.
Shadows stretched across the lawn, swaying with the breeze. Lox leaned back on her hands and took a deep breath, as if trying to capture the moment and store it..
When we finished eating, we packed up our things. On the way back to the Jeep, Lox glanced over her shoulder one last time at the tree. The swing swayed gently and she smiled, nodding as if it had spoken to her.
She didn’t say much on the drive home. Instead, she sat curled into her seat, one knee pulled up and her cheek resting against it. Her fingers tapped a rhythm on her thigh, so faint that I might not have noticed if I wasn’t glancing at her every chance I got. Her eyes were fixed on the horizon, her expression soft and thoughtful. The faintest smile played on her lips, and I could only imagine the melodies or words she was piecing together in her mind.
When we got back to the house, Lox slipped quietly into her room, leaving me alone with the fading light streaming through the windows. I felt restless, and not quite ready to turn off the buzzing that had been making me feel so alive all day. So I headed to the gym, deciding to force the energy from my body.
After my workout and a shower, I emerged from my room feeling hungry. As I stepped into the hallway, I caught sight of Lox coming out of her room as well. She paused when she saw me, her lips tugging into a small, knowing smile, and waited for me to catch up. Without a word, she reached for my hand, her fingers cool against my hot skin, and led me to the kitchen.
She motioned for me to sit down at the small table, and I did, immediately noticing how different the house felt all of a sudden. With Lox there, it was no longer a lonely sanctuary but seemed to hold a hint of life that I had never noticed before.
I watched on as the warm glow from the under-cabinet lights lit up Lox’s movements as she began pulling things from the fridge. The clatter of a bowl on the counter and the rustle of lettuce filled the silence, along with the faint hum of a tune I couldn’t quite place.
When she finally placed the plates in front of us, she sat down across from me and smiled, her expression warm and unguarded. “I had to finish some lyrics that had come to me on the drive home,” she said, her voice soft but matter-of-fact.
I watched her as she picked up her fork, the way her fingers moved gracefully, like she was still playing that melody from earlier. Her eyes sparkled in the low light, and the glow of contentment on her face struck me in a way I couldn’t put into words.
She had saidhome.The word lingered in my mind, as soft and steady as her voice when she spoke. Notyour home,notthe house,buthome.It had slipped out naturally, effortlessly, as though she’d belonged there.
I didn’t say anything about it because I didn’t want to change anything about whatever comfort she’d found.
“I was wondering what had you running,” I teased.
“I wasn’t running,” she rolled her eyes.
“But you will,” I mumbled, half hoping she took it as a joke, but suddenly hating the truth in it. She was going to leave soon.
