Page 65 of Reverb

I drove to the Maplethorpe house, my stomach turning in fear. Sienna’s car was in the driveway. I parked on the street and called, but she didn’t pick up.

Listening to the call go to voicemail, I knew my hunch was right. Diana had somehow screwed this for me.

I hung up and texted Sienna.

Stone

I’m out front. Let me in.

There was a pause. The three dots moved, then stopped. A curtain flickered in an upstairs window.

The feelings washed over me in a familiar wave, but for once I didn’t have the urge to run. I didn’t have the urge to get on a plane or get drunk or even to play music. The only thing I wanted to do was talk to Sienna, my girlfriend, about whatever was wrong. To fix this thing right here, right now, while it was still fixable. If it was fixable.

I got out of the car and strode up the driveway. As I approached the porch, the front door swung open. Sienna stood there, but her pose wasn’t inviting. She blocked my way.

“Don’t be mad,” I said. “Whatever she said to you, do not be fucking mad. Tell me what it was and listen to my side of it. Please.”

Sienna paused, and I tried to read her body language. I tried so hard. She was stiff, unsure, but she didn’t look angry. She wasn’t frowning. She tilted her head with a speculative expression on her face. Then she stepped aside.

“How did you know where I was?” she asked as I walked past her into the house.

“I guessed.”

“You’re not tracking my phone or something?”

“No.” I literally had no idea how to do that. She overestimated my intelligence.

“You found me at that diner in Boston during the tour,” she said. “You never told me how you found me that night, either.”

“I guessed,” I said.

“Come on, Stone. Tell me the truth.”

I paused, looking at her. She’d put on sweatpants and a tank top, probably dug from a drawer in her old room that she hadn’t emptied when she moved. I couldn’t read her expression, couldn’t tell whether she was glad to see me or wished I would go away and leave her alone forever. I needed to know.

“What did she say?” I asked, unable to even say my mother’s name in this moment.

“I’ll tell you if you answer my question.”

“What question?”

“How did you find me in Boston?”

I scratched the back of my neck, thinking back. I had no idea why she wanted to know this so bad all of a sudden. “It was after a show, remember? It was midnight. You weren’t in our room.” I didn’t tell her how worried I’d been when I realized that she was gone. “So what’s open at midnight? You probably didn’t go to a bar. I knew by then that you’d probably looked for somewhere to do work. So a coffee shop or a restaurant. There aren’t very many places like that open all night. So I found the closest one to the hotel and started there. And that’s where you were.”

I didn’t tell her that I’d been prepared to scour the city for her while redialing her number if she hadn’t been in that diner—me, using the phone, which I hated. That I’d worried about her every night because she had no one looking out for her. That it had robbed me of sleep.

“You only said you were there because you were hungry,” Sienna said.

I shrugged. “You hated me. You didn’t want to hear that I was worried. I answered your question. Now tell me what she said.”

My girlfriend sighed, the sound coming from deep in her chest, and looked baffled. “That was the most confusing interview I’ve ever done,” she said, then turned to walk up the stairs.

I followed her. “What does that mean?”

“Don’t worry,” she said as she walked down the hall toward her old bedroom. “I was respectful. I remembered what you said.”

“Sienna, tell me.”

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