Page 31 of Reverb

She hadn’t texted me, so I sent her one message. We’re going to talk, Maplethorpe.

She hadn’t replied.

That was just fine.

We had a few days off from rehearsal, because Axel had flown to L.A. to get Brit. Brit was there dealing with a bunch of legal issues to do with her old life. She’d asked him for some time and space to work it out. Axel had waited as long as he was capable of, and then he’d gone to get his girl back.

Denver was using the days off to be with Callie. Neal was using them to be with Raine and Amber. And me? I was alone. So I got in my car and drove to Sienna Maplethorpe’s house.

I knew where she lived. She’d told me once what neighborhood it was, and I knew her parents’ names, and from there it wasn’t hard to find. It turned out to be a nice house on a quiet old street, not too big, tidy and well loved. This was the house Sienna’s parents had bought thirty years ago, the house she grew up in. The yard was neat and there was a Toyota hybrid car in the driveway, the practical choice of two socially conscious teachers.

As I parked on the street and got out, two people came out of the house. Sienna’s parents, I assumed. They were both in their fifties. Sienna’s mother was dressed up in a pretty navy-blue dress with a pashmina shawl over her shoulders, and her father was in a neatly pressed dress shirt and dress pants. They were going out somewhere.

They caught sight of me in my jeans, boots, and faded Grateful Dead tee, my beard and my silver rings, and to their credit, neither one of them gave me the “who’s this degenerate escapee from a motorcycle club” look. Instead, Sienna’s dad smiled as they came down the driveway. “Hi there,” he said.

“Hi,” I said. “I’m here to see Sienna. Is she home?”

Sienna’s mom gave me a warm smile, as if she welcomed guys who looked like me all the time. “She is. Are you one of the band?”

I nodded. “I’m Stone Zeeland.” I held out my hand.

Sienna’s dad shook first. “Nice to meet you, Stone. I’m—”

“Peter,” I supplied. I looked at Sienna’s mom. “And Maggie. Sienna talked about you.”

They both looked delighted. “I told you she’d make friends, Peter.” Maggie elbowed her husband, then shook my hand. “He worried about our daughter on tour with a rock band,” she explained.

“Me? You worried. I’ve always said that Sienna would hold her own.”

“She did,” I said.

“We weren’t too worried,” Maggie hedged. “A little, at first. But Sienna had nothing but nice things to say about all of you. I want to thank you and the rest of the band for treating her so well.”

I blinked at her. We’d treated Sienna like absolute shit, especially at first. But it seemed she hadn’t told her parents that. “We were jerks,” I said. “She shoulda told us to go to hell. We would’ve deserved it.”

My grammar was slipping in front of two teachers, and I sounded stupid. I braced for impact, but nothing came. Maggie only laughed.

“Nice try,” she said. “I know Sienna, and I know when she’s upset. She has a fiery temper when she’s mad. She came home tired, but otherwise she has nothing but good things to say. Are you here for an interview?”

“Yeah.” I felt myself scowling as I tried to sort out my confusion. Neither of them seemed to care that I looked like an angry asshole. “The Soundcheck thing.”

“It’s exciting. You’re the guitarist, right?” Peter said. “You’re really good. Have you ever listened to classic Clapton?”

“Sure I have. I heard Cream when I was twelve or so. ‘Crossroads’ was one of the first songs I tried to learn, just by listening and imitating.” I smiled. “It was over my head, to say the least. I still can’t play it the way Clapton did. I don’t think I ever will.”

“Cream!” Peter lit up, and I watched him go into full nerd mode. “Did you hear that, Maggie! Only the greatest band of all time. Have you heard them on vinyl?”

“Only way to listen to them,” I replied. “Everything else is sacrilege.”

“Oh, you’re talking my language.” Peter rubbed his hands together. “Come over sometime when you’re not doing an interview and we’ll listen to records.”

“Please ignore him.” Maggie put a hand on Peter’s arm. “Don’t frighten him off, hon. He’s here to talk to Sienna.” She turned back to me. “She’s upstairs in the attic, I think. It’s where she likes to work. We’re going to Meet the Teacher night, then out for dinner, so we won’t be home until later. The front door’s open. Just go in. And have fun!”

They got in their hybrid and drove away, waving at me. I waved back. I turned and looked up at the house, but there was no one in any of the windows. There was nothing for it. I walked up the front steps and into the house.

Inside the front door, I looked around. A cozy living room, a front hall lined with discarded shoes and folded umbrellas. There was no one down here, and it was quiet except for a clock ticking somewhere. I walked to the stairs, then realized my boots were thumping on the worn hardwood. I unlaced my boots and took them off, placing them with the other shoes.

I climbed the stairs to the second floor, the steps creaking loudly in the silence under my weight. There was a hallway lined with bedroom and bathroom doors. At the top of the stairs, right in your line of sight as you climbed, was a framed family photo on the wall. I paused and took it in.

---