Duke
Present day
Tonight’s gig is on a riverboat: an open-topped steamer packed with finely-dressed folks, the tables laid for dinner under the stars.
My piano’s in the center of the top deck, exposed to the breeze and the damp mist of river water, but I don’t mind.
It’s not my instrument to fret over, and besides, even if the acoustics are weird outdoors, it’s worth it on such a beautiful night.
Knives and forks clink. Champagne corks pop. There’s a low hum of conversation, and I play gently in the background. Tonight’s not about drawing attention—it’s about creating a mood.
The steamer drifts along the river, nudging a path through watery fields of lily pads. Gators sink beneath the surface, their eyes reflecting the boat lights before they wink out.
What are Clem and Meg up to tonight? Are they both happy? Comfortable and safe?
This is the problem with these easy-listening gigs. They leave time and space for my mind to wander.
For instance: I’m thinking about a few weeks ago, right around the beginning of summer break, when we all came home from dinner in town to find a gator floating in the pool like a big, ugly tree trunk.
He was a chunky fella, that’s for sure, all leathery hide and sharp teeth.
Definitely wouldn’t have seemed out of place back in dinosaur days.
And when the security light flicked on, it bounced off his eyes, just like those others out there by the riverbank.
My mouth twitches and I play on, fingers tumbling over the piano keys. It’s a warm, muggy night, but it’s cooler out here on the water.
That night was kinda funny. I could’ve told you in advance how we’d all react, and sure enough, we fell into our roles without a second thought.
Meg yelled a stream of profanity that no doubt made our elderly neighbors weep, and when she lurched forward to pick a fight she couldn’t win, I grabbed the back of her t-shirt.
And Clem?
Sweet Clementine…
Well, as soon as she glimpsed that gator in the pool, she tucked herself against my side. Like it was instinct—as easy as breathing.
Made me wish I could send invites to all the local beasts: Come to our pool! Would be worth the hassle of chasing ‘em off for those split seconds of Clem pressed against my body.
Thunk.
I hit a bum note, wincing and shaking my head. Need to focus. No one around seems to have noticed, but I sure heard it. There’s no excuse for sloppy playing, even on an easy gig like this.
Stars pulse overhead, and the diners laugh and clink their glasses. A waiter strides past with a tray of dessert, some hot, gooey thing smothered in toffee, and my stomach growls. Now that’s two cravings I need to beat down.
And it’s bad enough that I have those thoughts about Clem at all. Kind, innocent little Clem; my daughter’s best friend. Nearly half my age, and sweeter than sugar. I couldn’t pick a more inappropriate person to fixate on if I tried.
I shake my head, blending into the next piece without pause, fingers flying over the keys.
If I’m gonna give into my cravings tonight…
Better focus on that toffee.
* * *
They’re in the backyard when I get home around midnight, sitting at the picnic table Meg built us in her lumberjane phase. It’s rickety, but I love that thing. Truth be told, when they’re not here, I hardly ever sit at it.
It’s precious and I’m too heavy. Simple as that. But Meg gets all hurt and huffy when she sees me avoiding it, so over the summer breaks, I sit at the table pretty often.
“Ladies.” The side gate squeaks as I close it behind myself. Need to oil that. Both heads turn to face me, and Meg grins then goes back to the candle she’s lighting, but Clem keeps looking. Her red hair shines in the candlelight.
I pull in my stomach as I walk over. Well—as much as I can.
These two have wound string lights through the wall trellis, and the air smells like lavender and mint.
The foliage spills thick from the garden beds, and branches criss-cross overhead, blocking out strips of stars.
It’s like walking into Eden, especially since we evicted the big lizard from the pool. “Still awake, huh?”
Meg snorts, prodding her finger into the melting candle wax. She does that every time—my daughter can’t sit still to save her life. “Duh. We’re college students, Dad. We’re nocturnal. It’s the law of nature.”
Tell me about it. Some mornings when I’m up in this house around dawn, I feel like the only man left alive after the apocalypse.
“We wanted to hear about the gig,” Clem says, much quieter. “How did it go?”
“Pretty well.” The wood creaks as I settle on the bench opposite, and since Meg is only half-listening, too absorbed in making a mold of her thumbprint with melted wax, I direct my words to Clem.
“It was a dinner cruise on a riverboat. Cocktail dresses and champagne toasts, you know? The swanky kind.”
Meg whistles, prodding at her wax thumb, and Clem’s eyes go round. “So clichéd,” my daughter declares, but I don’t think her friend agrees.
Something tells me Clem would love to have dinner on a riverboat. She’s fidgeting, so eager for details, like she could absorb all the excitement and romance of life secondhand.
You know… I could take her on a riverboat. I’d like to.
Would that be out of line?
“We could go one night,” I say, as casually as I can manage. Meg raises an eyebrow at me, then goes back to scowling at her thumb. “There are more laid back dinner cruises—ones where you don’t have to dress up. Should I book for us?”
“Yes please,” Clem whispers, practically vibrating on her section of rickety bench.
She’s gazing up at me like I’m her hero—like I just offered her the world on a platter.
In the moonlight, her freckles are nearly invisible, scattered over her nose and cheeks like her own private constellation. My chest puffs out.
“No thanks,” Meg says, and my gut sinks. “You two go ahead, though.”
…Could we? Would Clementine want that?
“I’ll pay my half,” Clem says in her usual hushed tone. Like she doesn’t want to disturb anyone; like she doesn’t dare take up space in the world. Well, that settles it—and she’s definitely not paying.
“Okay, then.” My knuckles rap against wood. “I’ll book for us two. It’s a date.”
The words slip out unbidden, just a natural turn of phrase, but they hang in the air between us like flashing neon billboards. And it’s a warm summer night, but between one breath and the next, I’m clammy and cold.
Branches creak in the breeze. The pool water sucks on the tiled walls.
“Gross,” Meg says mildly, and I glance over quickly, but she’s still absorbed in her wax. Doesn’t actually look mad. “You two should get a room.”
My laugh is humorless.
I check Clementine next. Her cheeks are pinker than before, but she gives me a shy smile. Don’t think I freaked her out either with my clumsy words, so…
Okay. Okay.
“Sure you don’t want a riverboat dinner?” I ask Meg, nerves churning in my belly, because a whole evening alone with Clementine means a lot of temptation. And it’s crazy, but I swear Clem wilts a little at my question, sagging in my peripheral vision.
That makes no sense. She’d hardly prefer to be alone with me.
That’s the wishful thinking of an old man.
“Nope,” Meg says, finally flicking her wax thumbprint back into the candle jar. It holds its shape for a split second, then melts away, and the smile my daughter gives me is so sharp, it reminds me of that gator. “You two have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
There are barely any things Meg wouldn’t do, and we all know it. Clem puffs out a strained laugh, but she won’t meet my eye now. Did I hurt her feelings? Did she want to be alone with me?
God. It’s already been a long day, and I can’t parse any of this.
“Anyone want dessert?” The bench creaks as I push to my feet, pulse hammering. “I’m in the mood for toffee.”