12. Chord
twelve
Chord
77 DAYS TILL HOCKEY SEASON
I can’t sleep, so I sit at the far end of the long, twelve-seater outdoor dining table on my back porch, staring out over the ranch while it’s lit by the pool lights below and the half-moon overhead. I welcome the touch of the cooler night air, breathe in the comforting scent of earth and vines, sip a mug of hot cocoa, and stare up at the midnight sky. And I think about my mom.
A lot about my daily life reminds me of my dad—games, training, travel. He was there for all of it when I was a kid, stayed involved in my career until I was well into my twenties, and in some ways, hockey keeps my memories of him bright and close. Rarely a day goes by when I don’t think of him, even if it’s fleeting.
I can’t say the same about my mom, which kills me to admit. It’s just that my life now rarely reflects the moments I spent with her then on the ranch. Reminders of her—her sandy hair and sapphire eyes, her warm sugar-cookie skin, her full-hearted laugh and her long, hard hugs—are rare and unexpected, and when they come, they hit harder than recollections of my dad.
Here at Silver Leaf, however, I’m surrounded by reminders of both my parents. The way they worshiped each other. The satisfaction they found running this place, building it from nothing, sharing their victories and overcoming their setbacks. How they molded their dreams around their five children. The lifetime of joy they experienced just by loving one another honestly and intensely and selflessly. They were lucky. We were lucky.
I set my cup on the table and pull Violet’s thank-you note from the pocket of my shorts, and my thumb involuntarily brushes the perfectly formed letters written in black ink. It’s just a piece of paper. I should throw it in the trash. Instead, I trace the sweep of her name one more time before tucking it away and returning my attention to the patterns in the sky.
My mom loved handwritten notes in lunch boxes or jacket pockets, under pillows and on bathroom mirrors. She loved late-night conversations and hot cocoa with marshmallows, and she loved the stars.
Light bursts inside the house, spilling out of the open kitchen window at the other end of the porch and interrupting my thoughts. I scramble to feel even a shred of irritation that Violet is once again in my way, but the only feelings within reach are curiosity and expectation as I listen to her move about inside.
The fridge opens and closes. A saucepan is retrieved from a cupboard and, a moment later, lands on the stovetop. A gas burner jumps to life with a click-click-click before she rustles in the pantry. A spoon hits the inside of a mug.
I debate the wisdom of going in to… What? Say hello? Tell her I couldn’t sleep because I was thinking about her? Ask her if she’ll lift her chin for me, just once, because I’d like to get a better look at her pretty pink blush?
But the moment comes and goes before I’ve made a decision. The light goes out again and I blink to adjust my vision, bristling at the unwelcome disappointment.
Then the tall glass door to the porch slides open, and Violet slips out onto the decking.
Jesus Christ. She should have stayed inside.
Out of my reach at less than a dozen paces away, with bare feet, long legs, and skin glowing silver in the mixed light from the pool and the moon and the stars, Violet’s dark hair is in a loose braid over one shoulder, her glasses are on her nose, and she’s wrapped in a long-sleeved, short-hemmed silk robe leeched of color in the darkness.
She paces across the porch to the balustrade and sets her elbows on the rail, leaning over to blow the steam from her mug. The action makes the hem of her robe ride higher on the backs of her pale thighs and hints at the soft curve of her ass underneath.
My dick lifts a little, like he’s trying to get a look, and I resist the urge to shift in my seat.
I shout silently at myself. Speak, asshole , but I don’t. Not yet. I just want to watch her a moment longer. Behold this version of Violet, without her self-conscious defenses.
She takes a swallow from her cup, hums with appreciation, then turns her face toward the sky. Her eyes drift closed like she’s praying or wishing, and my mouth is suddenly dry.
She’s so exquisite with starlight kissing her cheeks, mouth curved in a secret smile, calves tight while she’s pushed up on her toes, long fingers wrapped around her cup. Her lips move like she’s talking to herself, and I have a desperate longing to know what she’s saying. What she’s thinking. What she’s feeling.
I wait for her to open her eyes, finish her drink, and go back inside, but when she stays in the same place long enough to make me realize I shouldn’t be here anymore, I think about slipping away. I consider it. I decide it’s the right thing to do. I dismiss the idea. Then I clear my throat.
Violet jumps, turning and spilling her drink over the side of the cup, and I choke back a groan when she lifts her wrist to her mouth and licks away a rivulet of liquid with her delicate pink tongue.
“I’m sorry,” she says, turning her hand and collecting up another droplet of moisture with her lips. She squints to better make me out in the shadows, then glances down at her bare legs. “I didn’t know you were here. I’ll just—”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
Violet drops her hand and furrows her brow as she tilts her head to one side. “Me neither.” She glances into her cup, then toward the kitchen before she raises her drink between us. “I made warm milk. Did you want some?”
I lift my mug in response. “I beat you to it. Hot cocoa with marshmallows.”
“Cinnamon and maple syrup here.”
“I’ll have to try that sometime.” I nod at the chair closest to her, the farthest from me at the other end of the table. “Have a seat.”
She chews on her bottom lip before pulling out the chair and lowering herself into it. I take a swallow from my cup and she does the same, dark eyes watching me warily over the rim of her cup. I guess I deserve it, but it doesn’t feel great, so I sit there in moody silence, growing more frustrated with my own assholery.
“I’ve seen pictures of skies like this one and wondered if they were real,” she murmurs quietly. “You don’t see stars like this in the city.”
“Nothing like a Sonoma sky,” I agree.
“Do you know much about them?”
“The stars?” When Violet nods her head, I reply, “Yeah. I know about the stars.”
“Could you…” She pauses and adjusts her glasses. “Could you tell me about them?”
My skin tingles a little at her timid request, but before I think better of it, I swipe at my phone lying on the table to switch off the pool lights. We plunge into near-darkness, and I move off the porch to stand on the lawn below. Violet shadows me, stopping a long pace away and craning her neck at the magic arching over us into infinity.
I point to my favorite constellation. “Cygnus,” I tell her. “Or the Swan. You see those five stars there?” I sweep my finger across the sky to draw her attention to a row of three bright spots followed by one above and another further below. Violet nods with a serious frown of concentration. “That’s the Northern Cross. It marks the Swan’s chest.”
Violet tugs at her lip, upward eyes shining until understanding dawns with a lift of her brows and she finally connects the dots. “I see it!”
I fight a smile and move a step closer to her, pointing to a nearby section of sky. “See those four extra-bright stars over there?”
She hums, alight with curiosity and focusing hard on where I direct her. Her lashes are dark and long, the tip of her nose a fine point, her lips plump and parted, and I swallow with difficulty.
“That’s the Keystone,” I explain. “Hercules’ torso. See those stars around it? Those are his arms and legs, and that constellation beside it is Draco—the dragon Hercules defeated.”
Violet catches her lip between her teeth, and I stare as it pops free. “I think I see it.”
I move behind her, leaning down to measure her line of sight, ignoring the way her floral fragrance fills my nostrils, and point at the stars over her shoulder. “There. Draco.”
“Oh.” Violet grows very still before she inhales deeply and releases a shallow breath. Her arm rises slowly as she points to the brightest star in the sky. “Do you know anything about that one?”
“That’s Arcturus,” I tell her, straightening a little but not moving away. “Part of the Herdsman.”
“Arcturus,” she repeats. “And the Herdsman? I thought it might be something more romantic than that.”
“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”
Violet hugs her chest and shrugs. “I don’t know. I suppose I’ve always believed the brightest star in the sky was made for wishing.” She shakes her head and takes a few short, quick steps toward the house and away from me. “It’s silly. I don’t know why I even said that.”
“It’s not silly at all.”
I resist the urge to close the distance between us and glance back at the star in question. “There’s a constellation right there called the Great Bear, and Arcturus is its guide. Lighting the way. Keeping it safe. If you were going to trust your dreams to any star, it makes sense to wish on that one.”
I realize I’ve been staring up at the sky for a while by the time the silence between us grows loud, and I turn back to Violet. There’s a look of soft contemplation on her face, but her subject is me and not the stars.
“How do you know so much?” she asks.
I screw up my nose as it tickles with nostalgia. “My mom. She loved camping and the seven of us spent our summers sleeping outdoors with nothing between us and the sky. We looked for constellations together every night.”
“Oh.”
I can’t bring myself to look away from my memories or meet Violet’s gaze, so we say nothing for a long while, just admire the sky side by side.
“I think I’m tired now,” Violet whispers. “Thank you for the company.”
“You’re welcome.”
I’m ready to be alone but if Violet had wanted to stay, I’d be okay with that too.
The way she makes me feel is confusing and unexpected, so I listen as she climbs the steps and disappears inside the house, breathing easier only once I know she’s gone.