27. Garrett
27
Garrett
I listen to Alina play as I tip back into consciousness. The pulsing pain that was thrumming through the right side of my head before I turned off the lights has dissipated. My eyes adjust slowly to the dark room. Light filters in through the crack in the curtains, reminding me it’s still daytime. I might still be able to meet up with Evelyn and the others at the tail end of their hike. I still feel like shit for canceling. The whole point of this was for me to help her.
Holt had called asking for help with a client I’ve been working with since I started at the firm—a paranoid New York Times Best Selling thriller author. Their ability to see conspiracy theories in everything likely has helped them creatively, but it also means they’re consistently in need of swift attention. Usually, we work directly with their agent, but there was a mix up and the author wouldn’t have the video meeting without me.
Getting back online meant that I got access to my email. I shouldn’t have looked. I did anyway. Each of the thousands of unread messages hit like a brick crumbling from the ceiling and right onto my shoulders. That’s when the migraine aura started to form in my vision. Little blurs dotted the world, and I knew I had to stop and go to my stash of pain medication.
I usually can manage the stress that leads to the tension building to this point by staying on top of things. But the reality of being away from the office for nearly four weeks came down all at once.
The song stops downstairs then another one starts. But it’s not one that Alina would know because it’s one I helped write on Friday. This thought reminds me of what I should already know, but my mind is still a bit foggy. Alina hasn’t played for at least four years. She’s not the one playing. But as I listen, the smooth articulation of a legato stringing the notes together tells me exactly who is at the piano. The way she plays is like a fingerprint with how distinct it is to me.
I grab my glasses from where they’re resting on the nightstand and head to the stairs. I’m careful to skip the creaky step halfway down. Alina and Eve are both so caught in the song that neither looks in my direction when I tread into the room and lean against the wall.
She’s hypnotic. Every inch of her body is dedicated in worship to the act of bringing out the potential of the piano and the song, our song . It’s a pocket universe where sound breathes through her. I know how it feels. God. I know how good it feels.
The room seems to vibrate even when she stops. Her fingers hover over the keys for a moment before they land in her lap. She’s dressed for the hike. Athletic shorts and a tight fitting long sleeve shirt.
Alina claps, breaking the silence. I join in and both of them turn in my direction.
“I don’t remember you buying tickets to this show,” Evelyn says, her eyes scanning over me, assessing.
“I thought you were heading to the falls or I would have made sure to stop at will call,” I say.
“Something more important brought me back,” she says. Her words hit me full force. People leaving? I'm numb to that. But her coming here? She makes it so hard not to want her.
“I didn’t know that living room concerts were a high priority for you,” I quip.
“There’s nothing more intimate than live music in your own home,” Alina says, adding to the flow of conversation. “But I have to cut this short.” Alina rises to her feet slowly then brushes her hands down the skirt of her kaftan.
I raise a brow. “Where are you going?” As far as I know she didn’t have anything planned for the afternoon.
“Out,” she puts simply as she comes closer to where I’m standing to get to the door. She pauses as she reaches me then lowers her voice. “Anywhere else.”
“Subtle,” I mutter.
“I don’t need to be. I’m too old to waste time being clever.”
“News to me.”
Alina moves past me and further into the entryway and there’s a jingling of keys followed by the sound of the door as she leaves.
“So, what would you be up to if I weren’t here?” Evelyn asks still watching me from the piano
“Trying to snoop?”
“Or just interested in what you’re like when no one else is looking.” A tempting edge cuts into her voice. As more time passes it’s getting harder and harder to write off the invitation in her flirtations. But there’s one thing I don’t have to write off. She’s shown up here without going through all the hoops that we tend to jump through to spend time together.
“What if it’s boring?”
“I know for a fact Alina wouldn’t keep you around if you were boring in your free time. And I don’t think there’s genuinely a single person who is boring.” Her words cause the corner of my mouth to tug upward. I guess Alina talked to her about her children then. “There are just people who don’t know how to ask others the right questions.”
“But you have all the right questions,” I state.
“I try to. I think it makes up for having none of the right answers.” Doubt flickers on her face in a way that lets me know she’s gone straight into that place that makes her intensely aware of everyone around her.
“I think you know more than you allow yourself to believe. You’re pretty damn smart,” I remind her.
“Playing nice?”
“Telling the truth.”
“So, what are we going to do?”
“Chess.”
“You’re saying that if it were just you here, that’s what you’d be doing?” Her brows pull together in confusion.
“That or playing music, but I don’t think that fits the criteria you’re looking for.”
“I think I’m more caught up on the part where you play chess alone. You know, the game that traditionally takes two people, a board, and pieces that are supposed to emulate some sort of feudal system court dynamics?” she teases.
“It’s what I’m usually doing on my phone. Not answering emails, just so you know. I do it when I’m stressed,” I explain, setting the record straight.
“You were stressed waiting for me?”
“You make me nervous, Evelyn.” Always. For the last few weeks I’ve logged more hours than I have in years.
“Do I still? Am I right now?”
“Yes.”
“I guess that means we should play some chess then,” she says.
“Okay, to recap, so this one goes on a diagonal?” Evelyn asks, pointing to the bishop. “Knight is two in one direction, then one in the other. Why the hell do people say it moves in an L? It’s so ambiguous?”
“People like patterns,” I explain. “They like seeing how things fit together and make sense.”
“Is that how you feel about work? That there are things that fit together?” she asks, and with how quickly she jumps to the question, I have the feeling Alina said something about my time upstairs resting.
“Sometimes, sure. I think that’s why I chose it over other things. It’s not always black and white but you have problems and you have solutions. It makes sense,” I explain. The structure of it, the endless rules and regulations to reference were part of what attracted me to working with contracts and negotiations over specializing in anything that could put me in a courtroom.”
“Do you like it?”
“Why do you care?”
“C’mon, Larson, I’m allowed to care about you,” she says. “We’re friends, remember.”
I’m really starting to hate that word even though it means we get to have moments like this. Alone, together.
“Then, no, not particularly,” I admit.
She hesitates before saying, “You could go back to music.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” I try to brush it off.
I’ve thought about it, sure, but what if it’s not the same? What if I go back and it lets me down? Then what? I’m left with two realities I don’t want, drowning in dissatisfaction. It’s the hope that kills you, and I rather like surviving.
“Why not. You’re amazing at it. Fuck. You were the best,” she says, and I almost ask her to repeat herself so I can hear her say it all over again.
“Don’t let your brother hear that.”
She scoffs, waving a hand and nearly swiping away pieces from the board. “He’s an adult and he can handle the truth.”
“Wes is the one who went solo. He’s probably better,” I say, as if it’s a good excuse.
“Bullshit.”
“It’s not stable.”
Evelyn crosses her arms over her chest, unimpressed. “You don’t need the money. I bet you could retire right now and buy a mansion or two while you’re at it.”
“That’s not the type of stability I’m worried about. With music, one day you’re in, the next you’re not. It’s not predictable. With the firm I know my trajectory. I know how to get clients and negotiate. I know how to be valuable to them.” I know how to be integral enough that I’m needed. I have a spot there that I earned, that can’t be questioned. Earlier today, even with the mountain of stress that piled on to me when I saw the work piling up, I also had a sense of reassurance that I was needed there. “I owe Alina, Pat, and the rest of the people here who sent me to Tennessee. I had merit and need based scholarships to St. George’s, but they covered the rest, as well as the plane tickets over the winter holidays. They invested in my education and I’m making sure they get a return on that investment.”
“I doubt they think you owe them. They care about you and just want you to be happy,” she says.
And maybe she’s right. But if she is, that doesn’t matter. I need to see this through, I need all the late nights to be worth something. If they aren’t, then what have I been working toward?
“I thought you stayed to play chess.” My voice comes out gruff.
“We can play.” She nods, hesitantly accepting the end of the conversation.
We get through two games before we take a break. I grab us some water. Evelyn’s approach to chess is similar to how she approaches life, aggressive but aware. She’s constantly on the offensive but manages to maintain a solid defense. She doesn’t win, but she puts in a solid effort without ever asking me to give her any suggestions for her next move.
“I don’t want to cancel on you again, but on Wednesday the wine is supposed to be ready for pick up and Thursday afternoon is the rehearsal for the festival,” I say. I didn’t tell her sooner because I didn’t want to cancel, but I’ve never missed a rehearsal.
“Is there room for another set of hands?” she offers.
“You want to help?” I ask, but honestly, what else did I expect from her?
“I would, but if it’s just a town thing I can’t get into without a special membership card, I’ll figure something out.”
I shrug trying not to reveal how much I would really like her there. “If you want to, sure.”
“Do you want me to? We’ve been with each other pretty much non-stop, so you can tell me you need space.”
I don’t want space when it comes to her. I know that, but that’s not something I can casually slip into conversation without imploding things. “If I need space from you, I’ll just decline one of your calendar invites.”
“So that’s why you like them so much. Because you can reject me through a workflow management system.” Humor lightens her voice, but the trace of relief isn’t lost on me.
“My methods have their benefits.” Really, it’s like I have this vampiric need to be invited to places in addition to my love of knowing what’s going to come next in my days.
“And if I come to the event, people won’t get mad?”
“I think Alina is half in love with you from making sure I get out of the house. And everyone else likes you more than they like me.”
“No, they don’t,” she says as she averts her gaze.
“Based on the fact that there’s a few thousand on us ending up together, I think their feelings are pretty clear.”
I pull out my phone and show it to her.
Fletcher
50 on the under
Winnie
50 it doesn’t happen
Annie
50 on the over
“Over and under?” she asks.
“Ten days.”
“They sure do think you act fast.”
“Between the two of us, I’m not the professional flirt.”
“Fair enough.” She heaves an exaggerated sigh. “And this prep is what exactly? Do I need to bring my pink hard hat?”
“No hard hat needed.”
“I do appreciate that you’ve accepted the possibility that I have one,” she says.
“Underestimating your ability to create a shock factor is just asking for trouble. But the festival prep is essentially a rehearsal in the high school gym. Vendors test out recipes and activities.” I start to explain one of Hartsfall’s most beloved traditions. “I’ll be rehearsing with Alina. Because most people are working the main festival, it's a way for them to enjoy everything. If Oliver and Quinn want to join, they can.”
“Speaking of them, I kind of invited them over for dinner tomorrow to make up for today,” she says as she nervously presses her finger into the top of her king and rocks it back and forth.
“You invited them to the house we’ve supposedly been staying in together for the last few weeks?” I ask to confirm we’re on the same page.
“Shit.” The realization hits her and I can see her scrambling for a solution.
“I’ll come over tomorrow with some of my stuff and we can make sure the story checks out.” It shouldn’t be too hard, especially since we’re just across the street from each other.
“Have I mentioned recently how I think you’d make an excellent spy?” She gives me a once over. Her eyes trailing from my face to the rumpled button down then all the way to the reset chessboard in front of us. “I mean, this is really selling it for me.”
“By some miracle, you’ve managed to restrain yourself for nearly a week.”
“Truly an act of God,” she agrees.
“That or everything has gone to shit.”
“Or that.” A smile brightens her face.
“Want to keep playing?”
“You teaching me a hobby that will give me a sense of intellectual superiority? Yes, please, keep talking dirty to me.” Her voice turns low and sultry. The way she messes with my head when I know she’s only joking is fucking criminal.
“Incorrigible.”
“Always.”