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Are you alright? Did I overstep with the hot cocoa?
I didn’t ask anything more of her. All I wanted to know was if I had overstepped a boundary I hadn’t realized was there.
I turned my phone on vibrate so that I would hear it over the strumming of my guitar. Then, I returned to writing the song.
I strummed an A-chord on the guitar before strumming an E and realized that it did not sound right for what I wanted. I frowned. This was going to be a lot harder than the other song I had written while she was here already.
I shook my head before putting my hands back to the strings and trying a variety of combinations. Each one I played with the rest of the song to be sure that it flowed. Eventually, I found the chords I wanted to repeat in the chorus, which was the easiest part of the song. Once I had the chorus done, that was about a third of the song, depending on how long the chorus was and how many times it repeated. For a really short song, it could even be three-quarters of the length if the chorus told more of the story than the verse did.
With the music settled, I started to work on the lyrics. These were always harder, and I sometimes had to change around how long things were held out to accommodate the different words. I didn’t want to just shove words onto the melody. They needed to fit and dance together. There were some artists these days that just put any words to any tune, but I would have rather been lowered into my grave before someone said my songs didn’t truly unite word and melody.
As I was working on the words of the first verse, my phone buzzed on the table.
I put my guitar on its stand and picked up my phone.
Yes. You overstepped. I can handle my own food.
That was an abrupt, rather short, text.
Since when did cocoa count as “food”? I couldn’t tell if Laurel was just upset with the way things had worked out thanks to the storm outside or if something was fueling it, but the fact that she had taken so long to respond concerned me. Was it because I wanted to know if I had overstepped and hadn’t been able to read the situation? Or something else entirely. I typed out my reply.
I’m sorry. If you want any, the cocoa’s in the pantry. Third shelf up from the floor, all the way to the right.
Though I didn’t know what else to do, I thought this would be a good way to tell her that there was no harm, no foul. And I decided to leave my room. If she got lonely, as I had a feeling she might with the storm liable to knock out the cell towers around here, she might want company. As awkward as it would be at first, I thought it would at least be better to have that available.
A freak spring snowstorm could be pretty intense.
I found myself walking into the main lobby of the lodge with my guitar, sheet music, and pencils. She knew where this was. If I wasn’t mistaken, she’d be able to hear the music from the lobby in her room. The doors weren’t entirely soundproof. I’d wanted to get them upgraded, but there’d been a lot of other things to take care of when I’d bought the place two years ago. Since her room was pretty near the lobby, I figured playing music would be a good way to let her know where I was in case she wanted company.
Under normal circumstances, I never would have done my composing down here, but this was not normal circumstances.
My songwriting went well until my phone vibrated again. This time, it wasn’t just one vibration, but multiple. I put my guitar down and picked up my phone. Rick was calling me.
“Yes?”
I picked up, if only because he liked to text if things were going to be all right and he was just updating me on what was going on. He only called when things were bad.
“I’m going to be stuck down here for a while. It’s snowing hard here too, and I won’t be able to get back until the roads are clear. My truck got stuck in a drift, and I can’t even get it out. Plus, I still need to get the fridges so who knows how long I’ll be here.”
“Well, I’ll let Laurel know,” I said. “Thanks for letting me know. Are you still with the truck or are you somewhere warm?”
“Found a hotel less than a mile down the road,” Rick explained.
“Stay safe. Is there anything I can do from here to help?”
“Not in this weather. It’s too snowy outside to even drive well. I think I’d be stuck here even if my truck wasn’t stuck in the snow.” Rick sighed. “How’s Laurel doing? Is she coping with the sudden storm well?”
“I think so,” I replied. “But I can’t be sure. She won’t talk to me.”
“…that’s odd,” Rick said slowly. “Maybe she’s just a little homesick for Chicago now that the reality of life in Idaho is settling in?”
“That might just be it,” I agreed.
With that, we hung up. I returned to composing my songs, while wondering how long it might take Rick to figure out the mini fridge situation. In the many years he had worked here, I had never – not once – seen his truck get stuck. If he’d gotten stuck in Boise, then it must really be a large storm.
As I strummed, I felt the tension in my fingers and my shoulders start to melt away. This is why I wrote songs, after all. It was the fastest way to get all of my tension to go away. Something about the sound of songs being created soothed my soul.
Buzz. Buzz.
