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“Not that bad,” I lie. “Nothing a shower won’t fix.”
He gives me a sideways glance. “I’ve promised not to lie to you.”
My chuckle surprises me. “Okay, no lies. You need a shower first thing.”
Finally a little life shows in his eyes as his pupils darken. When he pauses before he speaks, I’m certain he was about to say something else. “Sweats and a tee will do. Nothing else needed.”
I discover his neatly folded clothing in the dresser then give the main room another look as I lock the door. I toss his clothes into the back of the vehicle. “I’ll give Alice a call and have someone come clean up your?—”
“No,” explodes from his mouth. His eyes close. “Sorry, no. Thank you. There might be more in that mess I don’t want to lose. Music. Words. I’ll take care of it. Once I’m rested. And fed. Okay?”
“Uh, sure. I’ll heat up some food while you shower. What sounds good?”
“Nothing too spicy. Or heavy. Your delicious cake is doing fine in my empty stomach. But I don’t want to push it.”
Back at the kitchen he stumbles. He needs assistance, and I ease one arm around his trim waist. He wraps his free arm over my shoulder, trying not to lean on me too heavily. Climbing the stairs is still awkward and difficult. My apartment is generously sized so if it’s no longer needed for a vintner, Alice can use it as a bed and breakfast space. There’s two bedrooms with their own en suites. I help Mars to the empty room and into the bathroom. Depositing his clothes on one of the two vanities, I back from the room. “There’s soap and that kind of stuff in the shower. Extra towels are under the vanity where I put your clothes. Holler if you need anything else.”
Questions filling my mind, I stand at the closed door listening until the shower comes on. Mars’ voice rises above the water. “I’ll be fine, beautiful.”
Heat blazes over my cheeks. How does he know I’m still here? I continue to back away until I’m half way across the room then I turn and run.
seven
Archer
Thank god there’s a built in seating ledge in the shower. I’m not sure I’d be able to remain standing for even a quick wash. This time the music drained me totally, leaving minimal energy reserves. I’m not sure what might have happened if Bailey hadn’t shown up and given me a new focus.
Leaning forward I shift so the water beats against my back and reach for the tiny, complementary bottle of shampoo. I glance at the label. Turquoise Creek Goat Milk Shampoo. There’s a cute drawing of a goat. Another of Alice’s businesses? Once my hair is lathered and rinsed, I find enough energy to stand and soap my body with another goat milk product. Along with the lather, the water sluices away more of my confusion.
Bailey is going to have a lot of questions and I’ll answer them all to the best of my ability. There is so much of my creative process I don’t understand myself. When the water begins to cool I wonder how long I’ve been standing under the spray, still lost in time.
Toweling my hair, I let the rest of me air dry. A swipe of my fingers is enough to coax my damp hair into submission. My mouth feels stale. The universe must be looking out for me because I discover a plastic wrapped toothbrush and mini toothpaste in a vanity drawer.
Dressed in my favorite, well lived in sweats, I exit the bathroom to the empty bedroom. Disappointment fills my chest because she’s not here waiting for me. I shake my head at the stupidity of that thought and the room spins. I sit on the bed until the dizziness passes. It’s going to take longer than usual to recover this time.
The sounds of movement and metallic clunking draw me from the bedroom to the open living space. Bailey is at the kitchen island fussing with a couple of containers from my stash of meals. Intent on what she’s doing, she doesn’t notice my slow approach.
As I ease onto a barstool, she looks up and drops the spatula she was using to try and stir the cold macaroni and cheese she dumped from a pan into a microwave container. “Well, shit,” she mumbles and disappears behind the island to retrieve the food covered utensil.
“It’ll mix up better once it’s heated a bit,” I offer, hoping I don’t offend her.
“Yeah, probably. I’m trying to hurry it along.”
“I can wait.” I reach for a banana hanging from a wooden holder. “If it’s okay, I’ll start with this. And more water. Please.”
She sets one of those filtering pitchers on the counter and asks if I want ice. At my nod, she adds cubes to a tall glass and sets it before me. “Drink up.”
I’m tempted to guzzle the water but know my empty stomach might rebel so I sip carefully. Bailey keeps casting me curious looks and I know she’s trying to give me space before plying me with questions. I need her to understand, so after I finish my banana, I flatten my hands against the counter and begin.
“You might have a difficult time believing what I’m going to tell you. Truth is, I don’t really understand this myself. I write songs. The music and usually the lyrics.”
She nods. “I know. I’ve… uh… been reading about you online.”
I manage a grin. “So, you are checking up on me.”
Her silence hangs in the air for a long moment while she puts the macaroni in the microwave. When she faces me again, I continue. “A fair share of my compositions happen in what’s considered a normal way. There’s an idea or concept. I sit at the keyboard or mess around with guitar chords until the notes come together. Sometimes I fit the words to the music, other times the music happens first and the lyrics need tweaking to match.”
“That’s how I would imagine songwriting to happen. So why?—?”
