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June and Alex look up as I enter the room, and June’s eyes widen at the sight of the guitar in my hand.
I settled on the floor between them and strum a few chords.
“Are you going to play while we sing, Dad?” Alex is super excited. “My dad hasn’t played guitar in a long time. I think the last time was when I was like five at my birthday party.”
June gives me a look that’s filled with emotion. “That long, huh?”
I don’t respond but play a song that’s been stuck in my head for years. One that I’ve never written down. It’s always like this when I pick up my guitar. There are chords waiting for me, a tune, and as I strum them out, words come to me.
I sing them in my mind, lifting my gaze to June’s face.
Alex claps and laughs.
I keep playing, my eyes drifting closed. Music is home for me, one I gave up, and I lose myself in it, accompanied by the scent of June’s perfume, by the sounds of my daughter tapping her knees in time to the song. A song that isn’t a song yet.
June hums, and at this point, it’s taking everything I have not to kiss this woman, consequences be damned. Fuck the end of summer. Fuck the past. She spends time with Alex, and my daughter has blossomed in the short weeks she’s been here. It’s like June has injected life back into our family.
I strum out the last chord of the song and rest my hands against the strings. It’s been so long since I played, the fingers on my chording hand sting. It’s a good feeling.
“That was awesome!” Alex says. “I want to play like that. Can you teach me to play?”
I open my eyes. “You want that?”
“Yeah!”
“Sure, I can teach you to play. But another time. You go get ready for dinner, all right? Let’s go out tonight. We can hit Beach Buoys.”
Alex whoops and darts out of the library, her footsteps pounding down the hall toward her room.
June sits across from me, her lips parted as if she wants to speak.
I pick the strings, watching her as she takes me in. She breaks eye contact, taking a breath and glancing off to her left.
“I got it!” Alex yells.
I get up and then hold out a hand to June. She takes it, and I help her to her feet. The touch lingers, and I finally release her hand as Alex bursts into the room, holding an envelope in one hand and a piece of paper in the other.
“June, it worked! It worked!”
“What worked?” I ask.
“The letter. The pen pal letter I put in Daisy’s mailbox.” Alex holds out a letter. “She replied. She said she wants to meet up and learn a song with me. She wants to sing in the talent show with me.”
I sweep her up into a hug. She’s going to make a friend. Life is different to what it was when we were kids, but it bugs me that she struggles to make friends, and that she spends a lot of her time at home during the summer.
I set her down, and Alex hugs June around the waist.
She hugs her back, smiling down at the top of my daughter’s head. “That’s amazing, Alex,” June says. “I’m so excited for you guys. Did she say when she wants to meet up?”
“No, but she put her mom’s number in the letter.” Alex shows it to June. “Do you think you can call her, and we can meet up?”
June looks up at me. “If that’s okay with your father.”
“Of course,” I say. “Of course.” I’m not going to stop my daughter from making friends or enjoying music, just because I’ve given up on both of those things.
“This is amazing!” Alex does a little jig on the spot. “We’re going to be rock stars! We’re going to kick butt!”
“All right,” I say, “sounds like you need some food to fuel that creativity.”
