Tonight onstage at the Orpheum, just like I did on our perfect day together, I’d sung to my mom. And I knew she heard me. Because if anyone could figure out how to get messages in the great beyond, it was Rose Molina.
The chairs on the studio ceiling dangled above our heads, a testament to how creative my mom could be. I lay there, feeling a tear travel slowly down my cheek. Luke wiped it away with a swipe of his finger, causing me to jump. I’d almost forgotten that we could touch—for now, anyway.
“Don’t cry,” he said, rubbing my tear between his fingers. “These are happy memories, remember?”
“I am happy, but it’s complicated. It wasn’t long after our show at the Dog Gone Lounge that we found out my mom was sick. And then she was really sick, and then she was just … gone,” I said in a low voice. “I thought I’d never have a perfect day again—until we played tonight.”
I sniffled into the back of my palm. “Thanks for reminding me of that day. I love talking about my mom. I never want to forget her, you know? I always want to be able to close my eyes and see her face.”
“I know what you mean.” He nodded solemnly, and I knew he meant what he said. Luke spoke to me in a way that cut through all my layers and went straight to the heart. He raised his hand, pointing to the chairs above. “I’d been wondering who hung those.”
“You’ve never seen chairs on a ceiling before? Weird.” I chuckled, my nose a little stuffy from all the tears.
“It’s not something you see every day—equal parts beautiful and mysterious.”
I rolled to my side and found him looking straight at me. He wasn’t looking at the chairs on the ceiling at all. His eyes were only on me. Did he mean I was beautiful?
Omigod!
Blinking away from his gaze, I heaved myself into a standing position and walked over to the couch. For the second time tonight, I felt the need to put some distance between me and the crackling feeling that surrounded me and Luke. I sat on the couch, figuring I was at a safe distance.
Luke’s eyes were bright as he popped off the palette of cushions. He walked slowly to my side of the room, choosing to sit on the arm of the couch instead of right next to me.
See? Luke knows me so well.
“I can’t believe you played at the Dog Gone Lounge.” He shook his head, his eyes full of the same wonder they’d had since we performed tonight. “And you’ve played the Orpheum, too? What are you—some kind of living legend?”
“You are, too.” I blushed, looking away, afraid I touched a sensitive subject. Luke wasn’t exactly alive, but he wasn’t gone either. “Well, kind of.”
“I feel alive. Caleb’s curse is finally in our rearview mirror. It’s another brave new world.” He leaned over the edge of the couch, looking at me through his impossibly long lashes. “You know? I only know one other person who’s played those two venues under the age of eighteen.”
“Who?”
His eyes locked on mine, making my cheeks grow hot. “Me.”
How is it possible Luke gets cuter every time I look at him?
“The Dog Gone is right around the block from the diner where I worked, so I used to pop over during my lunch breaks and play a song—sometimes two. Just to play, you know? It was during the middle of the day when literally no one was watching. Except one day, there was an agent there.” He sighed, sinking onto the couch. Only one cushion separated us. “She gave me her card and told me to call her when the band played a bigger venue. I thought it was the coolest piece of paper I’d ever seen.
“Once we pulled in every favor we had to get the gig at the Orpheum, we invited her to the show. That was one of the first times I thought, Wow, this could really happen.”
“And you finally lived your dream tonight.” I nodded, scooting over. I couldn’t help it. I felt so acutely drawn to him.
“I wish I’d spoken to my mom that day, though.” He’d dropped his voice to little more than a whisper, but I could still hear that the words were laced with pain.
“That must have been rough to remember.”
“Nah.” He shrugged, wiping away a tear on his arm. “I mean, it stings a little.”
“I know how you feel. When I think about singing at the Dog Gone, that day was so wonderful. But looking back, thinking about her …” I closed my eyes, seeing my mother’s face again.
I did know exactly how he felt. Not just because I’d read the gut-wrenching lyrics of his song “Unsaid Emily,” but because I did the same thing. I thought about my mom almost every day, and I wished I could talk to her. “It gets me sometimes.”
Tonight at the Orpheum, I couldn’t stop thinking about the advice she’d given to me just before we’d gone onstage for our final show together. When I’d walked onto that platform by myself, feeling the stage lights boring into me, my stomach had filled with nerves, and adrenaline surged through my veins. They were the same jitters I’d felt at the Dog Gone.
Even though I’d been tempted to run, I’d held my mom’s advice in my heart and leaned into my nerves, just like she’d suggested.
And I sang to her.
“You’re thinking about her right now, aren’t you?” Luke whispered. He scooted closer, closing the final gap between us.
“Yeah,” I said with a sniffle. But looking at his face, something made me laugh. “What are you thinking about?”
“I still get a kick out of the fact that you love Trevor Wilson’s songs.”
“Uh, get over it already,” I said, knowing exactly where he was going with this. “Yes, I like your songs. I admit it!” I covered my face with my hands to hide my blush.
He pumped his fist in the air, clearly pleased with himself. His face softened, and he leaned forward. “I like you, too.”
I wanted to say I liked him back, but I was literally paralyzed. He had that effect on me. We sat in silence for a while, just happy to be in each other’s company. I tilted my head, suddenly remembering something he’d said earlier.
“Do you think your pact with Alex and Reggie had anything to do with you guys coming back here?” On Luke’s last day alive, he’d made a toast with the rest of the band, promising to always come back to the studio, to always hold this place dear. Maybe they’d forged a permanent connection or something, and it wasn’t unfinished business keeping them here—maybe they were collectively keeping one another tied to this place.
“I don’t know if we have that much power. Maybe?” He hiked his leg onto the couch, turning to face me. He held out his pinkie. “Let’s make a pact now—you and me—to keep writing songs together, here in this studio.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal.” I gripped his pinkie with mine, squeezing it tightly. I wasn’t sure how long this would all last—and I had no idea how much all our lives were about to change—but for now, I wanted as much of my phantom as I could get.
Candace Buford has been an avid reader since childhood—always looking for stories with strong and complex POCs. She graduated from Duke University with a degree in German literature, which exposed her to the delightfully creepy side of storytelling by writers like Kafka and Brecht. She also holds a law degree from Penn State Law School and a business degree from Duke’s Fuqua School of Business. Raised in Houston, Candace currently lives in the heart of Seattle, where you can find her huddled in café corners, scribbling away in her notebook. She shares her life with a rocket scientist and a Plott Hound, who both ensure there is never a dull day. She is also the author of Kneel.
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