by Ellie Danes
“Oh, man! Some of these even have lyrics,” Bobby called out. “You gotta admit it now.”
I gritted my teeth, but it was no use denying it when Bobby was holding hard evidence in his hands. “So what if I love Cora? It’s all screwed up.”
“Present tense; that’s a good sign,” Rick said.
I punched him in the shoulder. “You do remember that she lied about who she was and her motives, right?”
“Yeah, but we know her better. You know her better, Storm.”
Bobby agreed. “She’s your Muse.”
The sheaf of sheet music in his hands backed up his point. I hadn’t even made it to the bottom of my front steps that day before Cora had inspired another song. Even when I was blindly angry at her, Cora was still woven tight into my thoughts. And it was starting to feel like she belonged there.
It was time for me to face the simple truths that had hounded me since I left Cora. I admired her intentions. I hadn’t recognized how big of a part the small town of Murtaugh played in my life until Cora pointed it out. It also made me feel like I knew her, and she knew me; we were connected through our hometown and our shared experiences there.
I had to forgive her for all the confusion. When Cora and I had met, she was just as lost as me. We’d bonded over coming to terms with our real passions, no matter how expected or impractical they turned out to be.
“So, she’s really a photographer now?” I asked.
Rick smiled. “Seems like you’re her Muse as much as she is yours.”
The ache in my chest loosened. “And it doesn’t really matter what she was before.”
“An accountant!” Bobby chuckled. “That’s going to be funny for years.”
Then reality hit, and I bristled. “Yeah, well, it’s a lot easier for her to change.”
“You still imagine the public will tear you to shreds?” Rick pulled out his phone. “What if Cora has paved the way for the new Storm Morris?”
The first photograph he showed me was Cora’s view of my father’s guitar collection. The light was so golden it almost felt like a presence, and I could almost feel my father in the photograph. A simple caption explained the heavy presence I felt, and loved, all through my young career.
As I scrolled through the photographs that Cora had taken, I saw for myself that our connection was real. Not only had she seen who I really was, but she understood where I had come from. Her photographs highlighted the distance I felt from my father at the same as pointing out our close similarities. Cora’s simple captions expressed to the world the things I thought too complex to overcome.
“So far, it’s just been the collection, but people are clamoring for more about where you are,” Rick said. “All we’d have to do is add your name to the clips we’ve already posted, and you could be re-famous tomorrow.”
Where there used to be fear was now just a longing for Cora. I rubbed my chest and kept scrolling through the photographs she’d created for me. In them, I saw the man I could be, the man I wanted to be.
I handed Rick back his phone and picked up my guitar. Bobby clapped his hands and swung into the chair across from me, waiting to hear what bass line was needed. Rick grinned and returned to the drum kit.
“Do we really want to be famous?” I asked.
“Nobody said you had to,” Bobby said.
Rick shook his head. “It’d ruin the record store.”
The song flew out from under my fingers. Suddenly, anything seemed possible. “So no to some long international tour?”
Bobby shrugged. “Isn’t that what the Internet’s for?”
I laughed and the last of the tension in my chest let go. There was suddenly no reason why I couldn’t be myself. I didn’t have to compete with my father, I didn’t have to return to my ridiculously young self and shoot for the top of the charts, and I didn’t have to take the stage in any far-flung place.
“What are you gonna call this one?” Rick asked.
“‘My Muse,’” I said.
Cora wasn’t there but I knew how to get her back. All I had to do was open my doors and let the music play.
The downside of finally falling asleep late at night was that, no matter what, I still woke up early. I fought it the first few weeks and forced myself to stay in bed until long after my mother had come and gone. It didn’t help. I just lay there wondering if I would ever see Storm again.
Now, a month later, my mother slept soundly while I got up in the dark and brewed coffee in her small kitchen. I sneaked into the front studio and sat down at the table that had become my semi-permeant desk.
At least until the sale of the building was complete.
I shrugged off the hovering thought of the sale and opted for Caroline’s bright faith that everything would turn out for the best. Checking the soaring popularity of my photo collection always helped stave off my worries. Online, everything was going great.
There was still a huge amount of interest in all things Ian Morris, and Storm’s band of fans was fiercely loyal. Every day buzz about the collection grew and fans appeared from all walks of life to comment on Morris Mansion and my images of it.
A few screen names from my time in Manhattan cropped up now and then, but the shock had worn off. My stylish friends were interested in my new work but had zero interest in leaving Manhattan to see me. I didn’t have to worry about keeping up with the latest fashions, and I was enjoying the ability to relax and be myself. Susie Q often asked if I missed the fast-paced life of the city, and it always made me laugh.
What I thought I had loved turned out to be a false reflection of the real thing. Now I was on solid footing and excited to build up from there. Why would I want to be anywhere else? I’d found my happiness in Murtaugh.
And lost it.
I glanced up from my laptop and gazed down Main Street. It seemed impossible that I still hadn’t seen Storm. We both stayed stubbornly in our own circles, and I worried that we’d never cross lines again.
I bit my lip and opened a new window, checking Storm’s increasing status. He had started posting candid snapshots from recording sessions with Rick and Bobby. There were little snippets of songs and hints about recording, and the Internet was on fire with rumors about Storm Morris’ resurgence.
I was so deep into stalking him through the Internet that I jumped two feet in the air when the front doorbell jangled.
The postman apologized and handed over a large envelope. “Sorry, instructions said to deliver in person.”
I tried to catch my breath. “Thanks. I’ll make sure Caroline gets it.”
I saw him out and turned slowly around, sure the envelope contained her eviction papers. My mother must have sensed my worry because she appeared in the kitchen door and held out her hand.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
My mother squinted at the envelope and held it back out to me. “It has your name on it.”
“What?” I held up my hands and refused to take it.
Caroline tossed it at me and turned back to the kitchen. “Whatever. I need coffee.”
Both of us jumped when Susie Q burst in the front door of the gallery. “Did you get it? I saw the postman!”
“What are you doing up so early?” Caroline asked with a sly smile. “Or is it late?”
“Who cares?” Susie Q trilled.
She and Tyson had finally gotten together, and he often drove her back to town early in the morning. Everyone on Main Street recognized his truck.
“Coffee,” Caroline insisted.
“Wait! She has to open her invitation first!” Susie Q couldn’t contain her excitement and jumped up and down.
“Invitation?” I opened the envelope with shaking fingers. “More like some bill collector from Manhattan.”
Susie Q squealed. “It’s for tonight!”
“Don’t give it away!” my mother hollered at her friend.
I ripped open the envelope and pulled out a gilded invitation to Morris Mansion. It offered drinks an
d dinner buffet, plus live music and an announcement. There was no handwritten note from Storm.
“What? Is this a nice way to tell us all the place is sold?” I asked.
Susie Q groaned. “No! And you’re going. I already RSVP’d for you.”
“You’re going?” I asked though I knew the answer. Susie Q had probably helped Tyson plan whatever the event was supposed to be.
“Your mother is my plus one,” Susie Q said. She gave me a dazzling smile. “And it’s not what you’re thinking. Golly, she is so suspicious!”
I crinkled my forehead, annoyed that she had guessed my worried thoughts. “If this is some elaborate scheme to throw Storm and me back together, I’m not doing it.”
“Cora, darling, I’m telling you it isn’t a ploy. Honey, you’ve just got to be there,” Susie Q said.
“Why?” My voice squeaked with panic. Why did I have to be the one to bravely cross the line? What if I couldn’t?
I shook my head. “No. He could have come and talked to me anytime he wanted. It’s been a month!”
I was still protesting in a borrowed cocktail dress as my mother and Susie Q shoved me up the front steps of Morris Mansion. My curiosity threatened to eat me up, but I still didn’t want to be the one to come crawling back.
If Storm didn’t want me there, I thought I might die.
“This is ridiculous! I don’t want to be here!” I looked around, and my mother and her friend were gone.
A few other party guests raised their eyebrows at me, and I had no choice but to walk casually farther into the party or look like a total crazy person. I followed the flow of people down the hallway to the ballroom. A waiter offered me a fizzing champagne flute, and I almost dropped it when I saw the main event:
Large prints of my photographs sat out on easels and offered guests an open view of the rooms that were roped off for the night. Interspersed between the radiant photographs, the real items were lit in specially fabricated display cases. Excitement built as guests read the stories behind the objects.
Everyone was talking about Storm’s new music.
I gripped my champagne and skirted around the edge of the crowded ballroom. Tyson and Susie Q were talking excitedly near a small dais, but I couldn’t believe Storm was going to stand up in front of the whole ballroom and make some grand announcement. But then again, maybe I didn’t really know him at all.
I was just turning around to slink out of the party when I saw him. Storm stood off to the side, as yet unnoticed by the other guests, and our eyes met over the sea of shifting party-goers.
My pulse had stopped so it was no surprise my legs wouldn’t move. I stood and watched helplessly as he walked right up to me.
“I’m glad you could come,” Storm said.
My heart flipped over, revived at the realization I wasn’t again some nosy intruder. “Thanks for inviting me.”
Tyson’s throat-clearing reverberated throughout the ballroom and the excited chatter ground to buzzing quiet. “Ladies and gentlemen, I know you are all dying to hear the special announcement, so our host has graciously allowed me to go ahead while he is previously engaged.”
Storm caught my hand. “How about we have that talk now?”
“Storm Morris will be releasing a full blues album this fall!” Tyson announced.
The ballroom erupted in cheers as Storm tugged me back through the secret passage. We ran up the tight steps and burst breathlessly into the music room. My heart was jammed tight in my throat, but Storm turned to me, smiling.
“I know I have to go back down and make an appearance, but I wanted to be the first one to show you this.” Storm pulled me over to his favorite chair and picked up a vinyl record.
My eyes blurred, and the words still wouldn’t come. All I could choke out was, “I’m so sorry.”
Storm dropped a kiss on top of my head and handed me the album. “Take a look at the cover.”
He had used my photograph of the long hallway—the same one I had mooned over nightly. The new album was entitled Happy Haunting.
“Thomas Talbot told you the story I made up?” I bit my lip, but Storm was grinning down at me.
“I loved it,” he said. He turned me and rubbed his hands up and down my arms. “Except it’s not a ghost that keeps starting these songs in my head. It’s you.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t do anything but gate-crash and intrude!”
“And inspire me. And others.” Storm tipped my chin up, so I had to meet his eyes. “Your photography shone the light on everything I missed.”
I pulled away from him to catch my breath. If his eyes hadn’t followed me, I would have pinched myself because it all seemed like a fairytale dream.
I held up the vinyl album. “You encouraged me. I wouldn’t have a new career if it wasn’t for you.”
“Me either.” Storm grinned and caught my hand. “Can’t you see? We are on equal footing.”
“You mean, we’re both stubborn idiots who waited a whole month to talk?” I asked.
“Exactly.”
We laughed and hugged, but I pushed back and studied his face. “So, you’re really getting out of here, huh? There’s going to be a tour?” I asked.
Storm shook his head and kissed me. “Nope. I’m staying. Are you staying?”
I couldn’t breathe so I nodded.
“Oh, thank god.” Storm let out a huge sigh and then kissed me again.
“Does that mean you forgive me for making up a haunting and ruining the sale of this place?” I asked.
Storm picked me up and whirled me around the music room until neither of us could stop smiling. “You know, I kinda like it here.”
“I like you here,” I said and pressed my smiling lips to his.
Storm let my toes touch the ground again but held on tight to my hand. “I haven’t shown you the best part!”
“Don’t you have a party to go to?” I asked.
Storm grinned and shook his head. “Come on.”
We sneaked back downstairs and out to the garden, my heart racing the same way it had the first night we met. Past the formal gardens and out of sight of the mansion, he swung me around in circles again.
Then I saw it.
“The old greenhouse?” I cried.
Storm took both my hands and pulled me toward the shrouded construction site that had popped up around the old greenhouse. We slipped through the gate and past the hanging plastic.
“We’re starting with private recordings, and Tyson already has a list of celebrities willing to be on camera playing with me.” Storm revealed the newly-built stage.
“I love it.” My words drifted through the acoustic space, and I suddenly wanted to say more.
Storm stopped me with a kiss, the deep seal that said more than words could contain. A kiss that melded our breath together, that brought our bodies closer.
“Green room,” he whispered.
I pulled back but stayed pressed against him. “Is that the name?”
“No,” he muttered. Storm showered my lips with soft kisses. “It’s where I had them put that old sofa.”
I wrapped my arms around Storm’s neck but wouldn’t let him sweep me off my feet. We’d come full circle but this time I felt we both had our feet on the ground. This was the solid foundation we both wanted.
Storm made love to me there in the midst of the old greenhouse, amongst the messy spring of our new life.
“Well, I don’t know. I’ve never photographed a person for a portrait before.” I juggled the phone as another delivery person came through the door with a receipt for me to sign.
Caroline had surprised me with half ownership in the gallery. Too bad now I was regretting the terms of the agreement as my nerves jangled.
“I’m so glad you admire my work, sir, but I’m not sure I’m the right person for the job.” I flagged my mother down. I pressed a hand over my phone and whispered, “It’s really him! I can’t believe it!”
“Then why are you sayin
g no?” my mother asked.
“Because I’m freaking out!” I hissed. It was not every day a world-famous movie icon insisted I take his photograph.
My mother was no help. She just grinned and asked, “Can you believe you ever wanted to be an accountant?”
I flashed a rude gesture at her and almost dropped my phone. “Yes, sir. Wonderful. We’ll talk about it again then.”
“He needs you to balance his books?” Caroline asked.
“You’re no help at all!” I swatted her arm. “And I don’t hear you complaining about all my accounting experience these days.”
My mother surveyed the gallery and nodded. “I suppose your way with money has helped out a bit.”
“A bit?”
She patted my cheek. “Oh, my darling, when are you ever going to admit you have real talent? This wasn’t your money-management skills. Your passion did this.”
I stood for a minute and allowed myself a little breathless swell of pride. An event crew was swarming all over the gallery: putting up display walls, setting up a bar, and arranging flowers. The catalog and commercial work I did freelance had been enough to pay all our bills. And when the landlord found out the popularity of my photography, plus my connection to Storm’s big album, he decided we could stay indefinitely.
My mother’s classes were full again, and her online presence almost eclipsed both myself and Storm. She was an Internet sensation, and I snapped a few shots of the set-up with her phone for the social media world to devour.
“Are you sure it’s not too much?” I asked. My moment of confidence was flagging, and nerves set back in.
Caroline grinned. “I happen to know for a fact it’s not too much. Our accountant made me go over every expense twice.”
I rolled my eyes, then reminded myself, “The price of the tickets already paid for the event.”
I marched over to the pristine white display walls and hung my first photograph. It was impossible to decide which image should greet guests as they entered the gallery. I tried another one and then two more before I returned to my original choice and stood back.
