Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 131459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Gunn, the frontwoman of the Blue Moon Gypsies, was a step away from her microphone. She’d flipped her head back, and all you could see of her face was part of her profile and the bottom of her jaw. Her long, dark hair was flying all around her head in fat tendrils that looked like snakes, as if she was a gorgeous Medusa and you didn’t mind being turned to stone. The photo was taken feet up, this having the effect of making Gunn appear as tall and potent as a skyscraper. The way she held her guitar made it seem like it was another appendage, not hanging on her from a strap.
But the strap had rivets in it that said Kai+Tallulah=Life.
As Tom continued through the room, he saw the microscope which was the first part of Mika he’d ever experienced. It was on a long, thin table behind a couch that separated the front area from the space at the back.
The microscope and its slides were the only things on the table, save for a wide, squat glass vase filled with powdery poofs of white peonies (which Mika would later tell him was another homage to Yoko Ono, as she had a predilection for black and white, so fresh white, or black flowers were always on that table when Mika was home).
He wanted to touch the microscope.
He didn’t.
He was too fascinated by this space that was a cocoon of life and living. Art and study. Wonder and learning. Nostalgia and presence. Being and doing. Joy and reflection. Friends and family.
All his adult life, this was what he wanted to build.
A family home filled with all of those things.
Like his father’s study had been in the house where he grew up.
And his mother’s sewing room.
Tom hadn’t wept when he lost his father. He’d kept it together. His dad had died in his early sixties, relatively young, and it had been an unexpected blow. It was the first loss the kids had experienced, and all three of them were undone. Even in private or alone with Genny, Tom knew he couldn’t let go of the emotion or it’d consume him.
But when he walked into his mother’s sewing room after she’d passed five years later, he lost it. Genny had to force him into a chair and curl into his lap and hold him for what felt like hours as the grief for both of them came unleashed.
It had been another kind of death, working with his sister Teresa to dismantle their childhood home. And that had nothing to do with Teri acting like a pain in the ass throughout the whole melancholy exercise.
But her behaving like that didn’t help.
It was on this thought that Tom stopped dead in front of the fireplace at the back of the long room that ran the length of the house.
It was a cozier area. Closer. Darker.
Over the fire was another massive photograph that he’d never seen, but it had Mika’s signature.
Rollo, behind his drumkit.
Black and white. Definitely taken during a concert. His dark hair was soaked with sweat. His T-shirt plastered to his chest. The lighting of the stage illuminated him almost ethereally. The dust motes dancing around him seemed magical.
His left hand was hitting a drum off to his side.
But his right was extended, drumstick pointing toward the camera.
He had a massive, joyous smile on his face.
And he had this because he was looking at the woman he loved.
“I might soon let the world have that,” she whispered in his ear.
He tore his eyes off the picture and looked down at her.
“As the cover of the project I’m putting together,” she finished.
That explained her mood of a couple of weeks ago.
“I’ll show you when we get back,” she offered.
He wanted to see it and he didn’t.
What he knew for certain was, that picture should be hers and Cadence’s alone.
Which was why he asked, “Are you sure about that picture on the cover?”
She smiled, something evocative running through her eyes, before she answered, “With what I’m working on, I’m not sure of anything.”
He was coming to understand why she wouldn’t be.
“Indian tonight?” he heard asked crisply, their intimate tête-à-tête interrupted.
She pursed her lips at the intrusion, then cleared her expression and turned to Teddy, who was standing with his arms crossed on his chest in front of the microscope, appearing peeved.
“I’ll order it before I go,” he went on.
That’d be good, Tom thought, Considering Mika texted you before we left Phoenix, sharing our choices and letting you know she’d text again when we landed in order that you could have it waiting for us when we arrived. Because, as you know, it’s nine at night here, but even our time, it’s dinnertime.
“We’d appreciate it, honey,” she said.
Teddy glared at Tom. He glared at Mika.
Then he stated, “I don’t do luggage, as you know,” before he stormed off.