When Darkness Falls(16)

“Fine.”

“Nothing wrong?”

Devon stood and walked from the sofa to the wall where his five guitars stood, now with Haley’s acoustic alongside them. “What do you mean?”

“You sound tense. Wedding jitters?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

He hesitated. She’d known him too long, it was no use insisting he was fine. And it would at least change the subject. “I had some kind of attack.”

“An attack?”

He described it.

“What time of day was it?” she said. “What were you doing?”

“Afternoon. I was going to Haley’s to move her things here.”

“How do you feel about her moving in?”

So much for changing the subject. “I’ll skip the dime store psychology, thanks.”

“Been sleeping all right?” Lydia said.

“Why?”

“Sometimes when people are nervous, they don’t sleep well.”

“I’m not nervous, other than about the attack. And I really should go.”

“No problem. Listen, I’ll be out there soon. To visit.”

“Call first.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to interrupt the honeymoon. Or upset the missus. I’m obviously not invited to the wedding.”

“It’s going to be small.”

Devon felt a twinge of guilt. The wedding wasn’t going to be that small. If he hadn’t slept with Lydia, he would have invited her. Which didn’t make him the nicest guy, but he didn’t know what else to do.

“Which I’ll interpret as a no. Well, good luck.”

She didn’t say he’d need it, but he heard it all the same.

“Good-bye,” he said.

“See you soon,” she said.

Devon hung up but continued to pace the living room. He wasn’t the great love of Lydia’s life, but it would be normal for her to be jealous. Her certainty that this was too fast, that the marriage would end badly, stemmed from that. It meant nothing.

He stopped at the window and stared at the street below, shiny from the rain that still pelted down and blurred the streetlights. Unconsciously, he put his fingers to his neck again, checking his pulse.

It meant nothing.





Chapter Seven


A month after the wedding, Haley asked if Devon would mind if she traveled to Milwaukee for a three-day weekend to visit two old friends, John and Anne Beudel, who ran a music school. She missed them. She also wanted to see if now that she was over Brian, her interest in folk and bluegrass music might revive.

John and Anne were putting on a concert for a local park district. Haley sang harmony—the sweet soprano/tenor part that created bluegrass’ trademark high, lonesome sound—and played rhythm guitar. The municipal building basement had poor acoustics, but she loved performing, and the beauty of three voices blending. Plus the sense of connection with the audience that didn’t happen in a wedding band, where the music was strictly background.

When she and Brian had played on stage, Brian had always mixed in southern vernacular and a slight drawl to match the origins of the music. He talked about his “grandpappy” singing him folk songs when he was “knee high.” But, like Haley, Brian had grown up in a working class suburb thirty minutes by train from downtown Chicago, not in the country. His “grandpappy” had been tone-deaf and preferred Big Band music, and Brian had called him Grandpa, but when Haley called him on it, Brian said it was a little hyperbole. The audiences loved it. But the faux-downhomeness wore on her over time, as did playing the same tunes over and over. A year or so before she and Brian had split, she’d started to think she needed a change of scene musically. She felt the same way now, despite that Anne and John were originally from Tennessee and their stories and accents were genuine. Her mind wandered during the non-stop jam session at the Beudels’ house, and she thought she’d rather poke her eyes out than hear another song about little cabin homes, rocky mountaintops, or pigs in a poke.

John and Anne expressed excitement when she mentioned her idea of going back to school, but from there the conversation went right to the pluses and minuses of playing the college campus circuit. Without the music in common, she and her friends didn’t seem to have much to talk about.

Plus she missed Devon, so she took the late evening train home rather than waiting until the next morning. It was twenty minutes to midnight when she arrived in Union Station. She took a taxi to the loft. She still thought of it mainly as Devon’s apartment, not hers.

Devon would have met her at the station if she’d called, but she’d wanted to surprise him. As a result, by the time she got up the stairs inside the building, her hands and shoulders ached from lugging her backpack and guitar.

The apartment was dark. She set her guitar against the wall next to Devon’s recording equipment and, leaving the light off, took her backpack upstairs to the bedroom. If Devon was sleeping, she didn’t want to wake him. The blinds were down. It wasn’t until she reached the bed that she realized it was empty. She turned on the lamp. The sheets and quilt were twisted together, as if Devon had been tossing and turning in his sleep.

The bathroom was deserted.

Downstairs again, she checked the calendar on his laptop. One job was listed, over in Lakeview, but it was in the afternoon and marked “canceled” anyway. He couldn’t be at The Underground. It was Sunday night, so the bar had closed at eleven.