Chasing Abby(50)

I laugh at this. “Yes, it’s a ’68, but it’s not the ’68 Stratocaster you’re thinking of. Not that I haven’t tried offering the Allen family ridiculous sums of money for Jimi’s Strat, but they aren’t interested in money. Sit,” I say, pointing at the sofa.
He swallows hard then heads over to sit down. “Is this about Abby? I didn’t even realize I had my arm around her. I won’t let it happen again.”
I shake my head as I sit on the piano bench with my back to the keys. “It’s not about you having your arm around Abby’s shoulders. This is about you…” Oh, God help me. “This is about you and Abby having sex… while you’re here.”
“No, sir. We don’t plan on doing that. I swear. We haven’t even had sex yet.”
I hold up my hand so he doesn’t go into further detail. “Okay, I believe you. I just want to make sure you know that I can’t have that in my house. As much as I’d like to believe that Abby is my daughter, at this point, I’m just her steward. So while you two are here, it is my duty to make sure Abby doesn’t do anything that she wouldn’t do in her… her other parents’ home. You understand?”
“Yes, sir. I understand.”
“Good. You’re excused.”
He eyes me warily as he stands from the sofa as if I’m trying to trick him into turning his back on me. Once he’s standing, he doesn’t head for the door. He just stares at the guitars in the corner.
“Do you think it would be okay if I played it? Just to try it out?”
“The ’68?”
He nods and a boyish grin spreads across his face. I shake my head as I stand from the piano bench and head over to grab the ’68 Strat off its stand. I pick up the guitar and, since I’m already there, I grab my ’59 Les Paul Standard. I tread carefully toward the sofa and hold out the ’68. Caleb grabs the strap first, then he grabs the neck. We both plug into the amp, which stands on the floor between the piano and the guitars. Then he slings the strap over his head and across his back, looking pleased that he doesn’t have to adjust the length.
I strap on my Les Paul and immediately begin tuning it. This goes on for a couple of minutes before I realize there’s no sound coming from Caleb’s guitar. I look up and he’s just staring at me.
“Something wrong?”
“I can’t believe I’m about to play with Chris Knight. Is that an original ’59 Les Paul?”
I purse my lips at this question. “I don’t do reissues. Is that thing tuned?”
“Oh, yeah.”
He begins testing each string. After a few minor adjustments on the tuners, he nods at me. I nod back and I take the lead, playing the opening guitar solo of “Little Wing” by Jimi Hendrix with heavy overdrive. If Caleb can answer back on this song, then he will officially have my approval. By the second measure, I can see he knows what I’m playing. By the fifth measure, he joins in. We only make it to the eleventh measure before Ryder and Abby walk into the library smiling.
“I knew that was you!” Ryder says, pointing at me. “I want to play.”
Abby gawks at Caleb, who’s grinning from ear to ear. “You were playing, too?”
“We were until you interrupted us.”
“Oh, well, don’t mind me. Please continue your jam session.”
“Where’s your guitar?”
“Upstairs.”
Caleb slips the guitar strap off and tightens it a bit before he holds it out to Abby. She shakes her head. She’s being shy.
Ryder heads straight for the piano. He’s been taking lessons with Rachel, my other best friend Jake’s wife, for three years, but he prefers the guitar. So it’s odd to see him choose the piano. He must have a particular song in mind.