I watch him for a moment, his long fingers curling over the edges of the CD cases as he flips through the albums. He glances back at me. I look down at the album in my hands.
After I’ve got a stack of CDs that’s almost as tall as I am, Haden comes back with an album. He holds it up for my inspection. Shadow of a Star by Joe Vince. The frown forms on my face before I can stop it. Of all the thousands of albums in this place, he had to choose that one.
Haden pulls the CD back. “I chose wrong, then?” His voice is gray with disappointment. “It’s your father’s album, yes? I thought it would be good to familiarize myself—”
“Pick something else,” I say abruptly. “Anything else.”
“Why?” he asks.
The personal question interests me, since he’s always trying to deflect mine, but what’s more is that I actually find myself wanting to tell him.
“It’s a long story.”
“I’d like to hear it.”
I sigh. “I’d only ever met Joe four times before I came to live with him back in September. The last of those times was when he made a surprise appearance at my tenth birthday party. He made a big deal about giving me his guitar, the first one he’d ever bought with his own money—and he taught me the words to his favorite song. He cried when I sang and he said I had his voice, and he told me that this time he was going to stay in Ellis.
“I followed him everywhere for the next few days. He taught me to play the guitar, and took me out at night to see the constellations. He told me the stories behind them, and we even wrote a song about the stars together. But five days into what I thought was the best week of my life, he left me standing at my front room window with a telescope, waiting for him until it was almost midnight and I realized he wasn’t coming. One of his handlers sent a note the next day, saying Joe had gone back to California. Without even saying good-bye.
“I spent the next year learning every single one of Joe’s songs until I could sing them even better than him, thinking somehow if I did this, he’d be impressed enough to come back. But he didn’t.” I shrug one shoulder. “I’d call him with the hope of singing to him over the phone, but he never answered. He never sent postcards. Never visited again. And after a while, I moved on from my father’s songs and started writing my own. Joe likes to tell people I have his voice. But he’s wrong. It’s mine.” I point at the album in Haden’s hand. “That song, ‘Shadow of a Star’—that’s the song I helped Joe write when I was ten years old. It’s considered one of his greatest hits—the one that solidified his ‘God of Rock’ status. But I hate it. I turn it off anytime it comes on the radio.”
“I can see why,” Haden says.
“You know he had the audacity to invite me to go stargazing again today? He arranged this whole, grand daddy-daughter day and rented out the planetarium’s telescope. He didn’t even get why I didn’t want to go. I had to tell him I had plans so he’d drop it.”
“So that’s why you called me?” Haden asks.
I nod. “Sorry.”
He shrugs. “I’m happy to be your other plans.” His jade green eyes lock on my mine for a moment. Then he turns away. “I guess I should find something else.” He tucks Joe’s album into a stack of Top 40 rock and then migrates to the indie section. He comes back a minute later with a new CD. Death Cab for Cutie.
“How’s this? I liked the name of the band.”
“Perfect,” I say, and lead him to the booth. It’s a small, glass-enclosed room at the back of the shop. It’s such a tight fit for both of us that I can feel the heat radiating off his body as I sidestep around him to get to the stereo. He smells of citrus and soap.
I linger for a second longer than I need to.
“We’ll start with a couple of classical numbers,” I say. There’s an odd tremor in my voice. “And then we’ll move on to some more modern stuff.”
“Sounds good to me,” he says, but I detect a hint of apprehension in his voice. I remember what he said about music having been forbidden to him, and I realize I’m about to take a virtual musical virgin for the ride of his life.
“So what do you think?”
Haden is quiet for a moment. “Can I use the word beautiful to describe music?”
“Yes, of course.” What an odd question.
“I can’t think of another word for it.”
“That’s okay. Music is hard for just about anyone to describe, let alone for someone who hasn’t developed a musical vocabulary.”
“I’m not used to being at a loss for words.”
I believe him. This is the eleventh song I’ve played for him and he’s stayed mostly silent during all of them—verbally anyway. I noticed that by the fifth song, the sphere of silence that normally surrounds Haden had started to wane. It was like when we sang together for the first time, and I had heard a soft, resonating pulse of sound coming off him. And now with each musical number I played for him since then, his inner tone had grown ever so slightly. It is like no other inner song I’ve ever experienced before.