“Was it that bad?” I said meekly.
She laughed a little as she blew her nose with a tissue. “Don’t be silly, sweetheart. That was beautiful. I just …” She stopped talking, her eyes zeroing in on the other side of the room.
I turned around to see Julian standing at the edge of the foyer. His arms were crossed and he was leaning against the staircase’s railing. I rubbed my forearms self-consciously and scooted down the piano bench. “Oh. I didn’t realize you were here.”
“I snuck in when I heard the piano. And I’m so glad I did.”
We all froze there for a moment in uncomfortable silence. It was one of those times where I knew we all wanted to say something, but words seemed to be lacking. It seemed impossible to say what we really wanted to say. We could’ve tried to construct elaborate metaphors or pithy condolences and compliments, but none of them would get to the heart of the matter. So instead, we all stood there, feeling the moment instead of speaking about it.
And somehow that felt like enough.
“Should we go?” Julian finally asked.
I nodded, and as we walked out the door, Debra called out, “Hey, Taliah?”
“Yeah?” I said, turning my head.
She flashed me a mischievous smile. “Your song didn’t sound like it was missing anything. Not a damn thing.”
II.
Julian took one hand off the steering wheel and pointed to the left. “See that hill over there?”
I craned my neck and saw a noticeably tall hill off in the distance. “Yeah.”
“That’s the hill I told you about earlier. The one your mom and I used to climb when we were younger. It overlooks the tarmac of Oak Falls’s local airport. Hardly any flights come in and out of there, only personal planes. We used to pretend that someday we’d have a private plane that would take us far away from Oak Falls.”
He turned the car and the hill faded into the distance. “A while ago, I actually did land in a private plane here. When the plane hit the tarmac, I looked up at that hill and almost lost my shit.”
“Why?”
“Because Lena wasn’t next to me.”
An itchy feeling crept up my throat and I swallowed. I stared out the window in silence for the rest of the drive.
Julian parked the car on a curved, tree-lined street populated with small cafés and independent shops. He hopped out of the car and I followed him into a store called Willowy Records.
“Willowy Records,” I said as we walked into the small, cramped space filled with rows and rows of vinyl records. A small fan was doing overtime in the back corner, but it did little to remove the musky scent or make the place less unbearably hot.
“Best record shop in Oak Falls.” Julian reached for his sunglasses, but it was too late. The scrawny boy behind the counter leapt over it and marched toward him.
“Holy shit!” the kid exclaimed. He had dyed black hair that was shaved on the sides and mussed up in the front. His gray T-shirt, which featured an octopus playing the drums, had several sweat patches, but that was forgivable considering the tropical climate of Willowy Records. “You’re Julian Oliver.”
“Guilty as charged,” Julian said calmly.
“I’d heard you were in town, man,” the boy said, clasping his hands together. “But I didn’t quite believe it.”
Julian nodded.
The boy bowed his head a little. “So sorry about your dad.”
“Me too,” Julian said. “So listen …”
“Mark,” the kid said, extending his hand. “I’m Mark.”
Julian shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mark.”
“Such an honor, man. Your music. Dude. Dude.” Mark made the universal gesture for “mind blown,” miming explosions. “It totally changed my life. Such a huge fan of every album. But especially Blind Windows.” Mark’s eyes lit up. “Would you be willing to sign a few of your records while you’re here, man? That would be huge for the store.”
Julian nodded. “Sure, man. But let me tell you what. I’m here right now with my daughter.” Julian unexpectedly slung his arm around my shoulder and tugged me close to him. “And I’d like to have some private time browsing some records with her. So do you think you could hold off on posting anything on—”
“Yeah, yeah,” the kid said, enthusiastically nodding his head, which seemed too big for his thin neck. “Def won’t post anything yet, man. You enjoy your time. And when you’re done—”
“I’ll sign those records,” Julian said without missing a beat.
“Yeah,” the boy said, still nodding. “Awesome.”
Julian kept his arm around me and steered me away from the front of the store. “Sooo, where do they keep the jazz records?”
I groaned. “I don’t only listen to jazz, you know.”
“I know,” he said agreeably. “So are all the songs you write jazz-inspired?”
An uncomfortable nervousness stirred inside of me. “I thought you said you liked my song. And that one wasn’t even that jazzy. It actually had more of an indie rock sensibility, I think.”
“I know. I did love it. It actually reminded me of—”
I cut him off. “Can we not talk about it? I’m really not ready to talk about my music with you.”
“Fine, fine.” He raised his hands innocently in the air. “Can I at least ask you about other music you like?”
“Besides Nina Simone?” I gave him a teasing smile.
“Yeah. I mean, if you like anything else.”
“So bands that I like that you might’ve heard of …” I slid out from under his arm and walked down the aisles of records. I stopped and thumbed through a stack. I held up the National’s High Violet.
“Ah.” Julian nodded in recognition.
“Have you heard of EL VY?”
Julian drew his eyebrows together and wrinkled his nose. “I think so …” He rhythmically tapped his fingers against his leg. “That’s Berninger’s side project, right?”
“Yeah. It’s him and Brent Knopf, the guy from Menomena,” I said, fishing through the bin to see if I could find a copy of Return to the Moon.
“Didn’t Pitchfork recently eviscerate that album?”
I laughed. “Yeah. But I love it. But I was destined to love it. He’s singing about southern Ohio.” I found the record and held it up. “Plus, what does Pitchfork know? Didn’t they tear apart You’ll Never See Me Again?”
Julian let out a bark of a laugh. “Yeah, kid. They did. But let’s not talk about that.”
I fingered the EL VY record and then put it back in the bin. “I thought you didn’t read the reviews?”
He smiled wryly. “That was my last one.”
“It was also your last record. So when’s the next one coming out?”
He laughed again. “Why do you care? I thought you weren’t a fan.”
I shrugged. “I dunno. It’s been a long gap between albums, and lots of people on the internet have been speculating about when the next one will drop. Besides, I’m kind of interested in the band because I know the lead singer.”