Without You

2. Overheard

The next morning, when the dishes from brunch were finally put away, everyone made their way into the spacious living room. Gathering around the sizable tree, mimosas in hand, they began distributing gifts with subdued contentment. 

"So you two," Barbara began, leaning towards Chris and Lori, "when am I getting some grandchildren?" 

"Mom!" Chris exclaimed with embarrassment. 

"Anybody want anything from the kitchen?" Lori inquired, standing from the couch, a light blush dusting her cheeks. 

"Mom, really?" Chris demanded, turning towards his mother as soon as Lori had vacated the room. 

"Chris, stop it." Jess quickly instructed. Exhaling in frustration, Chris got up, presumably to go find Lori.

"Honey, try not to antagonize him," Jess requested softly, stroking Barbara's delicate wrist. 

"It was just a question. Besides, we could do with some mischievous children running around here. I can hardly remember what that kind of joy sounds like." She finished with a whisper, the absence of Stevie's infectious giggles hanging in the silence. 

"You should start plotting with my mother," Lindsey suggested suddenly, "she's been all but begging Greg for grandchildren."

Patting his hand in appreciation of his attempt at humor, Barbara remarked, "actually that reminds me—Jess, will you grab our gift for Lindsey?" 

"Please, you really didn't have to. Especially after yesterday. All I got you was some painted ceramic dishware." Lindsey protested, overwhelmed at her thoughtfulness. 

"Oh, shush. Besides, this is a gift for us too. You'll see." Abashment becoming suspicion, Lindsey quieted as Jess maneuvered out from behind the tree with a curiously shaped gift. 

Resting it in Lindsey's arms, Jess sat down beside his wife. Slowly tearing the paper, he internally sighed as soon as his saw the glossy wood finish. A guitar. 

He was more than a little confused by this gift: Jess and Barbara knew better than anyone that he didn't play anymore. Unwrapping the instrument fully, he got a better look at it. This guitar...he already had one. The same model, same finish...looking closer, he found a diminutive chip along the edge of the acoustic's body. 

"This is...mine." He stated, still processing. 

"Yes! Good eye," Barbara applauded. 

"Um, how did you get into my house?"

"Never mind that," Barbara urged, waving her fingers as though to physically shoo the matter aside. 

"Why is it here?"

"Well we were thinking —" she began persuasively. 

"We thought it was about time, son. She wouldn't have wanted this." Jess stated succinctly. 

"Teedee always loved listening to you play. She would be heartbroken to know you hadn't so much as looked at a guitar in so long."

Wow, Barb, low blow.

"Well I've looked." He grimaced at their expectant faces. He looked down, his fingers smoothing gently over the strings. He hadn't played in so long. It just felt wrong somehow. And after that last blow out with the band, it hadn't been required of him. If he didn't play, it was like he was just...waiting for her to come back.

But she wasn't going to. Taking a fortifying breath, he strummed a chord.

Smiling, Barbara looked back at Jess.

Repeating the same chord, he started a simple progression. Shit. He could feel that his calluses had already begun to soften. Eventually transitioning into a recognizable melody, they were surprised to hear not one of Lindsey's songs, but sweetly nostalgic melody. Getting lost in the music, he finishes the impromptu performance, softly singing.

I still see your bright eyes...bright eyes.

He sets the instrument against the arm of the sofa, quickly wiping at his eyes. Clapping reaches his ears as he turns to find Chris standing in the doorway with Lori. Looking down, Barbara wraps his hands in hers.

"Thank you."

☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾  

Later that night, he was staring at the ceiling, laying over the coverlet and still fully dressed. All his things were packed by the door, ready for his drive back to LA early the following morning.

He had gone so long without any kind of music in his life, now it was rushing through his veins. Anxiously working out chords against his leg, he stared at the opposite side of the room. The guitar rested against the far corner, moonlight barely reflected in the finish. He finally made up his mind, walking over to snatch the instrument before plopping back onto the mattress. Aware of the late hour, he began delicately fiddling with the strings and, losing of any perception of time, eventually had a semi-formed song.

We should have never

Let it slip away

Let's drink a toast now

To the glory days

We had a special

Kind of love...

Satisfied with his progress, he put away the instrument. Who knows how long it would have taken him to pick up a guitar on his own—if ever. Honestly, without Jess, he'd probably still be stupid drunk every day, living in his own filth. Suddenly overwhelmed by how much the Nicks patriarch had done for him, he was struck by a deep urge to thank him. Lindsey slowly made his way downstairs. Jess always had a nightcap in his office, maybe Lindsey could join him. Descending the stairs lightly, Lindsey strolled down the darkened hallway. He saw a strip of golden light peaking through the slightly ajar door. He made to enter, but stopped at the sound of talking. Checking his watch, he realized it was almost 3 in the morning. Confused further, Lindsey leaned in to make out the words.

"I wish you could be here with us. He's doing better, honey. I know, it's hard." Who could that be? So many horrible possibilities were running through Lindsey's head, making him sick. Jess would never-

"Teedee-"

Oh. Lindsey felt very guilty, his mind spinning outrageous scenarios of secret families when Jess was just trying to deal with his grief in his own way. Lindsey took a step towards the kitchen, wanting to get some water and leave Jess in peace. That was, until he caught his final words.

"We'll be up to visit soon. Love you too, honey, so much. Merry Christmas."

Lindsey's head twisted towards the door instinctively, catching Jess set the telephone down on the receiver with a soft clink.

He was on the phone—having a conversation with—

He couldn't breathe. Falling back against the wall with a thump, Lindsey froze. Hearing the wooden floorboards creak as footsteps approached, Lindsey wasted no time. Racing back up the staircase, his feet made no sound on the persian carpet. Finally reaching his room, he threw off his clothes and crawled into bed, praying he wouldn't be caught. Muscles clenched, he lay tensely in total darkness until a few minutes later, he heard the door slowly creek open, a sliver of light from the hallway falling over his coverlet. Jess, apparently convinced of his unconscious state, finally pressed the door shut. Turning over, Lindsey was shaking. Eyes wide open, tears slipped slowly down his cheeks.