Without You

12. Thyme

After Stevie refused his offer to help clear their breakfast, Lindsey rummaged in his jacket for the keys and slipped out the front door. Guitar in hand, he closed his trunk and caught Stevie watching him from the corner of his eye, her gaze clear through the window above the sink. When he met her eyes, she quickly looked down. What, did she really think he would just leave like that?

Shaking his head as though to clear the thought from his mind, he re-entered the house. Following the sound of girlish laughter into the sunroom, he found Sara dancing around with Gypsy, clearly caught up in a world of her own making. The sun shining through the French doors illuminated the dust in the room, and Lindsey stood watching, not daring to disturb the moment. In her movements, Sara's toe caught the edge of the carpet and suddenly she was tumbling forward, arms out and her head poised to hit the corner of an end table. Lindsey lunged forward, grabbing her and dropping his guitar case in the process. She was light as a feather in his arms, and he couldn't look away, captured by her small features, wanting to commit every curve of her small face to memory.

Stevie, evidently startled by the noise of his case impacting the floorboard, called anxiously, "Sara!? Is everything alright out there?"

"Yes, we're fine." Lindsey replied immediately, not wanting to worry her with the almost accident. Sara giggles, her small white teeth peeking out in laughter as she found the anxiety in his tone amusing. She dangled in his arms, little toes nowhere near the ground. Setting her down gently, he softly chastised, "you should be more careful."

"What's that?" She inquired, interest already diverted by the dark leather case on the ground behind them.

"It's a case — to protect my instrument."

He grasped her small fingers, pulling them away from the metal locks.

"Is there one in there? An instrument," she finished slowly, taking care with the more difficult word.

"Yes, here, I'll show you." He knelt between her and the guitar case, not wanting her to hurt herself on anything he had stowed away while he focused on the instrument. She peeked over his shoulder, small hand lightly grasping his upper arm as he took out the old acoustic. Leaning back against one of the armchairs, he found a more comfortable position on the rug. Pushing the case away with his foot, he set the instrument down, and looked at Sara, patting his knee.

"Want to play some songs?"

She nodded shyly, slowly moving from her spot standing at his shoulder and sat down on his thigh, curved inwards as his legs crossed. Making sure she was settled with an hand at her waist that actually ended up spanning her torso, he picked up the guitar. He began tuning the instrument, already internally cringing at its possible condition, having been left in his trunk for so long to face the elements. The wood warps and expands so easily. Sara touches one string on the fretboard, pulling her hand away quickly. He smiles at her curiosity.

"These strings, they make different sounds when you press down on different spots here," he explains, guiding her hand back to the frets, "and then you use your fingers and pull them down over the strings here," he sets her small palm over the back of his own lower on the instrument. He strums a chord as she watches in fascination. Advancing to a three chord progression, he strums four notes, quickly one after another. She turns her head to look up at him, grinning brightly in wonder at her own apparent progress.

"What's your favorite song?" He asks gently, ignoring the negative thoughts telling him he shouldn't have to ask his own daughter that question.

"Can you do a new song? Mommy's songs are all the same."

He nods, acquiescing easily, while also holding back a laugh. Steph certainly wouldn't appreciate that. He racks his brain, searching for something within his own preferences that she might also like.