Page 63 of Smoky Mountain Dreams

“I thought she said she liked yellow?” Christopher murmured,gazing at Jesse’s jaw and his lips, the sweetness of his love shining through.

“She was being obnoxious. I’m sorry about that. She doesthat now. Thirteen is coming up soon. God, save us.”

“It’s a tough year for girls. My cousin’s daughter is almostthere now. It’s been hard for her.”

Jesse put the ring back in the drawer and turned toChristopher. “I’m gonna kiss you now, because I’ve wanted to all night and I’mnot going wait any longer.”

Christopher twisted his fingers into Jesse’s T-shirt andpulled him close, the firm, strong line of his chest and his thigh rubbingagainst him. “Then do it. I dare you.”

“Dare me? What else do you dare me to do to you up here?”

“Daddy?” Brigid’s voice was soft and vibrated with tension.

Jesse jerked back as Christopher released his shirt. Hecleared his throat and asked, “Is the movie over, honey?”

“It’s been over. We wanted to rentCatchingFire. iTunes says it’s only three-ninety-nine for twenty-four hours.”Her question was reasonable, but her eyes were on Christopher like he was asnake or some other kind of dangerous creature that had slipped into her house.

“Say hi to Christopher, honey.”

She didn’t. Christopher wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans.

Jesse guided Brigid down the stairs and motioned forChristopher to follow. At the bottom, Jesse typed in a code and the lockengaged, blocking them away from the cloud of a room where moments before there’dbeen such intimacy and affection flowing between them.

“What’s the movie rated?” Jesse asked.

“Come downstairs,” she said, tugging on his hand, her eyesnever leaving Christopher as she pulled. “Please, Dad? Just come down to thebasement, okay?”

Jesse looked over his shoulder at Christopher, apologywarring with frustration, but he nodded.

“I’ll wait up here,” Christopher said as they reached themain floor.

“I’ll be right back,” Jesse said.

“Don’t worry about it. Help the girls out. It’s fine.”

Brigid didn’t look too happy about his graciousness, but shedidn’t say anything else as she pulled Jesse to the door leading down to thebasement. Christopher was curious what all was down there, but he didn’t wantto interfere, and after what Brigid had glimpsed, Jesse might need to speak withher alone.

He was a little turned around, and wasn’t sure if the livingroom was to his left or right, so he hazarded a guess and quickly discovered hewas wrong. He entered a more formal room with a sofa that looked like it hadnever been used even the first time, and a beautiful antique upright piano.

More pictures sat around the room in frames, and withoutJesse there, Christopher allowed himself to linger on several of them. One wasof Jesse around the age of sixteen with dyed pink hair, black eyeliner aroundhis eyes, and one hip thrust out in a near parody of feminine seduction.Another photo was of Jesse and Marcy, also in their teen years, but dressed forthe prom. Marcy wore a black dress and a black rose as a corsage, and Jesselooked like a little goth-rocker in a tux decorated with chains and a blackrose in his lapel, accentuated with black lipstick. Christopher shook his head,amazed that the man he’d been getting to know had once been this desperate toprove something to someone. His father? Himself?

He crossed over to the piano eventually, turning his back onthe rest of the photos—mainly outdoor shots of a young Marcy or Jesse, orsometimes the two of them on various mountain trails in the area—and lifted thecover to touch his fingers to a few keys. The sound of several perfectly tunednotes echoed in the room, and he was getting ready to lower the lid again whenJesse’s voice came from behind him.

“You found the piano.”

“Do you play?”

“Marcy was taking lessons.”

“Oh.”

“She was terrible.”

Christopher smiled. “Oh, man. That’s rough.”

“You said you play a little, right? Have a seat. Playsomething for me. Someone should play that thing. God, I hope it’s still intune.”

“It’s been a while. I might be rusty,” Christopher lied. Hebanged around on the pianos at SMD all the time during breaks in showrehearsals. But he truly wasn’t very good. He sat on the bench and ran hisfingers over the keys some more, doing a few scales to determine the stickinessof the keys and finding that a few were slightly out of tune. That was okay,though. “What do you want to hear?”