Chapter 5

Griffin

I was getting used to my new normal. Get up at seven, get dressed, eat something. Check my phone for schedule changes. Catch a bus. Arrive at Wellhaven by nine. Wander around the building while doing the assignments Kashira gave me. Hope to catch glimpses of Lee. Mostly fail. Grab a lunch on the go on my way to the afternoon nursing home. Work there, go home, shower, pretend to eat dinner.

Evenings were my salvation. My hands on my guitar at practice fed my soul, and I’d also lined up some small gigs here and there. The first time I called a local music bar, I’d expected… I don’t know. Someone pointing a finger and saying, “We don’t want killers in here.” But the bar owner was delighted, and quickly gave me a performance slot.

So, two weeks after I started community service, I entered the Seven Suns Bar through the rear door as directed. There, I had a moment of déjà vu so strong it knocked me back a step. I played here, many years ago. I’d almost forgotten. Maybe the name was different, but my bones recognized every inch of the place. The narrow corridor, the creaking wooden floor, the front room with its cramped stage and array of wooden tables— almost nothing had changed. Only the haze of cigarette smoke twining around the lights was missing.

Eighteen years old and full of optimism, sure I was going somewhere. Well, I had been, even if not as fast as I’d thought.

The bar owner had agreed to lend me an amp and speakers this time, since I was stuck with riding the bus. I climbed the two steps to the stage and plugged in. A buzz arose from the tables. Looked like standing room only tonight. I heard my name a few times, and a chronic heaviness inside me lightened.

That first night here, all those years ago, no one had known my name. I’d been good, but not as good as I thought I was. Folks talked through my songs. Some got up and left. Normal bar stuff. When I finished, a bit disheartened, an elderly man came up to me. “Don’t quit, kid,” he said. “You got what it takes, a few years down the line. Gonna take fuckin’ work, but you got it.”

I never knew who that man was. He was no doubt gone now, but his words had gotten me through rough times in the next ten years. Maybe this bar was good luck.

I eased my rump onto the tall wooden stool. Couldn’t be the same one, but even the seat felt familiar. The mic needed a bit of adjusting for height, then I played a quick run of chords. The bar quieted, almost unnaturally, and it was clear folks were here for the show, not as a side benefit of a night out.

I leaned toward the mic. “Thanks for coming, folks. It means a lot. Sometimes life delivers a punch to the gut and all you can do is roll with it, dust yourself off, and make amends. That’s easier said than done, but knowing you all still want to hear my music? That’s a gift.”

That got a wave of applause and I started them off easy with “Don’t Look Back,” then moved to harder rock with “Wipeout.” The notes leaped from my fingers, showered off the strings, as good as I’d played in years. My voice cracked twice, early on, when it hit me how fucking good it felt to have a piece of myself back, but I covered the breaks and charged on into my most popular songs, pushing to my feet after a couple because I couldn’t sit still. By the time I ended with the fun of “Catastrophe,” sweat beaded my forehead and dampened my shirt and my exhaustion felt fantastic, earned, paid for, familiar.

The claps and cheers rocked me, filling that small, creaky, echoing space. People shouted and called my name. Phones were out, no doubt loading copies to YouTube and that was fine with me. Show the world Griffin Marsh could still rock, wasn’t hiding.

They wouldn’t let me go without an encore, and I did “Bite This,” the song that had taken me to the top of the charts a decade back. The whole bar sang it with me and the place shook on its foundations, despite being just me, two big speakers, and one guitar. And, of course, a hundred folks singing and stomping. I finished with a screaming cascade of notes, and a dissonant chord.

The stage lights, such as they were, dimmed and I could see the crowd properly. Standing room, hell, they were probably breaking fire code tonight. Off to the left, motion caught my eye and I saw Kashira from Wellhaven, a couple of the other nurses I knew in passing, and Lee.

Lee! He came to hear me. Knowing Kashira, she’d put pressure on Lee to join them, but he wasn’t some shy twink now. If he’d agreed to come, he hadn’t hated the idea. I leaned into the mic one more time. “Thank you, folks, for that awesome Iowa welcome. And thanks to the man who inspired a lot of my songs for not kicking my ass when he should’ve. Goodnight everyone. You rock!”

I kept my eyes on Lee and tilted my head toward the back, an invitation to come talk. But folks were rushing the front with pens and napkins and hats and all. Lee gave me a twisted smile, drained his glass, and turned for the door.

Nooo. I wanted to talk to him. Surely him staying through the whole set was a reason to hope. But the folks crowding me were loyal fans, my bread and butter and the wind under my battered wings. They deserved my attention. I took the first ball cap thrust at me and dug out my Sharpie. “What’s your name, dude? Thanks for coming.”

Two hours later, I met up with the bar owner before heading out. He paid me what he’d promised and grimaced. “Still seems cheap. Best night I’ve had in a couple of years, and that counts when the Hawkeyes made the playoffs. You want to come on back?”

“For sure.” I folded the bills into my pocket. Old fashioned cash and another thing that brought memories cascading. Back then I’d made gas money and been glad of it. This was a few weeks of groceries. “Two weeks or so?”

“I’ll pick some dates and email you.” The owner held out his hand and I felt the calluses on his fingers as we shook.

“You play?” I asked him.

“I mess around some. Never was that good.”

“You want to join me onstage next time? Cover a song with me? You know any of mine?”

His lined face lit up like the sun rising. “Hell, yeah. You mean it? Dream come true. I know most of yours, but I’m probably best at ‘Chasing Sunrise.’”

“I’ll put it on the set list next time. In fact, I’ll have you come practice with me ahead of time. We’ll rock their asses off.”

“Fuck, yeah.” For a moment he looked young, grinning ear to ear. “You’re a good man, Griffin Marsh.”

“Dunno about that, but I try.”

He nodded. “Come on, I’ll show you the side way out, if you want to avoid the paps. There’s probably some waiting in the crowd.”

Maybe so. There’d been enough advance promotion for word to get out. Maybe the crowd would just be a few straggling fans, though. Maybe no one cared enough to bother at all. I was wiped and would be as happy not to find out, either way. “Thanks. Side way sounds good.”

I called for a Lyft, since Midwest buses mostly packed it in after rush-hour and didn’t accommodate the folks working late. Standing on the sidewalk one block over, my guitar slung on my shoulder, the soft breeze cooling the sweat on my forehead, I felt a moment of peace I hadn’t known in a long time. Yeah, I’d crashed and burned my life, but maybe I really could dust myself off and go on.

My phone dinged a text message. I almost didn’t bother to check, but in the end pulled it out.

Lee: ~You sounded good tonight. Congrats.

I fumbled to text back. ~I’m glad you came. I was surprised. I realized too late I maybe shouldn’t have said that, if this was meant as an olive branch.

But I got back a grin emoji and, ~Kashira twisted my arm. But I let her.

What could I say to keep him texting? I hadn’t originally planned on reconnecting with Lee. Even that first conversation, my focus had been more on finally saying sorry than the future. But since then, I hadn’t been able to keep the man from sneaking into my thoughts, and even my dreams— sometimes as the lanky, passionate young man he’d been, but more often the solid, caring, competent guy he was now. ~Kashira is a force of nature.

~My best friend. Yeah. Not sorry I went, though. See you tomorrow.

That seemed to be a deliberate disengagement, so I just said, ~See you.

I watched that little screen until the Lyft app pinged me, but Lee didn’t text again.

Music rang in my head as I rode home in the back of a classic Lincoln. New lyrics pushed around between the notes, something about cotton candy summers and pennies on the tracks . My manager, before I fired her for suggesting the accident could be “spun” into publicity, had insisted I should never write songs with a nod to my age. I needed to seem forever young and relevant. But this wisp of a song had childhood memories woven into it. Folky rock, which was half of what I played these days. Maybe I would never let those lines out for an audience. But as the dark streets rolled by, visions of tall trees and water in the creek, of standing on my pedals and pumping my bike that last half block up the hill to where I could see the football team practicing, captained by blond god Dexter, floated in my mind.

And when I got home, I scribbled a hundred images and fragments in my notebook. Writing lifted me high, like floodwater when a logjam had cleared. This song wasn’t about Lee. I wasn’t sure why his text inspired it. But eventually I realized this music was about hope and potential, about the world opening up bigger than it had been.

I went to bed smiling and slept the night through.

Lee wasn’t around when I arrived at Wellhaven the next morning. Some kind of paperwork screwup he had to unravel, according to Kashira, who had me playing checkers with Tom first thing.

“You’re not trying.” Tom set his hand over mine as I began a move. “I’ve taught you better’n that and you’re not stupid.”

“Sorry.” I slid the piece back, realizing yeah, I’d set myself up to be clobbered. “Have you ever been in love and then screwed it up?”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “You know anyone who hasn’t? Well, I guess some people aren’t lucky enough to ever meet the right person.” Sitting back, he turned one of my captured pieces around in his fingers. “In my case, Mindy was smart enough for the both of us. When I messed up, she let me know about it.”

“Sounds like you were lucky.”

“Hell, yeah. Thirty-seven years of lucky.” He turned toward the door. “What’s going on out there?”

I could hear raised voices but couldn’t make out the words. “I’ll go check. I’m crap at checkers this morning anyway.”

“You do that. Tell me later.” Tom waved me off and began packing the game away.

When I reached the hallway, I could make out several male voices talking over each other. I headed for the lobby, passing a couple of residents also drawn toward the commotion.

“That’s not what you promised us.” A thin elderly man with a nearly bald head and bushy beard clutched a walker. His shoulders seemed to have a permanent hunch, but he had his chin up, facing a middle-aged guy in a suit. “We spent months looking for a place that could meet both our needs. Why would we agree to being in separate rooms?”

The suit guy looked down his nose. “I believe the contract said, If available .” Lee, standing beside him, pursed his mouth like he’d bitten a lemon.

“And I was told a room was available for us.”

“Listen, Owen—”

“Mr. Frasier to you,” the old guy snapped.

“Mr. Frasier. We have beds available. One for you at the standard rate. One for your… friend, at the moderate care level. They unfortunately are not in the same room.” Suit guy managed to turn snootier, which I wouldn’t have imagined possible. “If you wish to decline them and pay the contract penalty, I am sure we can fill the spaces immediately.”

“Meaning that penalty’s just a money grab.” Frasier closed his eyes for a moment. “No, we’re not going to decline them. We have this whole process in motion. But I want your assurance that you will try, first chance you get, to shuffle things around so we do share a room.”

“I’m sure we can manage that,” Lee began, but suit guy held up a hand.

“We will make every effort to accommodate you, within the regulations and without inconveniencing our current residents, of course.”

Frasier cocked his head. “You want to unpack that?”

“I’m certain our facility director emailed you the complete handbook, but I will do so again. The rules are clearly laid out.” Suit guy put on a very fake smile. “Welcome to Wellhaven, Mr. Frasier. I hope you’ll be comfortable here.” He didn’t hold out his hand, and from the disgust on Frasier’s face, I’m not sure if he would have taken it or spit in it. Suit guy gestured vaguely at Lee and the woman I saw half-hidden behind him. “Lee, Phoebe, make our new resident at home, please.” He turned and headed down the hall toward the front door.

Lee ran a hand over his unruly hair. “Mr. Frasier, I’m so sorry about Mr. Zhukov. I’m sure we can find a room to accommodate you and your partner. It’ll take a little bit of time to decide how to shuffle things around, though.”

“Thank you.” Frasier stared down the hallway after Zhukov. “Do you have any clue what rule he was going on about?”

With a glance at the gathering audience, Lee said, “Maybe we should go to my office.”

Frasier shook his head. “I like things out in the open”

“Ah. Well, I bet he’s thinking about the rule against sex on the premises except between married couples.” Lee shrugged, seeming uncomfortable. “I’d bet he’s imagining gay orgies if we let you and your partner share a room.”

“Seriously?” Frasier’s bark of a laugh startled me. “That’s a rule? Almost everyone in here is single, I bet. They expect everyone to be celibate till they die?”

Pheobe said, “It doesn’t honestly come up often.”

“Nor does mine, honey,” Frasier told her. “But when it does, I shouldn’t need permission to take care of it with a willing partner. This is a retirement home , not a Gulag.” He sighed. “Well, that’s a problem for another time. Harvey’s not moving in for three days yet.” He turned to Phoebe. “Will you show me to my current room? The orderly can just put my bags in a corner. I won’t unpack.”

“Sure, Mr. Frasier. You’re on the second floor.”

He chuckled. “Call me Owen. I’m just Mr. Frasier to Zhukov.”

“I’ll take him up,” Lee told Phoebe. “You go back to Mrs. Cohen’s family.”

“All right. Thank you.” She scurried off down the hall.

Lee turned to Owen. “Elevators are this way. I promise, we’ll get this sorted out.”

“Thanks.” Owen tapped his walker. “If someone can play sherpa? I don’t lift weights anymore.” He gestured at three big suitcases against a wall.

I checked the hallways, but no one in an orderly’s scrubs seemed to be hanging about. When Lee hefted the first one, I admired his biceps, then asked, “Want a hand? I’m not doing much except getting beat at checkers again.”

My quip lightened the frown on Lee’s face. “Tom will do that to you. Sure. Grab one?”

I hefted the middle-sized one while Lee picked up the third, walking off with ease. Mine felt like a boat anchor. “What’ve you got in here?” I asked Owen. “Bricks?”

“Better. Books. DVDs. None of that streaming crud.” He pushed his walker after Lee, then gave me a sideways glance. “Speaking of DVDs, anyone ever tell you you look a lot like Griffin Marsh?”

I snorted. “My publicist used to say I didn’t look enough like Griffin Marsh, at least the version on the concert posters.”

“Holy shit.” Owen stopped at the elevator and turned to me. “You are Griffin Marsh?”

“Once and future, yeah. Right now, I’m the volunteer who’s bringing this heavy-ass bag of yours to your room.”

Owen cackled. “Harvey will be delighted. He’s a big fan.”

“You’re not?” Lee asked as the elevator door opened.

“Kinda.” Owen shuffled into the elevator. His eyes met mine in the mirrored side and he grinned. “You gotta admit you’re no Madonna.”

I stepped in clear of the door and set the bag down. “Yeah, I totally admit that.”

Owen clutched his walker as the elevator lurched upward. “Harvey and I would’ve never got together if we’d talked about music first. I liked Simon and Garfunkel. He liked Judas Priest. Luckily, by the time we got around to ‘What bands do you like?’ we already knew we were solid.”

“How long have you been together?” Lee asked.

“Long time. Forty-eight years. Man’s a saint, putting up with me. Two more and we can buy us a golden toilet or something, celebrate in style.”

I had to laugh, but something deep in my chest ached. If Lee and I had made it, we’d be halfway there, almost. I wouldn’t give up most of the last two decades for anything, but I wondered what life would’ve been like with a true partner, side by side through all those years. In the mirrored wall, Lee looked so competent and professional, the scrubs, the stethoscope, the frown. If I’d done things differently twenty years ago, it would’ve been my job to make him smile…

The elevator dinged and opened. Owen followed Lee out and down the hall, while I brought up the rear.

“You’re sharing with Jonas,” Lee said, nudging open a half-ajar door with his hip. “He doesn’t like changes much, so he’s sitting in the garden while we get you set up and he’ll be in later. Where do you want your bags?”

“Wherever.” Owen surveyed the room, and I took in what he was seeing. Wellhaven wasn’t as rundown as one place I’d gone to, but the rooms were small for two beds, two dressers, and a couple of nightstands. The walls were painted a basic cream with a modest flat screen TV on the far end beside the small window. An industrial tile floor and drop ceiling set with a fluorescent overhead didn’t give much of a homey feel. There was a lamp in one corner, and two rather upright armchairs, but no rug on the floor. I’d been told they were tripping hazards and not allowed.

“Reminds me of college,” Owen said. “Except for the TV. Nineteen fifty-seven that was. My roommate was a holy roller, would wake up in the middle of the night and speak in tongues. He called it bowing to the presence of the Lord. Scared the shit out of me the first time. Never did sleep right. When Dad lost his job and I had to drop out, I admit to a whole lotta relief.”

“I hope Wellhaven won’t be that bad,” Lee said.

“This guy Jonas. He’s not going to be worried about the gay cooties, is he? I’m gonna call my partner a lot in the next three days and talk like we always do. Will that put his nose out of joint?”

“I hope not.” Lee didn’t seem confident. “He knows I’m gay and he’s never demanded a different nurse, and believe me, that’s happened a time or two.”

“Good to know.” Owen lowered himself to a seat on the unused bed and winked at me. “So it sounds like we’re all Friends of Dorothy here. If the media’s right about you, Griffin.”

“For once.” I set the bag I’d carried in the corner of the room and opened it. “Would you like a couple of books out on the nightstand?”

“You’re going to wait on me?” Owen grinned. “Harvey’s really never gonna believe this. Sure, yeah, if you see some PD James, I’ll take those.”

Lee asked, “Can you help Owen get unpacked, Griff? I need to go look at room assignments and see what we can do.” He gave Owen a more serious look. “I didn’t know till today you and Harvey were together. That paperwork didn’t hit my desk, since my job’s medical care, not housing. Problem is, he’s a higher care level than you are. Those rooms are mostly on the ground floor where we have oxygen and lifts. If we move you down with him, we lose a second-tier bed someone else might need.”

“Then move him up here with me.”

“I’ll do my best, but it’ll depend on his care needs. I hadn’t looked at his file in detail yet, since he’s not coming till Monday, but I will now.”

“Thanks.” Owen slumped. “At least we’re in the same building. It’s a start.”

As Lee headed off, I set a couple of the detective novels on the stand beside Owen’s bed. “Were you rooming together before? Why’d you switch nursing homes?”

Owen shook his head. “I’ve been living in our house. Harvey had a stroke five years back, and he had to go into care. I’m not strong enough to lift him and Medicaid would pay for a nursing home but not the level of in-home care he needed to stay with me.”

“That’s stupid,” I said. “Surely in-home care would save taxpayer dollars.”

“Government logic. Anyhow, I’ve been going in to see him every day, but my arthritis is getting worse and this year, I decided I’d better give up my driver’s license. Then moving into a nursing home together made sense. But his didn’t have a vacancy. Plus.” He lowered his voice and leaned my way. “Don’t tell anyone till Harvey’s safely here, but they’ve been really going downhill. I’m glad to get him out of there.”

“I hope Wellhaven works out. I know Lee will do his best.” I opened the closet and saw a divider hung up in the middle. The full side held shirts and pants, the other was empty. “Shall I hang some clothes for you?”

“Griffen Marsh, valet,” he intoned in a theatrical voice. Then, more normally, “Sure, thanks. Blue suitcase.”

Owen had good taste in shirts if you leaned toward bright colors and geometric patterns. I had a few draped on hangers before a white-haired man shuffled into the room clutching a cane. He looked like a classic picture of Albert Einstein on a bad hair day, and wore a white short-sleeved shirt, camo khakis, and loafers. He paused in the doorway staring at us. “What are you doing in my room?”

“Didn’t they tell you about me?” Owen asked. “I’m your new roommate. Temporarily.”

“Oh. I hoped that when Nate died, I’d have the room to myself.”

Owen and I exchanged glances. “Sorry?” Owen offered.

Jonas waved him off. “I’m sure you didn’t choose to be here. No one chooses to room with me, but they want to make all the money they can, cramming us in here. It’s that socialism, you know. They have us living in these rat colonies, instead of with our families like old folk used to back in the day. America’s going to hell.” He made his way over to the chair on his side of the room, sat gingerly, and picked up a remote. One click and the TV began playing Fox News. At high volume.

“Can you turn that down a bit?” Owen asked. “Me and Griffin are having a conversation.”

“I’m losing my hearing.” Jonas gestured at a hearing aid in one ear. “Can’t hear it if it’s any lower. You can go somewhere else quieter. I can’t hear my shows somewhere else.”

I hung up the shirts I’d been holding and turned to Owen. “Shall I show you the lounge and the garden?”

“Yes, please.” He pushed to his feet and rolled his walker my way. “I could use a little fresh air.”

As we stepped out into the corridor, I heard the talking head on the TV ranting about how liberals wanted to teach kindergarten kids about sex. I shut the door more firmly than was perhaps needed.

“Fuck,” Owen muttered.

“But not in kindergarten,” I said piously, hands folded.

“I think I like you. Even if your music’s mediocre.”

“High praise. Come on.” I led the way onto the elevator.

“Your Lee had better come through with a room change,” Owen muttered.

“What do you mean, my Lee?”

“If you’re not together, you have a hell of a crush. I saw you watching him in that mirror.”

“Oh.” Busted. “He’s an ex, of sorts.”

“An ex you want back.” He waved me off when I started to answer. “No, you’re right, none of my business. I’ve become a terrible gossip in my old age. Don’t get old, Griffin. It’s boring.”

I touched the side of my beard where the salt and pepper was all salt. “I think that ship has sailed.”

“Hah. Bet I have three decades on you. That’s a lifetime yet for you to do more stuff.” He cocked his head at me, then hobbled off the elevator. “I don’t regret the things I did half as much as the things I didn’t do. Now, show me this garden. I saw it on the tour, but I remember nothing. Hopefully it’s soothing and peaceful and full of gorgeous flowers that’ll keep me from wanting to strangle my roommate.”

“I have a feeling that would take pot plants, the fun kind,” I murmured as we reached the exit, hitting the button for the door to the courtyard.

Owen chortled as he pushed his walker past me. “I do like you. But tell your Lee to get his ass in gear.”

Obviously, “your Lee” was going to just be a thing. I thought wistfully of pot myself as I followed Owen into the garden.