9
When the following Friday rolled around, Bronte headed over to her parents’ house. Shelley was there already, dressed in all black with a star on her belly. She was the second star to the right to go along with Tommy and Zoe’s Peter Pan and Tinker Bell. Everyone was packed together in the kitchen while her mother baked cookies and her father tried to sneak them away.
The argument about if candy corn could be considered candy was cut short when Fitz and his family showed up, a ragtag group of costumes they’d bought last minute. After a few pictures and a lecture to all the kids—including Fitz, Shelley, and Bronte—about good behavior, they all went on their way.
They were only about twenty minutes into trick-or-treating when Luke wanted to go home. He’d had enough overstimulation, and Bronte volunteered to take him back, knowing Fitz and Amanda wanted to keep going with Matty and Caleb.
As Luke and Bronte reached the sidewalk in front of her parents’ home, a bunch of kids ran up to ring Chris’s doorbell. He answered with a wide smile and a big bowl of candy, handing it out with a few words to each child. He was about to close the door when his eyes flickered toward Bronte and Luke in a double take.
“Bronte?” If it was possible, his grin got even bigger.
She waved at him. “Yeah.”
He burst out laughing, clapping his hands. “That’s fantastic! You look great.”
She touched her tightly curled hair and ruffled shirt. “I should. I spent a lot of hours turning into Prince.” Making her way toward him, she gestured at his clothes. “And who are you? A Mumford and Son?”
Chris ran his fingers through his beard, which was growing thicker by the day, and pulled on his red flannel shirt. “I wish.” Then he bent in half. “Hey, Luke, I really like your costume. I used to love Where’s Waldo? Do you want some candy?”
Luke ignored that question, saying instead, “’Nother day, ’nother day.”
“You want to play guitar?” Chris asked, glancing inside at his guitar then back at Bronte. “Can Luke come over?”
She smiled at his childlike question. “Yes.”
“’Nother day,” Luke repeated.
Chris held his door open for Luke to enter his house, but when he noticed Bronte didn’t follow, he narrowed his eyes. “Aren’t you coming?”
“I didn’t know I was invited.”
“Of course. Come on.” When tipped his head for her to come in, she took a few steps backward instead.
“Let me tell them next door. I’ll be back.”
As Bronte opened the door to her parents’ house, her dad was in the midst of cleaning up chocolate wrappers from his chair while her mom yelled about cholesterol and sugar.
“Luke had a minor meltdown,” Bronte said, interrupting.
Her parents both stopped.
“Is he all right?” her dad asked.
“Yeah, he’s at Chris’s right now. He wanted to play guitar again, so I’ll be over there with him.”
“Okay. Sounds good,” her dad said.
Bronte ignored the inquisitive look that flashed over her mother’s face. “Let me know when everybody gets back.”
Her mom’s voice was uncharacteristically singsong as she pushed Bronte to the door. “Sure. All right. Have fun.”
By the time Bronte made it back to Chris’s, he was already in the middle of the song, and she quietly sank into the corner of the couch so as not to disturb him. It was during the fourth round of “Blackbird” when she noted the stack of papers on his coffee table. Chris spotted them too, and he scrambled up to hide them away.
Instead of focusing on whatever it was he didn’t want her to see, she pasted a placid smile on her face. They barely knew each other; she didn’t need or deserve any explanations. Besides, if Chris wanted to tell her about something, he would.
“So, where’d you learn to play?” she asked when he sat back down.
Chris gave his pick to Luke, who held it up in front of his face. “My parents were big proponents of that saying, the devil makes work for idle hands, and I often found myself at the mercy of the devil.” The corner of his mouth ticked up. “They finally gave in and got me a guitar to keep me busy.”