She played a little, warming up her fingers after years of neglect. Guitar was more intimate than cello.
Strumming chords and fingerpicking, Erin was eleven years old again.
Her grandparents had been devout James Taylor fans and had filled their cottage with his music. James Taylor’s voice was pure, and his music was beautiful, thoughtful, and personal.
“Sweet Baby James” had sold Erin on guitar. When Grandma Tea sang, whole scenes materialized in Erin’s imagination.
Sadness welling within her, she reverted to the Red Hot Chili Peppers and tried desperately to conjure up some muscle memory for “Under the Bridge.” She’d played it a thousand times. It had taken her ages to learn, but it was in her brain—in her fingers—somewhere. She picked through the rough parts of the beginning.
It took her an hour, but she found it again. God, she loved playing guitar. Making music using her own fingers was personal. The music felt like it was hers. She could make her own music or accompany songs or pick up almost any song she wanted.
She’d forgotten that amazing feeling.
Somewhere between intensive cello and intensive swimming and intensive summer courses and an intense relationship, Erin had lost herself. She had stopped knowing what she wanted. She no longer knew what made her happy.
Still strumming, eager to find the notes, Erin’s tears flowed. And if that wasn’t a song, she didn’t know what was.
The guitar in Erin’s hands was friendlier than her cello. She didn’t need sheet music, or a director, or an orchestra; it was just her and the guitar. She could sit on the floor or sling it over her shoulder and walk away with it—if it ever stopped raining.
“Is that you?” Felicity climbed into the caravan, spotted Erin’s tears, and pulled up a chair. “What’s the matter, love?”
Erin couldn’t admit she didn’t know who she was, let alone what really made her happy. She was lost.
Erin said, “I used to play this song for my grandmother. When I was young. Sometimes, when it was raining at their cottage, we would sit on their screened-in porch for hours. She was so patient with me. She never expected me to be anything larger than myself.”
Felicity nodded.
“She died,” Erin said. “My grandfather, too. He died just before Christmas.”
“Is that why you came to us? Out of grief?”
“Not exactly.” The emotions bubbled within her. She stared at her fingers and strummed.
“In May, my whole life fell apart. I had these dreams, and they just … weren’t going to happen. So we tried to fix it. You wanted to host a student, and …” Erin drew a deep breath and her face contorted into an ugly cry. “My mom made me come. I didn’t want to, but it was a solution. And now, I don’t know. I loved Grandma Tea more than anything in the whole world, and she’s gone. I don’t know who I am anymore. I loved playing guitar, but I stopped. And sitting here, playing, it’s like I’m meeting myself again.”
Felicity’s wrapped her arms around Erin and rested her chin on the crown of her head.
“And I’m so sorry about what I said in Queenstown. I was really proud of my performance, but then I talked to my mother and I wasn’t and … I’m so sorry. You have been so kind. And you listen to me. And …” Sobs heaved out of her.
Felicity held her close and let her cry.
“Hank says to always do what makes me happy, but I don’t know what that is anymore.”
Felicity held her at an arm’s distance. “Hank is a bit hedonistic, but he’s not wrong. Now that you’re looking for happiness, you’ll find it again.”
Erin wiped her eyes and nodded. “I thought I was growing up, you know? Adults can’t just swim all summer and play guitar all winter. I started to move toward adulthood—great medical school, great job, great life—but instead of growing into my adult self, I’ve lost myself completely.”
Felicity hugged her again. “You go looking, Erin. I’ll get tea.”
Felicity selected dishes while Erin picked through tunes.
Pippa came in to change her clothes. “I love hearing you play, Erin.”
“Thanks.”
“Haven’t you been outside today?” Hamish asked.
“Not yet. But it’s about time I had a walk.”
“Tea first?” Felicity asked.
_________
After simple sandwiches and crisps—which Erin still referred to as potato chips—it started pouring. Pippa engaged the family in the world’s longest game of Uno. Hamish danced a little jig when he won, and Erin begged off a second game.
“I’m off on a walk.”
Felicity said, “Still raining, love.”
“I know. I think I might like a walk in the rain.”
She had nothing on her mind, no destination, and no motive. And that was perfect. The wet hills were calling her name.
Mud squished around her sandals as she walked away from the ocean. Muddy grass was no problem, but soon her shoes couldn’t grip anything and her palms landed in mud. Determined to make it, she clawed her way up the hill, grabbing at a rock that looked suspiciously like a rocket.
Scrambling uphill was simpler when the ground was dry. And she needed tramping boots.
Erin laughed as she slid down the hill.
After five tries, she changed course and returned to the beach. Spring break was long; the mountains would keep.
FIFTY-SEVEN
Her penultimate full day in Pohara, Erin woke to an empty caravan and an urgent text.
Litha: 9-1-1 Call ASAP.
Erin walked through drizzle and morning greetings to find a quiet spot on the rocks between the caravan park and the beach. She loved this view.
Drawing a deep breath, fear welled in Erin’s stomach. What could be so urgent? Maybe someone had died. Maybe it was juicy gossip. Or Lalitha was pregnant. Or Ben had gotten someone pregnant.
Erin held her breath and called her friend.
“You can come home!” Lalitha boomed.
“Uh, hello?” Erin said.
“Waterson let me
