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Chapter 4

     "I still don't see why you wanted to leave," I say, shooting Cliff a grumpy look. He is leading me by the sweater sleeve out the hospital doors, his face white as a sheet.

     "I'm sorry, Raina, but I couldn't deal with the puking and screaming," he replies, and I can feel him shaking as he walks in long, determined strides. I have no idea where we're going, so I take my phone out of my brown leather purse, which is over my head and across the front of me. It bounces as I walk. I slide it open, and it takes extra effort to text with one hand, but I manage to type,

 See u L8r, W/ new friend, b home by dark <3 Raina

     I hoped that was a good enough message to console my dad on my whereabouts. He'd never been strict at all with me if I was with friends. He trusted me. I know he assumed my "friend" was female- and I was going to keep it that way, for now. He didn't need to know I was running around with a mysterious hipster I'd tackled and then suddenly been pals with. It was still a little much for me to even get used to.

     "I think it's a little funny that we're suddenly best buddies," I say, stumbling over a crack in the concrete. We're walking across the parking lot-I can only guess what car Cliff might own. Probably one that runs on organic fuel, if that's possible.

     "I think it's funny that you aren't questioning me leading you to my car," he shoots back, and I see laughter in his eyes, although he is still clearly trying to recover from his brief hospital visit. It all hits me suddenly, so I stop dead in my tracks, refusing to move. Cliff grunts, stopping a few feet ahead of me, still holding my sweater sleeve in one hand. I don't try to yank it free.

     "You're not gonna hurt me, right? You're not a kidnapper in disguise? This isn't all a big show to cover up you murdering me, or something?" I ask, and Cliff starts laughing. He laughs so hard, he has to use his free hand to grip his side. I raise one eyebrow.

     "Raina, I wouldn't do that. Do I seriously strike you as a cold blooded killer?" I take a second to look him over- canvas shoes, skinny jeans, imported sweater, beanie- I decide he isn't a threat, so I smirk and start walking again. This time, Cliff lets go of my sleeve, and we walk side by side.

     Cliff's truck is not very appealing. It is red and rusty, and the paint is chipping off of the doors. One windshield wiper hangs off at a strange angle, and it looks like one window is stuck halfway rolled down. Most people would find it unappealing, but it seems inviting enough to me, so I fling open the passenger side door and hop in. Cliff looks a little surprised, but he doesn't say anything. He hauls himself into the driver's seat, fishes his keys out of his back pocket, and turns them in the ignition. Immediately music starts playing, and it's a song I immediately recognize.

     "This is a Beatles song, isn't it?" I ask, buckling myself in as the truck roars to life and turns out of the parking lot with a grumbling noise. Cliff nods, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel, keeping in perfect time with the beat of the song. I can't help myself.

      "Na, na... na, na, na, na, na!" the words are flowing out like I'm all alone. I don't even care that he's staring. "...hey, Jude!" I finish, slapping one hand on my thigh to the rhythm. I look back at him, smiling wide, forgetting about the way my nose stretches and my chipped tooth shows. I don't even try to conceal the beauty mark above the left side of my upper lip. "What?"

     "Nothing," he says quickly, turning back to the road. He doesn't say much else for the rest of the drive, which is relatively short. I keep the window rolled down most of the time, letting the cool Washington air whip my hair back. I try desperately not to think about Emme.

     "Is this it?" I finally ask as we pull into the driveway of an old looking house. It's on a dead end street, and is the only house except for a shabby looking white one around the corner. There's oak and pine trees surrounding it, making it look like something you'd see on a postcard. Cliff nods, and we get out of the truck. It makes sort of an ominous noise, something between a growl and a gurgle, as it settles into silence.

     "This is the place," he says, and instead of going in the front door like I expected, we enter the garage. Behind the metal doors is a room full of guitars- any kind of guitar you could ever imagine, but all acoustic. There's amps and microphones, and a giant printed rug on the concrete floor. Without hesitation I sit cross legged onto it, clasping my hands in my lap.

     "Play something for me."

     Cliff gets a puzzled and exasperated look on his face, like what I've said is so broad a topic that he can't wrap his mind around it. After a second, he takes a few long strides across the room and picks up a golden, gleaming acoustic guitar with an ornate pattern carved all over it, sits next to me, and begins to play. 

     I am certain it is the most beautiful sound I've ever heard.

     When Cliff plays guitar, he doesn't look at his fingers, or the hand that he uses to strum the steel strings that run up and down the neck of his instrument. He fixates his eyes on something and concentrates on it, and he mindlessly does the rest. It would look mindless if Cliff didn't get such a meaningful look on his face, the kind of look he might give someone if he were deeply in love with them, and even though he isn't looking at me, it gives me chills. Before I realize what I'm doing, I start singing. Not words, just sounds, my voice tumbling down and spilling out all over the place like a waterfall. Cliff suddenly stops playing, sets down his guitar, and looks me in the eyes.

     "Oh my God." 

     It takes me a second to snap back to reality, so when I do it's a little startling to see Cliff's face inches from mine. I feel my whole face go hot. 

     "I'm sorry, I-"

     "No! Do not be sorry," he insists, cupping my face in one hand; why am I blushing so red? Of course, I know why, but acting like I don't know seems to keep some of the feelings away. "You have the most beautiful voice I've ever heard."

     We spend the next hour sitting in Cliff's garage, Cliff playing different guitars strung and tuned different ways, me singing what he tells me to. For a while he has me sing the words of a Mumford and Sons song, and he plays his guitar with a force that sends a shiver down my spine. I repeat the song over and over until the back of my throat tingles with an oncoming soreness, and finally Cliff stops playing and blinks a few times in my direction. Then, he sets down his guitar and walks over to a desk in the corner I hadn't noticed before. As he shuffles through papers and files, I gaze at the posters that are plastered on every inch of the wall. Most of them are bands that I don't know, but then there's ones I've seen before, like Nirvana and Guns and Roses. There's one in the corner that catches my eye- the guitarist looks strikingly like Cliff, but before I can say anything about it, I'm interrupted.

     "Sing this." Cliff sets a stapled set of notebook paper in my lap, so I pick it up and begin reading. 

     "I'm not your songbird," I say as I skim over the verses, and I'm suddenly afraid that the sarcasm I'd intended didn't come through. I would hate to make Cliff upset. I think I might be upset if he was, too.

    "I know... I know, Raina, I do. I just really need you to sing that for me, okay?" Cliff replies, and he has a tenderness behind his voice that makes me look up at him. All at once, the lyrics that are written in swooping, elegant writing, and Cliff's vulnerable tone hit me. Whatever this is, it means the world to him. "I don't know the tune, or the pitches, or-"

     "Please... just make it up, I don't care."

     So I start singing. It takes me a while to get into a definite pattern, but eventually I have a tune I like. 

Fly away my bird

You'll be with me soon

Don't worry, dear bird

One day, I'll come back for you

     This is one particularly haunting part of the song that repeats in odd places, and it makes me the saddest. When I finally finish, I look back up at Cliff, and to my surprise, he has tears fresh on his cheeks.

     "Oh, God, Cliff, don't cry," I say, but my voice cracks, and I realize that just seeing him upset has made me equally as bothered- exactly as I thought it would. 

     "You did so good, Raina. You did so good."