Page 109 of The Girl with No Name
From you, my love
If I traveled every ocean
Where a man can go
If I climbed the highest mountain
Where no one’s ever been before
I would fly my way back to you
If it took ten years or two
For you, my love
If I had just one wish
I would have a kiss
From you, my love
I give him a nod, and Henry takes the solo and good God, does he crush it like a young John Mayer. As he does, I think I see her in the crowd. My heart hammers like crazy. I feel like I’m seeing an apparition. Could it really be her?
I get so flustered, I forget to come back in after Henry’s guitar solo. Luckily it’s Henry Cooney, and he improvises on guitar like no one in the business. So he lets the solo rip for another go-round and catches my eye to make sure I come in this time.
I sing the last verse and let the last chord resonate.
Then I wave to the crowd. “Thanks, everyone! I’m Reed Walker. The Red Lemons are next.”
With a one-track mind, I set my guitar in the stand on stage, then hop off and jump into the crowd, practically running toward her.
When I get to her, she’s got her back to me, so I tap her on the shoulder.
She turns around and…
It’s not Luna.
I feel the blood in my body rush from my heart down to my feet.
“Hi,” the girl says, seeming surprised.
“Hi. Uh, I’m Reed.”
“I’m Greta,” she says.
I smile, but I can’t hide my disappointment. “I’m really sorry. I thought you were someone else.”
A friendof the Red Lemons hosts an afterparty in some dingy apartment that night, and it’s quite a scene. The air is thick with the scent of cigarette smoke and beer, the sounds of laughter and music blending in a cacophony of celebration.
The walls of the apartment are covered with faded punk rock posters and graffiti art, giving the space a rebellious vibe. People from all walks of life mingle in the cramped quarters, their voices raised in conversation as they trade stories and share drinks.
In one corner, a makeshift bar has been set up, with bottles of cheap whiskey and cans of beer scattered across its surface. The music blares from a beat-up stereo system, and the Red Lemons hold court in the center of the room, surrounded by a throng of adoring fans and fellow musicians from the local scene.
I step out onto the balcony for a moment to get some air and reflect on the night. I haven’t found Luna, but I’m determined to enjoy this experience for what it is. And maybe Vi’s social media post will still pan out.
I reach in the cooler for an ice cold beer, and they’ve got Red Dog. I didn’t even know they made that beer anymore. Maybe they brought it back. I crack one open, and as I’m looking out at the sky, I feel a hand on my shoulder.
It’s Violet.