For Edie or Never Ago
"He woke up the next day early, and I woke up to his guitar, sour-tuned, and Adam hissing curses at a popped string. Your love’s allergic to the cold, I said, cocooning in the cot, willing the thin pillow to muffle him. His runs and lines were the same, a soft thrum then a hard note, like a hammered note on an old piano, a kid’s glee at finding the highest note on the far right, hitting it with popsicle-slick hands. Over and over, I remembered it."