The Stars Will Shine by Eva Carrigan Read Free Book Online Page B

too.” I look at the cover.
    Every Kingdom by Ben Howard.
    “You’re hired,” Trevyn says, clapping his hands together twice.
    The records slips slightly in my hands. “But—”
    “Look,” Trevyn says, joining me in the aisle now, “I could really use the help actually. C’mon, you see this place—the messiness and disorganization.” He grimaces and gives a slow nod. “That’s how I am—messy and disorganized. You could help me whip this place into shape. Maybe get a database of all the records going as well. I just haven’t gotten around to it myself.” His face seems brighter now, and there’s a flush of eager excitement in his cheeks. “You free for the rest of today?” he asks.
    “I—I think,” I say, slowly sliding the Ben Howard record back into its place on the shelf. “Well, until about 6:00 p.m.” When I’m supposed to meet up with Dylan again, that is.
    “C’mon, then,” Trevyn says. “I’ll show you where you can get started.”
    “Today? You want me to start today?”
    “Well, yeah, silly. That’s why I asked if you were free. C’mon, now.” He takes off down the aisle and waves for me to follow. “We’ve got a lot to do.”
    We spend the rest of the day with the sign on the front door flipped to Closed. Trevyn assured me he hardly receives customers on Sundays anyway, and I made a mental note to change that for him. We clear bookshelves, unpack boxes, and begin organizing artists first by genre, then in alphabetical order, and finally by album release date. We knock heads a couple times in the process of bending over and standing up, and each time, Trevyn feels obligated to drawl, “Noggin, dude!” from Finding Nemo and from thenceforth calls me Squirt.
    By the time 6:00 p.m. comes around, we’ve listened to Deja Entendu three times through, organized and set out about an eighth of the collection, and have the beginnings of a database in the works for keeping track of inventory.
    When I reluctantly admit it’s about time I leave—Dylan will kill me if I’m late—Trevyn says, “I had a lot of fun today.”
    “Me too.” Out the window, I see a few wispy clouds have swept in to break the pure blue.
    “So you think you’d be willing to continue this endeavor with me?”
    I smile a little and quietly nod. Trevyn stretches his easy smile and winks in his friendly way, and in this second I find myself drawn to him in the way I used to be my big brother, before everything in my life changed. There’s a strange tension in my throat, like I might cry. But for the first time in a long time, it’s not because I’m sad or angry, but because I’m happy. And I almost forgot what that can feel like.
    For a second, I think of Simon. What is he doing now? Probably tubing down the Salt River with his friends. Probably shooting guns out in the desert. Probably blasting Nirvana and Pearl Jam in his garage as he works on his Corvette. Pay us with a smile. A Delilah smile. Maybe if he were here now, he would tell me I’m no longer indebted to him. Maybe this happiness I feel here with Trevyn and his library of music—maybe it would be enough for him.
    “See you tomorrow, Squirt,” Trevyn says, ruffling my hair.
    “Eight o’clock?” I ask. He’s already told me three times, but I can’t find the will to leave yet. I survey the shop again as I spin in a slow circle.
    “You’re stalling,” he points out.
    “Yeah.”
    “You don’t want to go home.”
    “It’s not my home actually.”
    “Ah.” He asks nothing more about it. Maybe he understands how I am—that I’ll talk when I want to talk, that I can’t be forced to do so.
    “Well, see you tomorrow,” I say.
    “Yeah, Squirt.”
    And finally, I make myself leave.
    When I pull through the iron gates, with Dylan in the passenger seat, and park by the fountain in the courtyard, the front door to the house opens. Aunt Miranda’s figure is shadowed, but I can make out crossed arms, a tapping foot, and a scowl carved