Mayfly Melodies

Twenty-Seven

Caroline

You can't patch a wounded soul with a Band-Aid—Michael Connelly

Noah was humming her song. It was a quiet hum, a barely audible tune under his breath. She wasn't even sure that she'd heard him right the first time. Or the second. Or the third. But it was undeniable. He was humming Back Home and Caroline just couldn't figure out where he'd heard it before. She'd never played it for him. She couldn't even play it that well herself. When she'd first shown the music to Bailey, she'd had only a faint idea of how the song would sound when played in its entirety by a professional. Bailey had made her feeble attempt at a song sound like a masterpiece and Caroline hadn't hesitated when Bailey proposed recording it to post on her YouTube channel.

Caroline hadn't expected anything in return for giving Bailey the song she'd written. So, she'd been completely blown away when Bailey had gifted her with her very own guitar. Caroline didn't know much about the varying makes and models of the instruments but Bailey had promised it was a good one and so Caroline trusted her judgement. In any case, no one had ever given her a present of such wealth and personal meaning and she was stunned that Bailey had even thought to give it to her.

She'd taken to playing it around the house. She wasn't sure how to explain to Noah where it had come from whole maintaining Bailey's anonymity, and so she kept it a secret by playing only when he was out of the house. And then the day had come where he'd caught her and had asked, as she'd expected, where she'd gotten it.

For a long few moments, Caroline had been uncertain on how to react. She'd been feeling better over the past few days and had even tried her hand at writing a few small letters to her brother. They weren't particularly detailed and contained messages like 'Hi' and 'How are you?' She'd yet to give him one but a small pile had begun to collect in the interior of her guitar case intermingled between scraps of half-finished song lyrics and the few chords that Bailey had instructed Caroline to learn before their next meeting.

Caroline had been avoiding Noah's gaze when she'd looked down and seen her finished song. She'd been overcome with a moment of such joy and passion and strength that she felt like all at once she could give Noah one of those letters. And so she'd reached for a half-used piece of paper and scribbled on the back a quick note that she'd gotten it from the neighbor. She didn't mention Bailey by name, more for the other girl's sake than her own.

A neighbor gave it to me. She wrote. And then the more obvious. I've been learning to play.

She couldn't describe Noah's expression. He'd looked so dumbfounded that she'd almost laughed. He'd looked as if he'd been clubbed repeatedly over the head. His mouth dropped open and his eyes had been wide with shock. Caroline hadn't been sure that he could even remember how to function when, out of the blue, he'd grabbed her in a tight embrace.

Caroline couldn't remember the last time she and Noah had embraced like that. It must've been the night of the fire with Aaron as they'd waited for the ambulance to arrive. She couldn't remember a time since then. Not when the surgeons had told them that Aaron hadn't survived the surgery. Not when they'd attended the funerals for their family members. Not when they'd packed up and crossed state lines to start anew.

She didn't even remember how to hug Noah. He was so much bigger than she was, tall and strong, and she felt tiny and frail in his embrace. Still, there was a safety to Noah's arms. Something that spoke of childhood memories; long car trips and midnight campfires beneath the stars and bike rides into town in the blistering summer heat.

Slowly, Caroline had raised her arms and hugged her brother back. It was loose and different from what she could recall doing as a child but his arms were still as strong as they'd ever been. So was the hitch in his throat that came when he was choking back emotion.