"Are you missing the band?" she asked Krist, changing the subject away from her ring. She walked into the kitchen, listening over her shoulder as she prepared a kettle of tea for them both.
"The band? Oh. I guess. Do you . . . not know?"
"Not know what?" Lindy said, concentrating on filling her kettle with water from the sink. Krist walked over to her, a cautionary expression on his face.
"You must have not read the note."
"What note?"
"Kurt's suicide note."
Lindy nearly dropped the kettle into the sink. She caught it though, water slopping over the edge of its opening as it almost slipped from her hands.
"No. I didn't read it," she admitted tightly.
Lindy had not even given the note that she'd seen stuck against potting soil a second thought. On the day that she had found Kurt, she had been so steadfast to coax him out of the greenhouse that she hadn't bothered going back to grab the note or even look at it. Its existence had been completely lost upon her and she wouldn't have minded never having to think about it again. It was only a connotation for bad memories.
"I figured," Krist said with understanding. "The only reason I saw it was because Cali went back to clean out the greenhouse and he grabbed it. I was the person he gave it to. But I think Courtney has it now."
"Oh," Lindy said. She stuck the kettle on the stove, hating the heat that was rising up inside of her. It was an anxious hot flash of remembrance, something she had no desire to confront.
"Turns out that Kurt doesn't want to be apart of the band anymore. I mean, we all already kind of knew that, but he talks about it in the note. He said he's tired of faking it."
"He mentioned something about being fed up awhile back," Lindy recalled, rubbing away a sharp pain in her forehead. Even just the thought of Kurt's suicide note had made her uneasy.
"Yeah. He and I talked about it after you left that night. He apologized and said he wished it could be different, but he doesn't feel up to it anymore. I think he needs a break from the music in general."
"I doubt he'll ever give up on the music."
"Well, no. But he's going to at least give up on the spotlight."
Lindy leaned forward against her kitchen counter, wondering what Kurt possibly could have said about his band in the note. Nirvana had been his baby, his first child for as long as she could remember. It didn't come as a huge shock that stardom had caused his passion to fade, but it was still odd to imagine Nirvana coming to a close.
"It's probably best for him," Lindy muttered. "He needs to focus on something else for a change."
"That's what I told him," Krist said. "I told him that all he needs to worry about right now is Frances, you, the new baby, and himself. That should be what he's devoted to. And he agreed with me."
"I wonder when he's going to tell me that it's over. That the band is broken up."
"I don't think that it has really hit him yet," Krist theorized. "But it's all okay. It needed to happen, you know?"
The kettle whistled loudly, indicating that their piping hot water was ready. Lindy grabbed two coffee mugs and started pouring, chewing on the inner part of her cheek.
"Kinda' sucks for you and Dave. I hate that you both don't have a band to belong to now," she said apologetically, reaching for her variety of tea bags.
one-hundred-nine.
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