The tenant house was bright and dusty, lit by lamps and candles scattered across the floor. It was remarkably tidy for how many folks were living in it. There was a shelf full of books, old ratty hardbacks and mystery novels. Someone had dragged a couch into the room, probably from the dump, but it looked as if it had been washed, hand-scrubbed and cleaned up. Recording equipment was set up everywhere, microphones and speakers and a small mixing board, even a laptop. In fact, the place seemed kind of nice. Homey, even. Musical instruments lay all over the place—electric guitars and amps, a big Rhodes piano, and a red Tama drum kit. Other instruments too, old stuff—a banjo, a washtub bass, an acoustic guitar, a violin.

“This place is fucking awesome,” I said. “It’s like a real studio, you know? Like The Band at Big Pink or something. You’re really doing it.”

Cass grinned at me. “That’s the plan, anyway.” She led me to a small kitchen area, reached into a mini fridge, and handed me a beer. “Would be cool to have my own room though. Only two bedrooms for the four of us.”

“I hear you,” I said. “Since we moved here I’ve been splitting a bunk bed with my sister.”

“Murphy, right? Why didn’t she come tonight?”

“To be honest,” I said, “I didn’t tell her.”

“Good boy,” said Cass.

Stephens stuck his head in the window. “Hurry up with the beers already.”

Cass switched the record—they had an actual record player with stacks of vinyl piled around the stereo—and we hurried outside.

“Guys,” I said, “this place rules.”

“Amen to that,” said Luther. He lifted his beer, and we all drank.

I’d never really had much beer before. Seeing my mom drunk all the time didn’t help, and I always figured I’d leave the boozing to her and Murphy. But again, I was trying to make friends, and it seemed fun.

“Cheers,” I said, and took a gulp.

“Yep, we live in a real fucking paradise,” said Stephens. “I ain’t being ironic about that either. I mean it. I’ve waited my whole life to find a spot like this.”

“It’s true,” said Luther. “I mean, we’re in nature, first off. And not just any nature. Powerful nature. There’s a spirit to this place, an energy here. You can’t tell me you don’t feel it.”

“No,” I said. “I know exactly what you’re talking about. It’s like the whole Farm has an electricity to it, like you live closer to the bone here.”

“You a writer or something?” said Stephens.

“Kind of,” I said. Cass raised an eyebrow at me. “I mean, I try to write poems.”

“I’d love to read some of your poetry sometime,” said Cass.