Cal and I moved our chairs out from the table and formed a semicircle a few feet away. Then, like I used to do in high school, I asked Cal what we were going to play—it was always up to him, he was the ringleader, the mastermind behind our performances—and he said, “The Tam High set list, obviously.”

He didn’t have to remind me what songs were on that list. I remembered.

We tuned our instruments and did some funny vocal warm-ups that Mr. Collins, our freshman year music teacher, had taught us. Even when we were kids, I laughed through them, but Cal took them seriously, claiming he still used them before every show.

I’m not a great singer, but I can hold a decent tune. And I’d learned to sing by harmonizing with Cal, so I knew he and I sounded good together.

As soon as Cal gave me the nod, I counted to four and we hit our D strings in unison.

Our first tune was a slower, bluer version of “Peaceful Easy Feeling” that silenced everyone at the table, even Guy.

During the song I kept glancing over at October, to see if she was paying attention, and every time I did her eyes were on me.

We followed the Eagles with Oasis, then Petty, and then Cal told me to show off, and I lost myself noodling around on my own. When I finally stopped playing and looked up, everyone at the table was staring at me as if they’d just noticed I was an octopus. They seemed stupefied. Then they started clapping like crazy, and I put the guitar down to make it end. The rush of playing and the reaction of the guests felt like a great dam breaking inside of me. A tiny glimpse into a world I’d missed. No, not missed, but had forsaken.

My heart was pounding, my breath shallow, and I knew I needed to get away from the table. I slipped my shoes back on, excused myself, and snuck off to the trail behind the house. I walked slowly in the dark, my steps heavy as I inhaled and exhaled deeply, audibly, trying to calm myself, trying to crack the silence around me, hoping to stave off what felt like an imminent collapse. And I was just starting to settle down when I heard the drone of Claire’s voice call my name and ask me to wait.

“What are you doing?” she said, plodding behind me.

I stopped to help her up the hill despite wanting to pretend I didn’t see or hear her. “Taking a walk.”

“It’s dark out here,” she said, grabbing onto my arm. A small purse on a gold chain dangled diagonally across her body. She pulled her phone out of it and turned on the flashlight, lighting up a stretch of trail I didn’t want or need illuminated.