At some point later in the day, it must have been around four o’clock, Cal burst into the studio like he’d been shot out of a cannon and declared the workday over.“Enough of your toiling,” he said. “I’m only here for two more days. I want to hang out.”

October and I were at opposite ends of the room. We both stopped what we were doing and looked at him.

“Which one of us are you talking to?” she asked.

“Both of you. Come on. Let’s do something.”

October didn’t make a move, so Cal sauntered over to her, lifted her up, and flung her over his shoulder.

“All right,” she laughed. “Put me down.”

He slid her back to the ground. Then he rested his hands on her shoulders, looked at me and said, “Drop the tools, Harp. I’m not above picking you up either.”

I walked over, wiping my hands on my jeans. “I could use a break.”

“Excellent. How about we go for a drive?”

“For a drive,” October repeated, rolling her eyes. “As you know, what Chris means when he says ‘Let’s go for a drive’ is ‘Drive me somewhere.’”

I offered to do the driving, but October predicted we were going to end up at a bar and said, “You guys have fun. I’ll be the chauffeur.”

A second later Cal said, “I got it!” He looked at me when he said, “the Pelican Inn.”

The Pelican Inn is an authentic British pub off of Highway 1, on the way to Muir Beach. Cal and I used to hike there from my house when we were kids. We’d talk Ingrid into giving us some money, and when we got to the Pelican Inn we’d eat fish-and-chips and drink a couple of sodas before heading home. It used to make us feel like adults to sit in the bar, order food, and pay the check by ourselves. And we would feign British accents whenever we were there. Actually, it was more specific than that. We would feign the exact Manchester accents we had perfected by watching Noel and Liam Gallagher in interviews. We would introduce ourselves as Noel and Liam too. Cal was always Noel because he was the leader of our band, and because he is a month older than I am—Noel is the elder Gallagher brother.

More than once when we were kids, we’d talked about how we were going to go back someday, after we were grown up, and actually order beer. So when Cal suggested we go to the Pelican Inn, my first thought was: This is one shared dream he and I will realize together. And there was a sense of contentment in that. A softening in my heart. But right away the softness gave way to an impending melancholy, a pressing in of regret, of all that had been lost.