THE SUN HAS LONG SET by the time I drag Nolan through the park, the trees doused in the cool blue of night. He resists my pull on his wrist and whines, "Jill, I changed my mind. I don't wanna see Carson."

"Come on, buddy, it'll be good for you to face him. He wants to apologize, and frankly, he owes you one. We can go right home after if you want."

Sighing, Nolan yanks his arm from my grasp, but keeps walking beside me. My lips twitch into an accomplished grin; I'm glad he's coming around. He's been changing his mind constantly since I pulled him out of his trailer, right after Colleen tried to feed us both borderline cat food. Thankfully Nolan's getting old enough to know his own way around a kitchen, so he made a can of soup that actually had vegetables in it instead.

"And don't forget," I go on, "it's okay to tell him he hurt you. It's okay to let people know how they make you feel."

"Yeah, whatever..."

Nolan might not see it, but this whole me mentoring him thing is awkward for both of us. But Colleen's the type of mom who encourages him to get into fights with other kids and "grow a pair," so yeah, that's not okay either. I don't know if any of the advice I give Nolan is good or not—but I'm trying my best here. Thankfully, he doesn't resist.

We reach Carson's trailer, where he smokes a cigarette with his guitar on his back. When he sees us, he stands at attention and stomps it out with his boot, the ember creating a sizzle in the damp earth. I can't explain why, but as we meet with him, there's a sizzle in my heart, too. Why am I nervous?

"Hey, you came," Carson says, voice still gritty and tired. He looks like he could pass out any second, but holds himself up.

"Of course." I blink at him expectantly while Nolan stares at his feet.

"Hey, Nolan..." Carson clears his throat. "How you feeling?"

My elbow gently nudges Nolan, and he snaps out of it. He mumbles, "Hey."

After scratching the back of his head, Carson sighs. "Look, I'm sorry I blew you off last night. I don't have a good excuse for it—I messed up."

"It was kind of lame," Nolan says. "I waited here for two hours."

"I'm really sorry, man. Too late to take it back, but"—he slaps his guitar—"I'd love to show you some things right now, if you're up for it."

"I didn't bring my guitar."

"You can play mine."

Like a flower being watered, Nolan perks up. "Really?"

"Hell yeah." He locks eyes with me. "Come on, I'm taking you guys somewhere. Follow me."

***

Golden Dawn Trailer Park was established in 1979. I know that because my dad used to rant about how his dad, whom I never met, lived in one of these old cottages down by the water. But in 79 a man named Mr. Nilsson set up a trailer park nearby, creating a wedge directly between the town and the cottages.

The trailers were cheaper. And Hull isn't a place that has a lot of money. So everyone who rented those cottages started moving out and renting mobile homes instead.

No one lives down there now; in fact, I'd thought those structures had all been torn down. They're lost behind the overgrowth, deep in the forest—but as it turns out, Carson knows a shortcut.

Within thirty minutes of trekking through woods, the flashlight on Carson's phone guiding us, we reach a building with broken windows and half-collapsed wooden walls.

"Awesome!" Nolan says.

I'm more like: "No way. Blue, this is creepy as hell." I plant my feet and stick my arm out to stop Nolan from barreling into that dilapidated shack. "It doesn't look safe. Nolan's not going in there."

Carson laughs. An easy, natural laugh that sounds good on him. "Not that one, Jill. Come on, it's just up here."

Sharing a look with Nolan, we keep following. Sticks and leaves crunch beneath our feet. The waves are heavy tonight, whooshing against the shore like thunder; we're right by the water, and moonlight gleams off the lake through the trees. When we reach the next cottage, I understand why Carson brought us here.

A single-story structure stands before us, all four walls intact. Cobwebs weave across the pitch-black windows. Trees and vines grow over the deck, attempting to pull it underground—but the structure still extends over the beach, creating an opening where we can see the water crystal clear. The stars splash across the sky, the still lake beneath their reflective pool.

"Whoa," Nolan marvels.

Carson grins over his shoulder at me, dark brown eyes liquid in the moonlight. "Don't tell anyone, but I've been keeping this place tidy for a few years now. I come here to play sometimes so I can be as loud as I want. Not even Shae knows about it."

"So why are you showing us?" I ask.

No response. Carson focuses forward, then moves toward the staircase that leads to the deck. Nolan looks at me for approval, so I nod, and he chases after Carson. The stairs creak beneath my feet. Wood and rot linger in the air, and I'm paranoid the deck could collapse or something horrible could happen—but I remind myself it's okay to chill out and have a good time every now and then. Nolan's right in front of me, safe and smiling; I don't have to stress. Everything's fine.

"Check it out," Carson says and holds open the backdoor slightly. It's inky black in there, but when I take a look inside, the light from outside brightens the inside of the cottage. It's all emptied out, but a living room that leads into a kitchen and a counter coated in dust still remain.

"Creepy," I mutter. But beautiful at the same time. It's a portal into the past; into someone's life. For all I know, my grandpa on my dad's side could've lived here.

"Can I go in?" Nolan asks Carson.

"Give me a sec." Carson hurries in, then comes back out moments later. "No raccoons hiding out. It's safe."

Something about Carson is different. Not in a bad way, but it seems like he's trying extra hard. I like this side of him—it feels like he cares.

Dank, musty air surrounds us when we go inside. I turn on my phone's flashlight. There are shapes on the floor where furniture used to be. Carefully, as if not to fall through, I make my way across the room. A strange wave of nostalgia passes over me; I feel like I've been here before, even though I know I haven't. Maybe it's the energy that still resonates in the walls, despite it not being lived in for so long.

"Wouldn't touch that," Carson says with an uneasy laugh, and I turn to see him pulling Nolan out of the kitchen area. "Natural gas stove. Lines could still be hooked up, I have no idea. Let's go back outside."

"Agreed," I say, grateful Carson's looking out for Nolan too.

We sit cross-legged on the deck. The damp wood seeps through my jeans, making my legs cold, but I don't mind it.

When Carson hands Nolan his guitar, Nolan hesitates before he awkwardly positions it on his lap.

"You sure it's okay?" he asks.

"Hell yeah it's okay," Carson says. "Go ahead, play something."

Nolan takes a deep breath before he plucks at a few strings. Twangy notes fill the air, and after a few tries, he creates something that resembles a song. He's clearly been practicing since I last heard him play, and I feel a strong sense of pride. It's like watching history be made; the first song of a musician. After plucking a wrong note, Nolan grunts.

"I always mess it up," he says.

"You're doing great," Carson tells him, "but maybe you're aiming a bit too high. Remember that song I was showing you before, the one with three chords? Start small, perfect it, then go bigger."

"You mean 'Something in the Way'?"

"Yeah." He takes back the guitar and slides it onto his lap, before he starts strumming the intro. It's a slow song with dark undertones. "Here, you try," Carson says as he hands off the guitar.

I could show Nolan how to play this song too, but I get it now. This is something he doesn't need me for. And maybe that's okay.

"See? You can do it," Carson says. "Just gotta keep the pace. Here, I'll show you again."

Carson takes the guitar and plays the song. This time, after a few melancholic strums, he starts singing. I shut my eyes and listen, and there's that strange nostalgia again. I picture our lives, and our parents' lives, and their parents' lives before that. I picture a future—a strange, obscured future, where I'm not alone, and somebody's at my side, and if I squint hard enough that person could be Carson. But that's totally crazy, right?

Apparently I'm losing it, because I'm even more captivated by him than the last time he sang to me; by his essence that somehow feels like a stick of incense, slowly burning, its smoke coiling into the night. His voice carries on the wind.

And I'm singing too.

It doesn't even register until the song ends, and we're back on the ground. Carson is smiling at me. Ohmygod.

Clearing my throat, I tuck my hair behind my ear. "My, um, dad was a big Nirvana fan. It was one of the first songs I ever learned too."

"Right on." Carson hands Nolan the guitar, and he immediately starts playing. "I remember finding the band when I was really young and becoming completely obsessed. Then I found out what happened to Kurt and I guess I got really angsty about it, so my brothers tell me."

"Yeah, it's sad," I say. "Sometimes I still find new music I love, then find out the artist is already long dead, or died in some fucked up way. Tragic things always happen to talented people."

"You're a talented person."

I laugh. "Thanks, I guess. So are you. Let's hope nothing bad happens to either one of us." I playfully toss a stick at him. "I don't know about you, but I want to be among the living."

I don't tell him that sometimes when my phone rings, I fear it's the call saying my dad has finally overdosed and died in his own screwed up way. Made himself into the rock n' roll hall of fame the way he always wanted...

But that's too dark to say in front of Nolan, and besides, I've never told anyone but Val and Mom.

Carson's gone quiet. I wonder what rolls around in his head when he thinks about these things. If he has similar fears, or if death even bothers him at all. It's hard to imagine someone who does drugs could care about living, but then again, I don't understand anything about drugs, or the people who use them.

***

By the time we get back to the trailer park, we're all too tired to speak. Even though it's still chilly, the hymn of the crickets always reminds me of summer. Carson walks Nolan and I back to Colleen's trailer, and we all face each other under the porchlight.

"Thanks for letting me play your guitar, Carson," Nolan says. "I'm gonna keep practicing."

"Anytime, man. Keep at it."

"I will. Thanks."

I face Nolan. "I'll meet you inside, okay bud?"

Nodding, Nolan disappears into the trailer. Judging by the fact that the lights aren't on, Colleen's already passed out.

Carson and I stand in silence for a few moments as flies buzz around the light.

"Really," I begin, "thanks for everything. That made Nolan's night. And mine too."

It's dark out, but I swear Carson's face turns pink. He scratches at the back of his head and says, "Yeah, no problem."

"I'll see you later?"

"Yeah. Goodnight, Jill."

"Night." I head back to the trailer, but Carson's voice stops me.

"Jill, wait. About this morning—just, I'll try again. Harder this time. Promise."

I smile. "I believe you, Blue."

And I do. The rumor mill always said Carson could never stay clean, but something about him is different than ever been before. He's clearly trying, and has been trying since before we even hired him. So maybe he isn't a lost cause. Maybe then he'll get through this, and he won't turn out to be anything like my dad or his uncle. Maybe he needs someone to be there for him, someone who cares enough to help him stay clean.

Someone like me.

***

A/N: 

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