Page 101 of Redline Baby

"Why?"

"Because they help you see in the dark. And you have to be able to see in the dark if you want to drive a motorcycle."

Rue goes completely still. She looks at her carrots. Then at Kit. Then back at the carrots. Finally, she picks up her fork and eats one.

Both Maren and I are smiling now.

He's good.

The meal winds down. Rue has eaten most of her carrots by the time Maren starts stacking plates. Kit gets up and offers to help, and Maren waves him away, but I'm proud of him for offering anyway.

When she comes back, I look across the table and find her watching me.

She doesn't say anything. I know that smile far too well.

Rue doesn't ask. She appears at Kit's elbow the moment the last plates clear the table, takes his wrist with both hands, and makes the direction she intends entirely obvious. Kit goes. He looks briefly over his shoulder at me with an expression that is several things at once—amused, slightly helpless, asking nothing specific and everything generally.

I follow them, just in case.

The living room is actually lived in rather than managed for the impression of living. The low coffee table holds a scatter of Rue's drawings in pencil and crayon—horses and dogs and one very elaborate submarine. The couch is wide and worn at the arms, a knit throw folded over one end, and books cover the shelves along the wall.

Kit's guitar case is propped near the door. He brought it inside when we arrived after tossing it into the back of my truck this morning because I'd mentioned, offhand, a week ago that Rue liked music. He set it just inside the entryway and didn't mention it. Neither did I.

It's been leaning there through the whole of lunch, waiting.

Rue notices it.

"What is that?"

"A guitar."

Her eyes widen.

"Are you a rockstar?! Play something."

Kit looks at me from the couch.

I smile and nod.

He gets up, crosses to the door, and lifts the case. When he settles back onto the cushion, Rue sits beside him, bouncing slightly with excitement. Kit unzips the case. The guitar inside isn't new. He lifts it out and settles it across his knee, runs his thumb across the strings, and spends a minute tuning. Rue watches his hands. Watches the tuning pegs turn.

For once, she says nothing. When he's satisfied, Kit forms the first chord and holds it for a moment without playing. His thumb rests against the strings.

I watch him make a decision. Then he plays.

The opening is gentle. The melody follows, and I know the song within the first several bars.

"You Are My Sunshine."

But when he reaches the later part, after the songs talks about waking up, he changes it.

Kit's version starts:

Dear, you were there!

So I never ever need to cry!

Then the song begins again.