The Only Light Left Burning by Erik J. Brown EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
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- Authors: Erik J. Brown
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 10.6 MB
- Price: Free
Jamison
I USED TO LIKE SILENCE. THOUGH MAYBE like isn’t the correct
word for it. Appreciate would probably be more appropriate. I appreciated
the silence of my house before my mom came home from work each night.
She didn’t appreciate it so much; she preferred to have music playing at all
times. As soon as she got home, she’d connect her phone to the linked
speakers in the house—the kitchen, living room, dining room, bathrooms,
her bedroom, but not mine—and her favorite playlists would begin to pipe
out. I could always tell how her day went from the music she played.
I wish I had streaming music now. Something to fill all the silence.
“Stop that.”
I look up from the gears and metal fasteners on the boat deck to see that
Cara is scolding me without even looking my way.
“Stop what?”
“Everything you’re doing right now. Moping or whatever it is.”
“It’s not moping, it’s thinking.”
“About what?” She glances at me as she uncaps the OneDrop winch oil.
“Music.”
Cara recaps the winch oil and ducks into the cabin of the forty-two-foot
sailboat. I hear a door open and a switch flip, and then the speakers built
into the cockpit seats crackle briefly. She pulls herself back into the cockpit
and points at the helm.
“See if Blanca is broadcasting,” she says.
I smile as gratitude fills my chest. Cara knows perfectly well that I
wasn’t thinking only about music, but she already said she wasn’t getting in
the middle of whatever’s going on between Andrew and me.
She doesn’t want to have to hear about our issues every time she’s with
one of us. It’s bad enough that Andrew isn’t on the boat crew anymore and
so she only gets to see him for a couple hours on the weekends and at the
monthly socials.
I stand and turn on the radio. Static. Blanca broadcasts on the same
channel every time, but the hours are iffy. There’s no set schedule, and even
if she’s said there is, we don’t really understand it because Daria is the only
one on the boat who speaks Spanish. She’s translated a few broadcasts
while we listened, but so far it’s just been radio DJ stuff—making
announcements for the Cuban settlement, music requests or dedications
from people on the island, and once a guest who played guitar and sang live
in the studio.
I flick through the AM stations that bookend the one she broadcasts
from, hoping to hear her come through even just a little bit. But there’s only
static on every station. She must not be on the air right now.
Like us, she’s probably working on something else at the moment. In
the apocalypse, the job of radio DJ is appreciated, but not necessary. She
most likely only gets to broadcast when she has downtime.
I lower the volume but leave the radio on so the crackle of static drones
in the background. It’s better than the silence.
“It was worth a shot,” Cara says, and goes back to rebuilding the winch
that’s been sticking.
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