Phoenix Chapter Thirteen: Phoenix

Chapter Thirteen: Phoenix

Rogan's guitar collected dust, with no G string. He started drinking more. One night, drinking beer and mindlessly watching TV, his thoughts drifted back to life before the snakehouse. He may have lost his band, he may be in a rut in his life, he may be stagnating, but he wasn't in that hell hole anymore. Sometimes memories from his life under his father's roof came back and crippled him with pain. But tonight it strengthened him. He made it through that, he could deal with the destruction of the band. 

He wouldn't get what he wanted lying around drinking beer and watching TV. He poured out the remainder of his beer and got in bed, determined to start fresh the next day.

The first order of business was getting a new G string. The following day after work he drove into town to visit Jewel Music. He found a parking space and walked toward the music store. He decided to detour in order to walk past the Artists' Guild, on the off chance he might run into Allison. But no luck.

As he walked, the sun came out and the air felt slightly balmy. How did it get to be May? He unzipped his motorcycle jacket. Time really slipped away from him. It seemed so recent that the band had their first show. He would always remember that date, March the 14th. But now it was May... He checked his phone. May the 4th. 

Earl helped him at Jewel Music and he quickly got what he needed. He cast a longing eye on the Mesa Boogie amp on display on his way out. Maybe one day. 

He detoured past the Artists' Guild again, and still no Allison. Oh well, he got what he came for. 

Once back at the snakehouse, he replaced the string and tuned up. He decided to start with Paranoid, moved on to some Maiden, then switched to some of the Ancient Doom original songs. The music seemed to pour out of him and he regained his old pleasure in playing. It was like coming alive again.   

On a Thursday a few weeks later, from the service bay Rogan saw Allison sitting in a tow truck, an old Pontiac on the flatbed behind. He dropped tools to go out and help her down from the high cab, but the driver got there first. He jogged to catch up with her and met her at the door to the waiting room.

“Allison!” She turned her dark eyes on him and gave him one of her dreamy smiles. He opened the door for her. “What's wrong with your car?”

“I don't know. I am hoping you guys can tell me. It won't start.” 

Ryan was at the cash register and gave Rogan a funny look. He had no business leaving his work in the service bay, and he knew that. 

Ignoring this, he walked Allison up to the counter. 

“Ryan, this is a friend of mine, Allison Reynolds.” To Allison he said, “Ryan will take good care of you. Let me know if you need anything.” 

As he returned to his proper work station, Rogan's heart lifted. It was almost quitting time. All he had to do was complete this Forester he was working on. He was almost finished and hurried through the last steps of replacing the wheel and tightening the lug nuts. There, he was done. 

Washing his hands seemed to take forever, the gray oily water splashing down the dirty sink bowl. Finally his hands were clean and he clocked out. To his delight, Allison was still in the waiting room. She was talking to Ryan, who seemed to be explaining something to her. It didn’t look like good news. As he approached them, Ryan was saying, “So you'll have to leave it overnight. We'll get to it first thing in the morning. It should be ready by tomorrow afternoon.” Ryan handed Allison a pen and she signed off on a triplicate form. 

When she turned away from the counter, Rogan said, “Hey Al. What's going on? What did Ryan say?” 

“He said it's the starter. It'll be ready tomorrow.” She started rummaging around in her bag and came up with her phone.

“You're not using a Lyft or an Uber to get home, are you? I can give you a ride home.”

“Actually, I need to get to Shermer Tech first, so I'd better just get a Lyft.” She looked up into his eyes. 

His stomach did a funny flip and he said, “I'd be happy to bring you wherever you need to go. It's no problem.”

“Really? Thank you. That would be much easier. I'm dropping off a painting for a show tomorrow night. I need to get it out of the car.”

Rogan followed her as she went to her car and opened the door. She seemed to be struggling with an awkward package, so he approached to help. 

“Here, let me.” He carefully pulled out a bubble wrapped rectangle, about three feet long and two feet high. Getting a good grip on it, he headed over to his Tacoma, Allison following.

“So you've got a car?” Allison asked.

“Yeah, bought a truck a few months ago. Here, grab this for a second while I open the back.” He opened it for her and helped guide the bulky package in. He secured the rear, led Allison to the passenger side and opened the door for her, ready to give her a hand, but she climbed in just fine.

As they pulled out of the Midas parking lot, Rogan asked, “We're headed to Shermer Tech?”

“Yes, Hanger Hall. Off Victoria Road. Thanks for giving me a ride.”

“No problem. You said a show? What kind of show?” He was thinking of music shows.

“Shermer High and a couple of other high schools are using this space in Hanger Hall for the end of the year showing of student works.”

“Oh, so your picture will be hanging there. That's cool.” Rogan made a left onto Victoria Road. 

“Yes, the space is good, track lighting and lots of room. I'm doing the wine and cheese, the night of the opening.” 

“That's a mighty big picture you've got.”

“It's of the lake, at night.” 

“I bet it looks great. You're very good.”

Allison pointed and said, “Take that right, up there by the brick house. It's the second building down.”

Rogan backed into a parking spot near the door to a glass and stone building and went around to the back of the truck to unload the painting. Soon Allison was guiding him through a lobby, to a space with stark white walls. There were armchairs and sofas and side tables crammed together in a muddled group. Apparently they had just been pushed aside, and still needed to be arranged properly. A few young men were moving them under the direction of an older woman wearing a stylish black outfit, pants and some kind of tunic. 

“Here, you can lean that right here, next to the others.” Allison pointed to a wall that had several paintings leaning against it, all wrapped in bubble wrap. “Can you wait? I have to talk to Mr. Lucas real quick.”  

“Sure.” Rogan looked around and saw one guy trying to move an armchair by himself and hurried over to grab the other end. 

The woman in black looked a bit harried and gestured Rogan and the other guy to the other side of the lobby. Over the chair, he asked Rogan, “Are you from Shermer High?” 

“Nah, just helping a friend.”

“That girl over there, talking to Mr. Lucas? The one in the black sweater?”

“Yeah. Her car broke down and she needed a ride.”

They set down the chair and walked back to the confusion of furniture.  

“She's cute, but her boyfriend is a nightmare. Jealous type. I found out by trying to ask her out.”

Rogan laughed grimly. “I think I've seen that side of him.”

“Take that one next,” the woman said to them and pointed. This was a heavier sofa and they moved it a bit more slowly. Eventually all the furniture was arranged to the woman's satisfaction and Rogan wandered over to the place where they were now hanging pictures. Allison was talking to a man who was presumably Mr. Lucas. She saw Rogan hovering and closed her conversation.   

“OK, let's go. Mr. Lucas wanted to tell me what kind of wine and cheese to get.” As they crossed the lobby, she said, “It was nice of you to help Mrs. Monroe with the furniture. You should come to the opening. It's tomorrow night.” 

Allison rummaged in her purse and produced a large glossy postcard with an abstract painting on one side and details about the show on the other side. Rogan noted it was at 7 pm. He’d get off at 5 tomorrow. 

“Yeah, I'd like that. But...” Rogan paused. 

“But?” 

“I don't want to be punched by Andy again.” 

“Oh, him. You don't have to worry about him.” What did this cryptic statement mean?

They exited the building and headed for the truck, Rogan's heart feeling light and jumpy. Allison continued her own train of thought. “I hope my parents remember we need to go to Martin's Wine Cellar. I can't buy wine myself.”

“If they can't do it, I've got a good ID. I could get it for you.”

“Oh, could you? They always forget about me.”

Rogan unlocked the truck and Allison clambered in before he could open the door for her.

“It's criminal, the way they ignore you.”

“I'm used to it.” Allison settled herself and buckled up as Rogan got into gear. 

“Listen, why don't we get a beer at Marco's on the way back?”

“Marco's? The pizzeria? I don't drink.” She must have  seen his disappointment because she suggested, “We could have a coffee at the Retro.”

He'd never heard of the Retro and didn’t care where it was or what it was like. He'd gladly drink piss in hell if only he could do it with Allison Reynolds at his side. 

He followed her directions and pulled his Tacoma into a spot in the gravel parking lot in back.

Once in the Retro, he ordered a coffee. The black haired counter server looked annoyed and asked him what kind of coffee he wanted. She pointed to a chalkboard. The chalkboard had dozens of items on it.

“A coffee. All I want is coffee.”

In a most snippy tone she asked, “Peruvian dark or Kenya double A?

“Double A my--” he started, but Allison intervened.

“Marcy, give him a Kenya. Leave room for cream.” She looked at Rogan for approval. He shrugged.

The total for two coffees and a Danish astonished him, but he insisted on paying. He saw Allison slip a dollar bill in the tip jar when she thought he wasn't looking. He had carefully given the server exactly five cents.

The Retro was a dimly lit cave, hung with odd art and furnished with what appeared to be the contents of a junk shop. Allison led the way to a velvet sofa tucked away in a nook. It was soft and sort of saggy and Rogan felt as if he was floundering until he found a way to prop some pillows around himself. 

“So you're going to go to Shermer Tech for the summer semester?” Rogan asked. 

“If these headaches get better.”

“You're still having headaches from the car accident? I thought the docs said they would go away.”

“They can't say how long that might take. I hope it clears up by fall. I got a full scholarship to the School of the Art Institute.”

“Hey, congratulations! That's great news. So you'll be moving to Chicago in the fall?”

“If everything goes right, yes. How's your band doing?”

Rogan's smile faded. “Drugs messed things up.”

He explained about J.D. 

Her face fell. “Oh, I'm so sorry. That must have been tough.” 

Because he thought she really did understand, he quietly said, “Al, it was horrible. We were doing so great and then it was just-- gone.” Rogan looked away, remembering Buzz's harsh words, feeling the loss all over again.

He felt Allison's hand on his. His stomach did a backflip and he was pulled away from his recollections, turned towards her. Allison looked at him earnestly and squeezed his hand. “My headaches will go away and you'll find a new band. We'll be ok.” 

Rogan turned his hand up to clasp hers, brought his other hand to hold hers between both of his own. Her dark eyes rose and he looked into her clear gaze. Wordless communication flowed between them. He leaned closer and-- Marcy clattered a dustpan on the floor, began sweeping just beyond their nook. Their private bubble burst and Rogan remembered where they were, in a public place. They released their hand clasp. 

Allison picked up her coffee and drained the mug. “We'd better get going, they close in ten minutes.”     

Rogan didn’t bother drinking the coffee he hadn't wanted in the first place, just tried to rise out of the sofa gracefully. Which was difficult as the sofa was so yielding and spongy.

On their ride back to Allison's house, they chatted about the things to see and do in Chicago. Rogan had never been there, but Allison had been several times with school to see museums, like the Art Institute and the planetarium. Rogan thought about Shermer with no Allison in it and saw no point in staying. Maybe he should move to Chicago too, like most of his friends had...

At Allison's house, she unbuckled and got ready to get out of the truck. 

Rogan said, “Call me, if you need help getting wine.”

“Thank you, Rogan. For everything, the ride, the coffee, helping Mrs. Monroe.”

“No problem.” Rogan hoped to touch her again as they said goodbye, hug her or grasp her hand again, but she was out and slamming the truck door. He watched her go up the steps to her front door and saw that she got in safely. 

The next morning at Midas, on his first car, Rogan screwed up replacing a brake pad, a simple task. As he redid the rear brake, he mentally shook himself. He couldn’t work with his mind on Allison. 

The day passed slowly. On his afternoon break he noticed the Pontiac Allison had dropped off was gone. She must have picked it up while he was working in the bay. Ryan confirmed this.

“Your girlfriend came for her car a few minutes ago.” Rogan didn’t say anything but felt ridiculous for being so disappointed to miss seeing her for even a brief few minutes. “She is your girlfriend?” 

“Not exactly.” 

“No one can tie you down, eh?” 

Rogan shrugged.

Finally it was quitting time and Rogan washed up and clocked out. As he was walking to his truck, he got a text.

Parents forgot, can you help?

Sure, np What do you need?

They worked out the details. Rogan would pick her up at 6 and they would go buy wine and cheese together, then head to the show. He barely had time to go home and change into something respectable. He decided to wear his one nice shirt, a black men's dress shirt, tucked in to show off his skull and crossbones belt buckle. He also gave himself a close shave and tried to get the grease out from under his fingernails. He didn't have much luck with the latter. 

Allison came down the front steps wearing the same slim black dress and scarlet scarf she wore on January the ninth. He went around to the passenger's side to open the truck door for her, but she didn’t need help climbing in. He wished he had something a bit more elegant to drive.

Once buckled in and on their way, Rogan said, “You look beautiful, Allison.” 

“Thank you.”

“It really is a crime the way your parents ignore you. Did they forget, or just lose interest?”

“They forgot. Mom took the Pontiac to go play bridge with the Van Blunt's and dad is still at work. I'm very lucky you were able to help.” 

“It's never a problem. You can always count on me.”

Martin's Wine Cellar also had a cheese counter. Since he knew nothing about wine or cheese, Rogan loitered as the shopkeeper helped Allison find what she needed. When it was time to check out, Rogan presented his ID and they were swiftly taken care of. 

They arrived at Hanger Hall with 20 minutes to spare. Rogan carried in the box of wine bottles, trailing Allison. There were many people getting the refreshment table organized, so Rogan deposited the wine and got out of the way. When Allison beckoned, he approached to see a neatly arrayed table, cheese and crackers, finger sandwiches, pitchers of lemonade, 2 liters of sodas and Allison's wine. 

“Do you like Champagne?” Allison asked, proffering a bottle.

Rogan leaned close and murmured, “I don't know anything about wine.”

“You'll like this, it's very sweet.” Allison poured him a plastic flute of pale gold bubbly wine. He sipped and found he did like the light, fruity taste. 

Allison steered them away from the table and toward the slowly milling crowd viewing the paintings and sculptures. “Let's look. There are works from other schools I haven't seen yet.”

They entered a space sectioned off in the student center, white walls with bright spot lights over the paintings and sculptures. Everyone seemed to be making a circuit, starting on their right, so they joined the slowly drifting crowd. He first looked at something that seemed to be a combination of a cardboard box, a woman and an exploded paint truck. The head (if it was a head) was sort of crooked so he turned his own head a bit.

“Cubism,” Allison volunteered. 

Rogan dragged up old information stored away from high school and remembered a name. “Like Picasso?”

Allison looked pleased and they moved on to an incredibly ugly sculpture of a chicken. Maybe a chicken. Then a pretty good portrait, an accurate sketch of a pair of ballet slippers, a fairly nice painting of a riverside in summer, and then something that arrested Rogan's attention and he stopped. It was a large painting of Lake Michigan at night, under a full moon. The shore undulated and the Chicago skyline emerged from steel gray water. Streamers of cloud partially obscured the moon. It was a bit somber, dark but very clear. It touched something inside him, making him feel his heart expand, but also feel sadness.

“This one is good,” he said.

“It's mine.” Allison looked even more pleased. 

After examining the painting for a while, they moved on again. Allison's painting was by far the best in this lot of amateur pieces. He saw why she got a full scholarship.

They moved towards the refreshments again. Allison replenished the cheese and crackers and organized the wine. Rogan snagged a tiny sandwich and when Allison offered the bottle, held out his glass for more Champagne. 

The young man who Rogan helped last night walked by and Allison said, “He's very good, he did the Cubist painting.”

Thinking about the conversation he had with the guy about Allison's jealous boyfriend, Rogan asked, “When is Andy going to show up? He's coming, isn't he?”

“No. We broke up. He won't be here.” 

Rogan's pulse quickened and a lightness filled his chest, more intoxicating than this glass of wine.

“I'm sorry, Al,” he lied. He was not sorry at all. 

“Oh, don't be,” she said with asperity. “We broke up because he was such a caveman about that night we spent together. He seemed to think he owned me or something.” They had been moving away from the exhibition, towards the grouping of furniture he helped arrange last night. “Let's sit.” 

Rogan sank onto a love seat, Allison next to him. 

“How long do you have to stay?” Rogan asked.

“To the very bitter end. I have to help clean up.” She looked at him. “If you need to go, I can get a ride with someone else.”   

“No, I don't need to be anywhere, but this jacket is getting hot. I'm going to stash it in the truck.”    

Rogan headed out to the truck, humming an Ancient Doom song. Allison was finally single. She was single and there was that moment last night. When she let him take her hand. Surely that meant something. Something good. 

Rogan unlocked the truck door and leaned in to put his jacket in the back. As he backed out of the driver's side, he glimpsed something shiny on the passenger side floor. That was odd. He bent over and stretched out to reach for it. He just barely brushed it with the tips of his fingers and it rolled away, under the seat. D****t. He slammed the truck door and went around to open the passenger's side door. He groped under the seat, feeling nothing but carpeting. He tried to look under the seat but couldn’t. He fumbled some more, no luck. So he folded the passenger seat down and tried feeling under the seat from behind. Ah ha, he got it. It was some kind of slippery sphere with a chain attached. He pulled it out and held up a spherical compass keychain. Must be Allison's. He closed the door and locked the truck, tucking the compass key chain into his front pocket. 

As Rogan approached the entrance to Hanger Hall, he saw three people coming out the glass doors. As he got closer, he saw two were campus security officers and they were escorting a struggling third man between them. Feeling uneasy, he stepped up his pace to intercept the trio, find out what was going on.

The man being escorted looked familiar. Rogan jogged closer and saw it was Andy. When Andy saw Rogan, Andy struggled harder, trying to shake off the security officers.

“You lying b*****d! Cheating, lying f**k! I knew it, I knew you were both lying. F**k you, you s**t. You were waiting for this all along. Backstabbing b*****d!” 

Rogan changed direction and was heading straight in the doors. He looked around for Allison and was relieved to see her talking to Mr. Lucas and Mrs. Munroe, looking unhurt. 

“Al, are you OK?” He had to reassure himself. “What happened? That was Andy? What was he doing here? Are you OK?” He found he was gripping one of her hands, his other hand clutching her elbow, pulling her towards him. 

Allison looked up at him and said, “Yes, I'm fine, Rogan. That was Andy, and he sort of came at me. I think he was drunk, saying crazy things, begging me to go back to him.”

“Did he hurt you?” 

“I'm fine. Really, I'm fine.” Allison yielded to Rogan's attempt to draw her closer and put her arm around his waist. He folded her up in a gentle hug. 

“What happened?”

Her voice was muffled as she answered, “He tried to grab me and I pulled my pepper spray on him. Then Mr. Lucas came over with two cops, campus cops, and they took Andy away.”

He looked down on her and saw how white her face was. “Oh, hey, are you feeling alright?” He loosened his embrace and steered her towards the nearest sofa. “You need to sit down.” She sat and pulled him down next to her, leaned against him. He put his arm around her.

“Try to breathe. Slowly in,” he encouraged her, “and out. That's right, breathe.” She relaxed against him and they sat silently as she calmed her breath.

After a minute, Rogan asked, “Feeling better?” There was more color in her cheeks.

“I feel a little shaky. It got scary there for a second, while I tried to find my pepper spray. That was a huge adrenaline rush.” She snuggled closer. “Thank you for taking care of me.” 

“Hey, I didn't do anything, the campus cops did it all.”

“That's not what I'm talking about.” She looked up at him. “Andy always wanted to punch people, always wanted to protect me by beating someone up. That's not what I need. All that male ego stuff isn't about me. And my parents... they never care if I'm ok or not. You care and pay attention and help me. Really help me.”   

“I try.” Heat was creeping up his neck and into his cheeks. “Let's get you home. I think they might let you off cleaning up, considering.” 

“It's almost over anyway. I'll just tell Mr Lucas.” 

          

Allison rose and went to Mr. Lucas. Rogan got to his feet as well, headed in that direction.   

Before he reached them, Allison, turning away, had her purse over one shoulder and a bottle in her hand. As she joined Rogan, she gestured with the wine bottle. “Mr. Lucas said I earned this.”

“Wine?”

“Not just any old wine, it's that Champagne. It's open and will go flat soon, so we need to drink it up,” Allison said, gesturing with the wine bottle. “Let's go to your place.”

  

“Don't you need to get home?”

“No, my parents won't notice and I don't have to be anywhere tomorrow morning. I can go wherever I like.” They reached the truck and Rogan opened the passenger side door for Allison. He clambered in and started the truck, wondering at his good fortune. 

After driving in silence for a few minutes, Rogan recollected the purpose of their evening and said, “Your painting is very good.”

“I painted it when I was pretty depressed about... well, about some things. Driving to Lake Michigan was the only thing that made me feel better. I felt free, out there.”

“I could feel that. Your painting made me feel sad, but also sort of...” He gestured, trying to describe how his heart had swelled. “Sort of big? Inside?” He wasn't explaining very well.

“You felt that? Looking at my painting made you feel that?”

“Yes.” 

“Thank you, Rogan. That is the best compliment any artist can receive, to evoke feeling, emotion.” 

“Yours was the best there.” They drove on in silence again, until Rogan turned onto Hanover Street and pulled up at the snakehouse.

“Here we are.” Rogan unlocked the front door and allowed Allison to precede him. Going up the creaking stairs and to his padlocked door made him think of the last time she was here, on Lucy's anniversary. He ushered Allison in, again wondering how this had come about. The universe seemed to be on his side tonight. 

Looking around, he said, “I don't have any glasses up here. You want to sit while I grab some?”

“Oh, hold this,” Allison said, and gave Rogan the Champagne. She rummaged in her purse. “I have a couple of flutes right here.” She brought out two plastic Champagne glasses and set them on the mantel, then said, “I'll pour.” 

He handed over the bottle and watched as she tilted a glass and the pale wine fizzed slightly as she poured. She passed him the first glass and poured the second.

“What shall we toast?” Rogan asked.

“To our futures, your music and my art.” Her pale face seemed to glow from within.   

Rogan raised his glass and saluted Allison. “I'll drink to that.” He gestured to the couch and they seated themselves.  

“So you're going to Chicago in the fall?” Rogan asked. 

“Yes, August 29th. If my parents remember.”

“You can always call me. Any time at all.”

“Oh, I guess if I remind them 12 million times, I can get them to remember.” 

“I'm always here.”

“Thank you, Rogan.”

“You'll be living in the dorms?”

“Yes. All freshmen do.” 

They talked on about Allison's plans, sipping their Champagne. When Allison drained her glass, Rogan took it from her and set both of their glasses on the coffee table. When he turned back to her, he found her looking at him intently. 

He tried taking her hand again. “Allison, you are beautiful.” She did not speak, but she didn't need to. Her dark eyes met his in an intense gaze. He leaned in again, and this time, nothing interrupted and she didn’t pull away. All his hoarded desire spilled over into their kiss.

“You don't know how long I've wanted this,” he told her.

“I do. As long as I have wanted it. Since the car accident, I've wanted this, too.” 

They plunged again into a delicious kiss, which went on and on. His hands moved as he had wanted to move them that night after the car accident, touching her warm skin, stroking her curves. She was as pliant as he could have wished. His wandering hand found the zipper of her dress and he whispered, “Yes?”

She breathed the word, “Yes.”

EPILOGUE

The automatic door to Davis County Health and Behavioral Center opened and Rogan walked into the unit. He saw J.D. engaged in a lively card game with three other guys. When J.D. noticed Rogan, he threw down his cards and said something that made the other guys laugh.

Full of his customary energy, J.D. greeted Rogan with a vigorous handshake. 

“Hey, man, how's life been treating you?” J.D. asked. J.D. seemed healthier, more color in his skin, and looked toned and fit.

“Pretty good. I came by because I'm moving to Chicago and didn't want to lose touch.”

“Oh yeah? Congratulations. I need to lose this town, too. Without Ancient Doom, there's not much keeping me here. What inspired you to leave?”

“My girlfriend will be going to school in Chicago in the fall. I want to be with her.” 

“You hear anything from Buzz or Roy?” 

“Nope, not since I picked up my amp.” 

“I tried calling Buzz a couple of times, but he never returned my calls.” J.D. looked down, studying his hands. “Kinda harsh, but that's how life is sometimes.” Looking up, his eyes brightened. “So you've got a girlfriend now? And you're going to Chicago? When are you moving?”

“In three weeks. I'll be staying with a friend, guy named Anton, until I get set up. He's got a line on a good roommate situation and one of the Midas shops in Chicago can take me on, so it won't take long. Anton is in Feast of Sins, too. I used to play with them and they need a rhythm guitarist now. Their regular guy is moving to Kentucky, so I can slip right in.”

They talked on about bands they'd known and Rogan's prospects in Chicago. 

When visiting hours were over, J.D. gave Rogan a back thumping hug.

“Look me up if you come to Chicago.” J.D. assured Rogan he would, and walked him to the unit door. 

On his way down the steps to his truck, Rogan whistled an Ancient Doom song. That was a bummer about Buzz, but seeing J.D. looking so good encouraged him. Hopefully everything will work out for all of them, J.D., Buzz, Rogan, all in their own ways.

Author's Note

Thank you all for staying with me right through to the end. As always, all comments are welcome and appreciated.

Reviews

[wtp]

Wow. There was a lot in this chapter! I liked the way you brought Rogan’s personal odyssey and his relationship with Allison to an uplifting ending simultaneously.

That said, I want to start with two nitpicks.

First, I never really understood the importance of the compass key chain. Rogan spent a lot of time digging for it, and assumes it belongs to Allison, but that it isn’t mentioned again. I felt like something just went over my head.

Secondly, and more importantly, the reference to Feast of Sins seems to conflict with Chapter 4: Jewel Music and Chaos Play. In Chapter 4, you wrote:

“They even had a name, Feast of Sins. Not that they ever thought they'd get gigs, as high schoolers. But it was fun.”

There was no indication that the band had survived their high school days.

In Chapter 12, Rogan tells J.D., “Anton is in Feast of Sins, too. I used to play with them and they need a rhythm guitarist now. Their regular guy is moving to Kentucky, so I can slip right in.”

J.D. responds “Feast of Sins? I’ve heard of them. That’s great.”

This sounds like Feast of Sins not only survived high school but thrived without Rogan. I would think that Rogan would have been even more depressed if his high school band had become a big success without him!

Enough nitpicking and consistency checking; on to the good stuff.

The opening of the chapter tells a very efficient story. Rogan remembers that his life has been in much darker places, and begins to take steps to deal with the implosion of the band and by extension his life. Returning to Jewel Music and letting Earl help him get a new G string sounds simple, but it requires a whole lot for someone who has been depressed enough for seven weeks to pass unnoticed. He passes by the Artists Guild twice in an unsuccessful attempt to see Allison, but at least he is trying.

The pace slows when Allison comes into the shop, but they have a lot of ground to cover. The recurring theme of Rogan attempting to help her in or out of the tow truck or his Tacoma is cute. He wants desperately to be helpful, but Allison doesn’t need to be helped that way. (She does appreciate him driving her and the painting to the art show, helping set up, and getting the wine for her, as he learns later.) This all really comes into focus when Andy reprises his caveman role and accosts her at the art show. Allison can protect herself, but she still wants and needs support. (“You care and pay attention and help me. Really help me.”) One last note on this portion of the chapter: I especially liked the coffee shop scene, including Allison tipping when Rogan quite reasonably does not. That felt very realistic.

The pace picks up again in your epilogue. I inferred that Rogan has come to grips with Lucy’s death since he finds the strength to visit J.D. in rehab. The reader quickly learns that Rogan is moving to Chicago, where he has a new job and roommate situation lined up, Allison is over her headaches and can attend the Art Institute, Allison and Rogan are now a couple, and he has found a new band. Rogan is rising from the ashes like a Phoenix. It is a nice upbeat finish.

Throughout the course of your book, I found myself rooting for Rogan to overcome his past, his challenges, and his own limitations. His successes and failures were plausible and were drawn realistically. So if your goal was to evoke feeling and emotion, like Allison says, you succeeded!

Thanks for sharing. I am looking forward to reading your next work!

[SweetNutmeg]

Thanks again! I super appreciate your feedback.

You really are Mr. Consistency. I put the keychain in there simply to give Andy enough time to harass Allison and be restrained. It is a huge loose end never explained, though, and I cut it. Thank you for that nitpick.

Thank you for the next one as well. I rearranged a couple of sentences, added a little bit and cut a little bit in those two chapters, which should resolve those inconsistencies. It wasn't hard.

I'm very happy you see Allison as being able to take care of herself. I tend to write rather weak female characters. (I don't know why, I am an ardent feminist raised by a feminist trail blazer and have always taken care of myself.) So this story, I made sure to give her agency and capability. I'm glad I succeeded.

And I'm glad I succeeded in pulling your heart strings and making Rogan a very sympathetic character.

Tank you so much for staying with my story through to the end. I really appreciate all of your thoughtful feedback.

[MoonlitWillow]

A lovely ending to a good story. The chapter title is very fitting, and so is the story title for that matter. Rogan was able to get back into his own groove even without a band, and he was able to sort of come into his own even before he reconnected with Allison. And of course, it was nice to see them come together at the end. The epilogue was a nice touch. It was good of him to check in on J.D., and it gives the reader a glimpse into his future. I'm honestly not usually one for contemporary fiction, but this was a good story, and I'm glad I read it.

[SweetNutmeg]

Thank you so much for sticking with me through to the end. You've been a big help, especially with fleshing out Allison. I appreciate your reading even though it's not up your normal alley. I'm looking forward to more writing from you!

[Samuel Dickens]

In all, it's a curvy ride through ups and downs, thrills and disappointments, (as real life tends to be) finally ending with romance rising from the ashes of Rogan's despair. (Perhaps Allison's, too) Clean and well-written. (Okay, there's a comma or two) So now the reader is left wondering if their romance will flourish and whether or not Rogan will get into another band. In their hearts, I imagine they both see wine and roses and sunny days ahead.

[SweetNutmeg]

Thank you for all you've done and for sticking with this through the end. You've been an invaluable help to me, with technical details of music and mechanics, with your grammar and readability feedback, your honest opinions and your ever present encouragement. I appreciate it all.

And yes, they probably both see wine and roses and sunny days ahead. Bout time something went Rogan's way.

[Wathanya.5KY3]

Bravo! The name of the chapter and the book itself, Phoenix, makes total sense now. It is a very fitting name. Brownie points from yours truly!

This was a heart-warming chapter, warmer than the morning coffee I was drinking while reading it. One of the things I really like about your writing style is how you make so many things relatable to us, the readers.

I loved every word of this chapter, but my favorite is probably -- as expected of me -- the ending of the chapter before the epilogue: His wandering hand finds the zipper of her dress and he whispers, “Yes?” ... She breathes the word, “Yes.”

It's just so good. And so soon after, Rogan refers to him as his girlfriend too!

The ending of the epilogue, where we know Buzz wouldn't pick up J.D.'s calls, is a bummer, but -- as J.D. says -- life is like that sometimes.

If you plan to write another book, you can be 100% sure I'll stal-, I mean, *ahem* read and review every chapter of it.

[SweetNutmeg]

Thank you so much for such warm praise. And thank you for sticking through to the very end. This was a long story (for WC) and I appreciate your stamina and constancy. You've been a big help throughout.

And if you stalk another story of mine, I promise not to call the story police on you.

I think i avoided mouth herpes for everyone. :P

[Wathanya.5KY3]

I enjoyed every minute of reading it. Thank you for writing and sharing this with us.

There's a story police?! I need to me more careful then. I'm stalking a few other people's stories too. Sure hope they don't call the story police on me.

I think you did. Let me check.... No mouth herpes. You're good. xD