“Are you up?”

“No,” Keely moaned, burying her head deeper into the pillow. Her mind was still settled deeply into the comfortable obliviousness which was sleep and she wasn’t going to give that up willingly.

There was a beat of silence that filled the room, and for one hopeful moment, she believed herself to be alone.

Then, “Oh, well, I’m going to take all the albums you love and throw them outside.”

“As long as you leave my Rubber Soul and Led Zeppelin || vinyls,” she threw back. But all the same she gave a contented stretch before rolling over, rubbing her eyes wearily while she kept the other arm wrapped securely about the pillow. “Didn’t your mother teach you it’s rude to break into other people houses, Joseph? Especially in the morning?”

“You’d have preferred I came at night?” he countered without a qualm, dropping himself carelessly onto the edge of her bed. And Keely couldn’t help but notice that he was munching quite happily on a muffin she was sure he’d nicked from her kitchen.

With a chuckle, she shook her head before bracing her palms against the sheets that had almost been torn off the mattress as she pushed herself into an admittedly more uncomfortable position leaning back against the headboard. She only put herself through that because she knew if she continued lying down, she’d be asleep within moments. Then Joe would find no issue with dumping a cup of ice water on her head, he’d done it before.

Letting loose a yawn, Keely ran her hands wearily over her face, peering at her best friend who had a spark of amusement behind those summery blue eyes of his. “How are you this cheery in the morning?” she grumbled.

“We’re farm people, Keel,” Joe replied breezily as he finished the crumbs of his muffin before lounging out against her bed. “We’re supposed to be up at the crack of dawn.”

Instead of answering that absurd statement, she pulled a face.

Studiously he ignored less than enthused expression as his darkly tanned hands knotted behind his head comfortably. It didn’t take long for him to make himself at home in her bed, did it? “Why didn’t you get home until four?”

The question had Keely blinking in surprise before her eyes narrowed on him suspiciously, but another – more plausible – option occurred to her only seconds after all the others stretched through her mind. “Did you meet my dad as you came in?”

Without a hesitation, Joe confirmed, “He caught me just in time to load the air compressor into the truck.”

That would have been quite the normal answer, and Keely accepted it instantly as she attempted to run her fingers through her severely knotted hair. Yet moments later the entire truth sank in, and that casual air in the bedroom shifted as she looked down at Joseph, his hair so shortly cut that it created an almost halo around his head against the sun that was pouring through the window.

“Why was he packing up the truck?” she inquired apprehensively, her eyes narrowing down on him. It was a fair question; she’d helped him pack it up just a day ago. “It’s Sunday, this is his day off.”

Giving a shrug, Joe offhandedly responded, “He said there was something important he had to do before the crew got there tomorrow.”

With that information all urge to lie back down and catch up on that much needed sleep was disintegrated. Keely was very much awake now. She no longer had any eyes for her best friend who was lying on the edge of her bed, but instead stared at her shelves of records with a frown deepening the shadows that played across her face, twisting her fingers together.

And she kept her mouth shut about the fact that she and her father were supposed to go into town together for lunch today.

“So,” said Joe, dragging out the vowel until she was forced to look at him, if only to shut him up. With an inquisitive look, he shoved up to his side, propping himself up slightly so he could look her in the face. “Are you ever going to tell me why you weren’t home until four in the morning?”

Despite the amused expression he wore, just begging for her to tell him everything, Keely gave a thoughtless shrug of her shoulder. “We were at a concert.”

At her half hearted reply, Joe rolled his eyes, reaching out to give her knee a little shove with his hand. His hands that were so tanned in comparison to the paleness of her bared legs. “Those concerts end at like eight thirty so all the kids can be tucked in bed by their bedtimes,” stated Joe pointedly, “And it doesn’t take that long to drive back from Seattle. What happened?”

His reply had caused a grin to break out on her mouth despite the frown that had been there just moments before, and Keely could only concede that he was perfectly in the right. However she still replied, “You don’t want to know.”

“Keel,” Joe whined, flopping onto his back.

Chuckling, she kicked out lightly, shoving his side with the heel of her foot. “I broke up with Tony, that’s all you need to know.”

She barely noticed the way Joe stilled at the news, his eyes flickering up to check her expression that came with those words, because she was beginning to frown again in thought. “And he ruined one of my CDs,” said Keely, getting into a huff again, “You need to know that. It was a really good one that I’d made for him.”

From growing up together since they were in diapers, Joe knew how to handle her when she got in a state, and all he could do was stay relaxed. She’d eventually run out of steam if she wasn’t provoked. It was never pretty when she was provoked; she’d been told she’d inherited her mother’s fiery temper. So he just lounged back again, reasoning, “Well, you can make it for yourself.”

Before she could whirl herself into an impressive state, Joe cut off the entire thing by sitting up. “You ready to get up? I’ve already fed and turned out your horses,” he reminded her, “Because I’m the best friend you could ever hope for. We just need to muck out and then we could go on a trail ride?”

Forgetting herself, Keely almost replied that she couldn’t since she was going out to lunch with her father; however the words were quickly cut off when she remembered where he was. “Sounds perfect,” she said instead, hoping that he didn’t notice the sudden darkening in her tone.

Luckily he was oblivious to her thoughts, because he was hopping up with far too much energy, and dragging her up by the hand.

Yet he found himself pausing when he’d yanked her fully out of bed and from the blankets, and Keely noticed the way his eyes quickly flickered down her body before travelling up again. “You might need to get changed first,” he observed with a quick smile after taking in her pyjamas of shorts and a tank in full fashion. “It’s starting to cool off in the mornings now.”

With a roll of her eyes, Keely placed her hands on Joe’s shoulders, watched as his expression froze and then let out an amused laugh at his confusion. Spinning him around, she shoved her towards the door, ordering, “Out.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” he assured her, waving a hand behind him carelessly.

And sure enough, only moments after she’d turned towards her closet, she heard her door close with a gentle click.

She and Joe had been friends longer than Keely cared to remember. They’d never chosen to be friends; it had been more as habit since they spent almost every moment together before they could walk. They knew everything about each other, well, almost everything. Who else was supposed to be her best friend? They’d been neighbors their entire lives, only a walking distance apart. Although there had been a period in kindergarten when she’d been sure Joe had cooties.

However that had quickly faded in the comparison when her mother had been in the hospital. She’d spent almost every moment at Joe’s house, his mother Evelyn taking care of her like a second child. Her father hadn’t had the time to look after a child, not then when he was still working full time, trying to keep the farm from crumbling and making as much time to spend with his wife as possible. Evelyn had been the one to keep Keely and her father fed, took care of their farm and helped keep her dad on schedule as best as she could.

In the end, Evelyn had become a convoluted step mother to her.

Breaking her from her the rather morbid thoughts was a rap at the door. “Phone,” called Joe as she stumbled over the leg of jeans in surprise.

“I’ll be one second,” Keely hollered distractedly as she yanked her jeans over her hips. She almost escaped her room with a shard of dignity left, but as she went for the doors she managed to jam her toe roughly against the edge of the record shelf her dad built her years ago.

Barely pausing to let out the nastiest of swear words, Keely half jogged half limped towards her bedroom door. It wasn’t anything new; she could manage to trip over her own feet on a perfectly flat surface.

When she flung open the door, Joe was standing with the cordless home phone in hand and a disapproving look on his face. Apparently he’d heard the swearing through the door.

With a roll of her eyes, she grabbed the phone from his clutches and shoved passed him.

As she made her way into the kitchen, Keely pressed the phone against her ear, ignoring the blonde boy who was trailing after her. “Hello?” she asked, just realizing then that she had no idea who was on the other end. Not many people called on the home phone.

“Hi, Keely,” said the voice on the line. And it held enough roughness paired with a highness that had Keely’s eyebrows shooting up in confusion. She couldn’t decide if she should be wincing or be in praise of the voice. It was different to almost everything she’d heard before and she couldn’t understand if it was beautiful or not. One thing was sure, it was not pleasant.

When the voice didn’t continue, Keely replied, “Hi?”

And it was in a business like clip that the woman continued, making sure that her voice was clipped and smart, leaving behind all personal niceties. “I’m calling about riding lessons for my daughter, Mitchie, and I saw the add in the newspaper.”

Only now realizing what the call was, Keely sent an accusing look in Joe’s direction for not informing her only to find that he was digging through her cupboards for food. Did the boy ever get tired? “Oh, yes, what were you looking for in the lessons?” asked she, attempting to put on a professional tone, but failing miserably. She might be dreadful at it, but giving lessons to kids was her only way of making some pocket money. “As in what discipline and what level your daughter is at.”

“She’s never sat on a horse before,” said the woman flatly, not bothering to gloss over it. “So I’d say her stage is zero. We’re only in town for a few more weeks and she won’t rest until she gets near a horse.”

Keely gave a nod, staring through the sliding door in the kitchen that lead to the back porch before realizing that a nod didn’t translate well over the telephone wire. Hurriedly, she asked, “How old is your daughter?”

“Only five,” admitted the woman, “But she’s rather stubborn about this, I’m afraid.”

Despite herself, Keely gave a laugh; she could deal with stubborn children. “That’s fine,” she assured the woman, before asking, “And what do I call you?”

“Oh,” replied the woman before giving a tinkling laugh on her own. It was so at contrast from the rest of her voice that Keely had to blink. “My names Maureen Jones,” said the voice, still chuckling at something that Keely could not understand.

After working out the details with the mother for a time, Keely hung up the phone and turned towards Joe. He was eating another muffin.

Why did he never got full? And he always remained that long body, hardened from farm work.

Ignoring it, Keely sent him a wide grin. “We have another student, at least for the next couple weeks,” she announced.

She’d be able to get a few albums out of this to be sure.

After a long day full of manual labour, both Keely and Joe were slouching their way back from the barn. There was never a shortage of work to be done when a person lived on a farm. It was a good thing that the two of them had had the strongest of worth ethics practically bred into them, although Keely spent a fair amount of the time day dreaming.

If it had been her choice, she would have spent her day tucked in with her vinyls and the guitar she always kept tucked away in her closet, away from prying eyes. It didn’t matter who’s eyes it was.

"See you tomorrow," Keely called, letting her eyes follow the sight of Joe’s back that was retreating down the path between the trees.

His response was a half-hearted wave behind him as he walked down the darkened path.

Not bothering to hide the smile at his expected goodbye since he hadn’t bothered to spare a glance back towards her, Keely stuffed her hands in the pockets of her jeans as she walked up the wooden back porch steps.

However that amused smile dwindled with every step, and by the time she’d reached the patio, it had been dropped from her face altogether. One look at the house told Keely that her father hadn’t come home from the job he wasn’t even supposed to be doing, all the windows were darkened. And if her dad had been home, one thing was certain; the kitchen light would be on.

Despite the fact that her dad would love to come home to the sports channel blaring, Keely decidedly bypassed the living room altogether. If her father wasn’t here, she wasn’t going to bother watching the damned thing herself. She’d never been one for watching sports alone and she had more important things on her mind.

It was just one of the numerous differences between Keely and her dad. She was sure they were uncountable.

Whereas he loved sports, she couldn’t be bothered unless there was another person there to spend that time with. He adored making things with his hands. It was his art form, not that he’d ever call it that. And Keely would have preferred to keep her fingers safe and nimble for her guitar pick. One day she was going to write a list of every difference and decide if they could actually be related since by all accounts, she hadn’t inherited a thing from his side.

Having retrieved the guitar from her closet in the safe darkness of the house, Keely retraced her footsteps, heading back where she’d come. Yet she couldn’t help the way her thoughts were lingering on the obvious dissimilarity between she and her father.

Even in the looks they were desperately opposed. She was the perfect replica of her mother. Her father was towering at over six feet tall where Keely could only be called an average height at best. His hair was a ruddy brown, though it was now passing over to begin to grey while she had brilliant red hair that fell in long curls over her shoulders. The most pronounced difference were his icy blue eyes that didn’t even hold the same shape as the deep green she’d gotten from her mother.

Shaking the thoughts from her head, Keely stepped quietly through the sliding door she’d left open, the porch squeaking lightly beneath her feet. This time she did had have the thought to close it after herself gently, as if there was something around that she didn’t want to disturb under any circumstance.

Her father had built the porch with his own hands when she’d been just a toddler, because her mother had loved the idea of the swing. Brooke had wanted to spend her nights sitting on the back porch swing with her husband.

No one sat on it anymore.

Even then Keely walked to the edge of the porch, settling down to allow her legs to dangle over the six foot drop to the soft green grass.

Settling the guitar in her lap, she couldn’t stop the scenes from her childhood lingering in her head as she did something her mother had done before her a thousand times. It had been Brooke that taught Keely how to play the guitar, even if it was done very rudimentary since she’d been so young. They’d always done those lessons back here in the summer or in the living room in the winter, her father watching as he did some chore.

Her dad used to like music while he worked, well, at least he liked when his wife played it. And Brooke had always obliged him by playing him the guitar.

Sadly those moments slotted into Keely’s mind were small. Her childhood memories were only flashes of images in her mind now. They’d been lost over the years. The most prevalent memory had been her sickly mother playing the guitar on the porch, having just come home from the hospital and death had seemed to hang around her, waiting for its chance. It wasn’t something Keely liked to think on.

Very vaguely she could remember the way Brooke’s voice sounded, or she more remembered the way it had made her feel. It was so pure and sweet, like some lovely lullaby worthy to lull anyone into a dreamless sleep.

Brooke had passed on every musical bone in her body to Keely, just as she had her physical resemblance. Yet Keely’s voice grew from the one her mother had, and she had the lungs to back it up. Even her untrained vocal chords knew by instinct that she had something that most other people didn’t.

Not that people ever knew, not even Joe or Haley. The only person she dared sing or play in front of was her own father. And it wasn’t the same as when Brooke used to play for him and his face would soften. He would smile at her and tell her she was great because that was what he did as a father. Anyone would be able to see he didn’t relish the chance to watch his daughter play, though. He was simply required to now.

The thoughts running through her mind caused Keely to turn a mournful tune as she played away, eyes glazed over and mind years away. It was something she’d written herself and remained for her ears only. She never played original songs for her dad. He might not even be able to fake a smile anymore if she did that.

He didn’t even turn the radio on if he had the choice.

A piano would have been more fitting for her present mood, but there was none for miles. Keely could only dream about the chance to have a piano in house. The only time she got to play was at school in the band room. People could only do that under permission from the band teacher, not that she did. She went in after hours, slowly teaching herself through playing. And though it had started painfully, Keely was sure she was getting somewhere, albeit slowly.

Unconsciously she shifted slowly to playing a different song, it had started with a few switched chords and a different tune and before she knew it, she was in the middle of another. She didn’t dare sing at the moment, not wanting to jar whatever silence lingered in the air, but it slowly began to sink in that she had moved onwards to playing a Beatles song.

It was fitting, though; Yesterday had never been the happiest of songs.

She quickly broke from playing at a jolt, hitting the wrong chords when the door slid open smoothly behind her.

That wasn’t graceful at all.

Hastily letting her strumming hand fall away, Keely twisted about on the edge of the porch dangerously, finding the person behind her to be none but her father. He had those stern lines etched into his face, but they were hidden by the shadow his raggedy old baseball cap on top of his head caused.

“That was a nice song,” he said in compliment. It didn’t sound like much of one, though, his voice was tight and words were short.