Then emails started arriving. Blackbird Studio wrote to say they stood with me, that any session work I needed, I should just call. Sound Emporium wrote that what I’d done took guts, and let’s book some sessions. Ocean Way Nashville said their rooms were open to me anytime. Three major studios offering support unprompted. My professional reputation hadn’t been damaged at all. If anything, it had grown.
One week after the lakehouse, my phone rang and Derek’s voice came through, barely recognizable. Marcus, please, he said. Can we talk. I’m listening, I said. A long pause followed, his breathing unsteady. I messed up, he finally said. I know, I told him. I shouldn’t have said what I said about your guitar, he continued. Tyler shouldn’t have broken it. I’m sorry. He was crying by then. Can you drop the lawsuit, please, he asked. No, I said. We’re going to lose the house, he said. Foreclosure in sixty days. Clare’s parents won’t help. Mine won’t give any more. We’re drowning. You should have thought about that before you used a child to damage my property, I told him. I’ll pay for the guitar, he said. I’ll get you a new one. Just drop the suit. I used his own words back at him. Can’t replace it, I said. It’s irreplaceable. Then I hung up.
