My gaze slid to the white slip of paper on the table. Curiosity nudged me the few steps until I stared down at it. I should’ve picked it up and thrown it in the trash. Instead, I flipped it over really quickly, as if his writing would’ve burned my fingers if I’d lingered.
The number written in a bold hand caused me to suck in my breath.¡Ay, caray!That changed everything.
2
Asher
The sanctuary at Grace Chapel echoed my footsteps as I made my way down the center aisle to the stage. The acoustics in the large room had the ability to pick up the barest of sounds and magnify them like an amplifier. Which wasn’t forgiving when a note hadn’t been hit just right or Jimmy came in half a second too late on the keyboard. A good reason why it was the perfect place to practice. Making a joyful noise unto the Lord was all well and good ninety-nine percent of the time, but when the group played for more than an audience of One, they needed the noiseto sound more like magic.
The afternoon sun streamed through the large west-facing stained-glass window behind the stage, casting a brilliance of kaleidoscopic colors along the polished wood floor. This was my favorite time of day to practice because of the light. The visual display helped remind me of how the light illuminates, both physically and spiritually.
“Any luck?” Dave, our drummer, entered from a side door, his drumsticks in hand. I swore he slept with the two pieces of wood under his pillow. No one ever saw him without them. Usually, the drumsticks hitched a ride in his back pocket, but the closer we came to the first concert of the tour, the more his fingers fiddled with the B sticks.
I jumped onto the stage, watched the colors bathe my skin, then walked to my guitar case. Ever since hearing that woman’s enchanting voice, my hands had itched to feel strings beneath my fingers. Notes danced in my head, playing tag with each other, so far refusing to be caught. There was a song there. I could feel it. I just needed more…
The locks on the guitar case released with a click. I lifted the hand-crafted instrument up by the neck and settled the construction-worker-orange strap over my shoulder. Closing my eyes, I took in a deep breath and placed the tips of my fingers on the strings along the fingerboard.
“Hey, Asher.” Dave’s shrill whistle nearly pierced my eardrum as it expanded with the acoustics, chasing the notes that had been playing in my head completely away.
I sighed and rested my hand on the smooth body of my Martin.
“I asked if you had any luck,” he repeated.
Luck had nothing to do with anything. No, what I’d had this afternoon was wholly Providential. I fully and completely believed God had directed my steps into Seventh Street Sounds at that exact moment. What I’d heard was a gift. And a shame. Because no light as bright as hers should ever be hidden. It should be shared with the world. It should shine for all to see, illuminating the darkest of places and starting other flames blazing as well.
But how could a wildfire spread if the source insisted on staying contained?
“What’s up?” Tricia asked somewhere behind me.
I hadn’t even realized she was there. Had she been there when I came in, or had I missed her entrance?
“Asher’s all up in his head again,” Dave replied, a short quality to his voice.
He was a talented drummer. Hit and kept the beat perfectly. But he played the notes and not the other way around. He didn’t surrender to the music. Let it consume him. And he didn’t understand those who did.
“Is he writing another song?” Tricia asked Dave, not bothering to direct her question to me. We’d been playing together long enough for them to know that if music was speaking to me, then that’s all I’d be able to hear in the moment, no matter how much she said or how loudly she said it.
Clothes rustled, and I imagined Dave shrugging his wide shoulders. “Beats me. But we have a lot of details to bang out and confirm before the tour, so we need his head here, not in the clouds.”
I strummed a G-major chord. “I’m here, Dave.”
“Finally,” he muttered.
I switched to a C-major chord as I turned. Jimmy, our keyboardist, should be arriving any minute along with his teenage son, Marcus, who played bass. Then we could start practice. “To answer your question, I found more than I was looking for.”
Dave stopped twirling his drumsticks. “Can you be any more cryptic?”
Tricia supported her expanding midsection with one hand, her other absently stroking circles on the side of her belly. One thing was for certain, that baby would never suffer not knowing it was loved a single day of its life.
“What do you mean, Asher?” she asked.
I played a I-V-vi-IV chord progression, my fingers finding the correct strings with the same precision of a dancer landing on their mark. “I found us a sound engineer who can also step in to the role of lead female vocalist if…” My voice trailed off as I looked at Tricia.
Tricia sighed. “I’ve told you a thousand times. The baby and I will be completely fine.”
I nodded to let her know I’d heard her, even though I wasn’t convinced, then repeated the progression. “Only problem is, she didn’t agree to take on either job.”
“So you’ve got nothing and we’re still down essential people to make this whole tour work. Great.” Dave rounded the drums and sat down heavily on his throne.
