I reached for her hand to help her off the stage, but she shooed me away. “I’m pregnant, not an invalid.”
Even so. “I’m going to find you a stool or something to sit on. We’ll add that to our supply list for the tour, too.” I hopped off the stage and marched toward the side exit. The church had a storage room where they kept extra chairs and things. Maybe I could find a stool there.
The storage room was down in the basement beside the fellowship hall where they had potlucks and social functions and even wedding receptions when a couple booked the church as a venue. Growing up a Christian, I’d walked into my fair share of churches. They all had a very similar smell, especially in the lower levels. Years’ worth of reheated home-cooked culinary dish aromas had seeped into the walls along with an undertone of dirty diaper stench from the nursery and the smell of stale coffee from the large urns that served congregants alongside boxes of donuts before services. Grace Chapel, with its fresh paint, new carpets, and modern seats instead of pews, wasn’t exempt from church basement smells.
I fished out the keys from my pocket and unlocked the door. Wedged back in a dark corner, past stacks of extra chairs and a plywood cutout nativity, was a slightly wobbly stool. I hauled it out, knocking over a stack of dusty hymnals with one of the feet. The top book fell open, the notes on the pages drawing me in. I couldn’tnotstop to thumb through the compositions. That would be like asking a reader to not pick up a book when they were at the library. Or an athlete to not touch a ball on the playing field.
Some people thought hymns were outdated, but I tended to see them as classics. Songs like “Amazing Grace” and “It Is Well”still had the ability to move people to tears hundreds of years later. The power of music was timeless.
I only let myself look at a couple of songs before I righted the tumbled stack and locked the storage room back up. When I got back to the sanctuary, Dave and Tricia were staring at each other in a silent standoff.
“What’s going on?” I asked as I approached with caution.
Tricia rose from the seat slowly, leading with her middle as if hoping to get the extra weight there to a certain point so gravity would take over and help her right herself the rest of the way. “In case none of you numbskulls heard me before, let me say it again. As a member of True North, I will be going on this tour. The baby isn’t due for another six weeks. If there comes a point when I think I need to step aside for any reason, thenIwill make that call. Got it?”
Dave huffed before stalking back to the drums without either argument or acquiescence. Jimmy saluted while Marcus froze as if any tiny movement would alert the predator to his location.
Tricia took the stool from my hand, climbed onto the stage, and set the seat where she’d been standing during practice earlier. She perched on the edge. “Good. Now. That being said, I also think it’s time to add another female to our group.” She turned her hawk eyes on me. “What do you say, band leader?”
I grinned. I could already picture Seventh Street girl up on the stage with us. Her riotous curls a halo of personality in the spotlight shining down from the rafters. Her earthy, rich voice blending with my deeper, even tones to create a euphonic experience. “I’m already on it.”
I just had to convince her to stop hiding her light under a bushel and let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.
3
Betsy
One question bounced around in my head as I drove to Nicole’s house. Should I tell my friends about Asher North’s job proposition or not? I already knew what they’d say. That I was crazy for not accepting on the spot, especially after seeing how many place values were in his offer. And my family could really use the money. We’d all been saving for a family-based green card for myprimaCamilla. Tia Alma and Tio Sergio had been granted permanent resident cards along with their two younger children, but Camilla had turned twenty-one a month before, so she’d no longer been eligible to immigrate with her family. The limited number of slots available for the second preference category—the one she fell under—meant the wait could be long, but we couldn’t even start the process without the funds for legal and filing fees.
On the other hand, there was my rule. Which my friends knew about, but not why. And even though Asher North had been totally professional and hadn’t hit on me or made any moves that would break my no-dating-musicians policy, I couldn’t help but be cautious. He had a glint in his eye that made me uncomfortable. A spark that said he knew how to push boundaries to make them wider so he never actually stepped over any line. I didn’t trust him.
And worse—for some reason, I didn’t trust myself around him.
Which left me in this predicament. Should I sell out for the sake of my family and put myself in a situation that could lead to untold troubles, or should I—
Wait. What was I saying? What was Ithinking? This wasla familia.You did anything and everything for family. I’d just have to put on a second layer of sarcasm armor and make sure Asher knew that no meant no. I wouldnotbe singing with him and his band. Period. I’d manage their audio and equipment and make sure they sounded the best they could. My job description in highlights, bold, and italics. End of story.
I parked on the street in front of Nicole’s house. Even if I’d never been to her charming bungalow before, I’d have known which residence belonged to her. It was the only one where the sod had been ripped out and raised gardens installed in neat little rows. I’d made the mistake of commenting on her landscaping choices the first time I’d visited and had to endure an hour lecture on the substantial harm lawns did to the environment with the waste of water, the gas it took to mow the grass, and the millions of pounds of pesticides used every year.
I should have known better than to ask or comment. Everything was a cause with Nicole. Totally annoying but also endearing, because how could you stay upset with someone who cared so much? And she did care. About everything and everyone. Honestly, it was a little exhausting to be around, so usually I countered her soapbox rants with a well-placed quip.
Besides Nicole’s electric car with theSave the chubby unicornssticker on the bumper, two trucks and a minivan also occupied the drive and curb by her house. The men must not have wanted to be separated from their ladies. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. On the one hand, part of me missed the days the five of us would huddle in Molly and Jocelyn’s living room, sipping mocktails and pretending to sew. Or at least Amanda, Nicole, and I pretended. Molly and Jocelyn actually created some pretty amazing pieces. Then again, the appearance of my friends’ significant others had had a balancing effect on their sometimes over-the-top personalities.
Molly still held strong to her strict honesty policy, but since meeting and marrying Ben, she’d learned to temper the truth with a healthy dose of common sense and graceful tact. Jocelyn had found the courage and security in Malachi’s love to finally follow a life dream that she had buried deep under Excel spreadsheets and financial analysis reports. Drew had opened Nicole’s eyes to the importance of not taking everything so seriously and the truth that a little fun in life was also worth fighting for. Finally, Amanda…well, without Peter, Amanda would probably still be suffering silently with the symptoms of her undiagnosed autoimmune disorder, still refusing to let her friends and those who loved her support her.
All of my closest friends had been hit hard by Cupid’s arrow. I was happy for them. But if that flying diaper baby even so much as thought of practicing his archery skills by using me as a target, I’d hunt him down and do more than just clip his wings. I wasn’t above the threat of bodily harm. Even on mythical creatures. Just saying.
I liked my single status. I didn’t have to deal with someone putting demands on me, or divide my time and focus to accommodate a fragile male ego. Honestly, relationships looked like little reward for a whole lot of effort. I’d pass on that cruise ship, thank you very much.
I grabbed my grocery bag of ingredients—reusable canvas so I wouldn’t have to see Nicole’s reproving look or hear the statistic on how many plastic bags ended up in the oceans every year (yes, avoiding lectures was a highly motivating reason to do or not do something)—and hauled myself out of my beat-up thirty-year-old Toyota Corolla. The car was like an old vinyl record—some scratches here and there, lots of crackles and pop sounds, and occasionally getting stuck and needing a swift kick in the pants to get started again.
Since it looked like all the guys were in attendance, I was glad I’d bought two two-liter bottles of ginger ale instead of just one. I’d have to slice the pint of fresh strawberries I’d picked up at the roadside stand a little thinner, though, to make them stretch for eight drinks.
The front door swung open with a turn of the handle. Voices and laughter drifted from the great room at the back of the house as I toed off my shoes and padded my way to the kitchen, my socks slipping a bit on the bamboo hardwood floors.
“Betsy’s here!” Amanda shouted from her place on the corner of the couch. Her legs were tucked up underneath her, and she snuggled into the broad side of her NFL-star fiancé.
“Practicing for your cheerleading tryouts?” I raised a brow at her enthusiasm. I’d arrived, not won the Superbowl. No need to celebrate to that decibel.
