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It took a year to mend the fences with her mother and father but they came around when they got the wedding invitation.
When their first child was born a year later, Rainy’s mom had all but forgotten how disappointed she’d been in her daughter. Now she had the baby to fuss over.
“Are you going to make me sing this all by myself?” she said into the mic.
“Oh baby, you don’t need me. You’re a star in your own right.”
He walked up to her and placed his hand on her swollen belly. “I love you,” he whispered.
She turned sideways and showed the crowd her belly. “Soon, there will be another Brock.” She pointed to the first row where her mother sat holding three-year-old Janis Joplin Brock. “My husband would like to have a dozen children. He’s got a list of musicians he’d love to pay tribute to, but this little guy is going to be it for us.” She patted her stomach. “This little Brock should be born by the end of the week.”
While the crowd cheered, Kris wrapped his arms around his wife and whispered, “Just one more. We need an Etta James.”
They finished the concert to a standing ovation.
Kris led his wife off stage. “You all right, baby?”
She bent over and grabbed her knees. “I need something.”
He kneeled in front of her. “Anything. I’ll get you anything.”
She started to pant. “Get me to the hospital.”
Three hours later Bob Marley Brock was born. He came into the world with ten perfect little fingers that would someday strum a guitar and a set of lungs that would fill a concert hall.
