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“Well, I can’t ask for anything more,” he said.
“Will you come up and play a few songs, darlin’?” asked Phil.
She gave him a wan smile. “I don’t know.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “No worries. You don’t have to decide now.”
“How about if you did ‘Our House’ with Tom?” asked Stokey. “He’d be there, and it would be a great one for the two of you.”
She took a breath in. “Maybe. Yeah. I’ll see.”
She looked over to the stage and saw that her guitar case and Tom’s were there among the other equipment and instruments. It would be something she knew her father would have liked. And she wanted to do it. For him.
“What does Tom say, or have you asked him yet?”
“He’s all for it,” said Stokey. “He said to check with you, though.”
She searched the room for him. He had been near the door, chatting to people as they entered. She knew she wasn’t ready to handle that. It had been hard enough at the church door, when people filed out after the service and shook her hand, offering their condolences. Giancarlo had sat with her in the front pew of the church on one side, dressed in his dark Armani suit, rubbing her shoulder and squeezing her right hand on occasion. Tom was on her other side, and it had been his hand she’d clutched and found comfort in through the whole of the service, except when he rose to give one of the readings. She had felt unable to do it. Ethan had sat behind them along with Phil in an old, ill-fitting suit and tie, Stokey in hastily gathered together jacket, tie, and slacks, and Stokey’s wife in a dark trench coat that she kept tied. After the readings, Stokey had read the lyrics from one of her father’s favorite songs, citing a funny story about how he misheard the lyrics and for years thought ‘Duncan, I love you’ was ‘the dove above you,’ infusing it with far more meaning than it deserved. Phil had given the formal eulogy, speaking about her mother and her father, the love they shared for music and each other. It was a story she hadn’t heard in years and it made her laugh to think of it, because it was so much like her father.
She caught Tom’s eye, and he gave her an inquisitive look. He glanced over to the other side of the entrance, where Giancarlo stood vigil, solemnly shaking people’s hands. She’d abandoned him a few minutes before on the excuse to check the kitchen and see if anything was needed. He’d insisted that he would be fine, and Tom hadn’t seemed to mind. Tamzin was there for a little while at the start, but had disappeared into the crowd. She’d sat in the back at the church service, arriving late, dressed in a yellow long-sleeved dress that had navy splashes of color, like something from a Jackson Pollock painting, and dark suede mid-length boots that laced up. Her braids were loose and swinging around her waist, and her nose sported a septum ring. Kate had also noticed a new tattoo on the back of her hand when they’d sat next to each other in the limousine on the way to the cemetery. She’d caught Tom’s momentary frown, though she wasn’t sure whether it was provoked by the outfit, her new additions, her lateness, or everything in general.
Tom started to thread his way through the clusters of people and tables heading toward her. As if on cue, Giancarlo broke away from a group he’d just greeted and followed Tom.
“There,” said Ethan, coming up behind us. “That’s the last of the equipment set up. And Jackie said she has enough plates now.”
He’d gone over to the local restaurant at Pete’s wife’s request and asked if they’d be able to lend some to O’Connor’s for the evening, offering to pay for any breakages. They’d agreed in the end, though Kate couldn’t imagine how Ethan had convinced them. He’d been doing that, picking up the slack, noticing what was needed.
“Thanks, man,” said Phil, pulling away from Kate and slapping Ethan on the back. “And you’re sure you don’t mind stepping in tonight?”
“You mean to play with you guys?” Ethan said. “It’s an honor. I couldn’t believe it when Tom asked me.”
“Of course he would,” Kate said. “Why wouldn’t he? You’re perfect for it.”
Ethan looked down at her, running a hand through his hair. “Thank you,” he said, his eyes warm and filled with emotion. “That means a lot to me.”
Kate noticed his dark tie and jacket were long gone, and the top button of his dress shirt was undone, but he still looked good. Appropriate and good. She’d been surprised to see him in his beautifully cut but classic Tom Ford suit, so used as she was to his jeans and Henley shirt uniform he seemed to always wear. She wouldn’t have minded if he’d worn that either, knowing her dad would have only smiled at it.
Her own outfit was far from stylish. She’d decided to exchange it for the old black dress from some long ago high school dance after she’d returned from the funeral. Giancarlo’s silent disapproval of both her wardrobe choices that day were clear. But it was this one, her mother’s dark green crushed velvet dress, gathered just under the bust, with wide bell sleeves, that seemed to really have concerned him. Her mother had worn it often while performing, and somehow it seemed the best thing for today. Her hair was scooped up at the sides and gathered at the top, so that it flowed down, just as her mother had worn it on stage. She hadn’t bothered to straighten it either, wanting it to be as close to her mother’s look as possible.
“You’ll be great,” said Phil. “And we’ll give you all the cues. You have the playlist?”
Ethan nodded. “Yeah, Stokey gave it to me. I was wondering, though, should we add ‘Rossetti Girl’?”
Phil looked at Kate. “Is that okay with you, darlin’?”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Ethan, hastily. “I mean if you don’t want us to do it. I just thought…”
She took his hand and squeezed it. “You thought right. Please. I would love it if you played it.”
“Played what?” asked Giancarlo. He leaned over and kissed Kate on the lips. “Va bene, tesoro?” he whispered in her ear.
“Ethan is going to step in for my father when they play music later,” she said. “And he was asking about playing a song my father wrote about my mother, ‘Rossetti Girl.’”
“Your father wrote a song about your mother?” said Giancarlo. “This I must hear.”
She forced a bright smile. “Well, you will. Ethan’s going to sing it.”
“Ethan?” Giancarlo eyed Ethan who held his gaze steadily. “Surely it would be Tom who would sing it.”
