I couldn’t imagine what this gig could be. An impromptu Lao wedding? “Let’s go outside,” I said, taking him by the hand.
As I opened the door to the porch, my mom called after us, “Can I make you both a plate to take with you?”
“Ma’am,” Sam said, “I wouldn’t put you out, but it smells really good.”
My mother smiled to herself and turned back to the stove, murmuring, “You got it.”
“Sir, nice to meet you.” Sam reached over to shake my father’s hand again before he followed me.
I closed the door behind us. When Sam and I had come here a couple of days before, I’d thought the place seemed dead without the familiar braying of farm animals, but I supposed it was all in my perspective. Today it seemed quiet but peaceful and welcoming, warm with the memories of all the years Julie and I had spent playing in the creek and rolling in the grass.
I slid onto the porch swing, patting the seat beside me. “Look at you!” I told Sam. “You really know how to lay it on the folks.”
“You ain’t seen nothing yet.” He weighed down his end of the porch swing, but instead of nudging us into motion, he turned to me and put both hands on my knees. “I came out here to tell you I got a call from Mr. McAdory this morning.”
The record company exec. “What’d he say?” I breathed.
“He can’t schedule us this weekend because he’s waiting for all the CMA folks to clear out. But on Monday he wants to meet with the band in the studio at his office. He’s asking his boss to listen to us.”
“And . . . what if they like us?”
“He’s being cagey. You know how they are. He’s not going to make us any promises unless his boss likes what he hears.”
I nodded. “I want you to be prepared that they might not pick us up.”
“Of course I know that. I’ll bet they do, though.”
“I know they’ll pick you up,” I said.
“What?” He seemed honestly surprised.
“And if they do, I want you to go.”
“No. I don’t think that’s going to happen. I’m the one Mr. McAdory has been communicating with. If he wanted just me, he’s had plenty of opportunity to tell me that by now. Anyway, I’ve said before that I don’t want to be this talking head that the record company controls—this singing head—this solo act who might or might not get the good songs. I want the band. I want your songs. I want you. I love you. Not that your parents and Julie don’t, but with you and me it’s different because we’re coming from the same place. You know?”
I smiled at him. “Yes, I know.”
He paused. “After we had that fight at Boot Ilicious, I went home and played through all your songs.”
“All of them?” I asked. “You must have stayed up until noon the next day.” He did have that hard, Johnny Cash look about him again, like he’d been missing sleep.
He acknowledged this with a small shrug. “And Bailey. If Julie really gets your songs on her next album, that’s going to be great for her. Our band sounds terrific, in my humble opinion, but your songs are going to put us over the top in the meeting with the record company. Your songs . . .” He swallowed, then smiled wanly. “Some of them are painful.”
“Yeah.” I wished now I hadn’t shoved some of the choicer ones into Sam’s chest.
“Though it was a relief to find out that you feel as strongly about me as I do about you.” He laughed. “You’ve channeled your pain into something constructive, a lot better than I have. And if the band makes it big, you’re going to be why.”
I didn’t agree. If the band made it big, we would all be why. But I was glad to be a part of it. I was proud my songs were part of it. After a year living in a fantasy of being called in to save Julie, I had saved myself instead, by doing what I loved.
“So!” he said. “We’ve got today, Saturday, and Sunday to practice some of your songs until they’re perfect.”
“Oh.” No wonder he’d said we couldn’t stay for lunch. He knew I had to work this afternoon. We had another gig on Broadway tomorrow night, and on Sunday night, one at the first bar where we’d played in the District. We were all booked up, and now we had to find time to practice, too. Something told me I wasn’t going to get a lot of shut-eye between now and Monday.
I had never been so excited about losing sleep.
“We can practice at my house,” he said. “My mom doesn’t have to work this weekend, which is bizarre. And my dad . . .” His voice trailed off. He looked down at his hands on my knees. “It took me a while to figure out how to tell him I’m not going to make it to the mall this afternoon. For years I looked forward to the day I could tell him to his face that I didn’t need him anymore, but when I finally did, it was a lot harder than I thought. And he didn’t react the way I thought he would. At all.” Sam squeezed his eyes shut.
I held my breath for the horrible thing Mr. Hardiman had said to Sam. It wouldn’t be true, but I was afraid Sam would believe it.
His voice broke as he said, “He took his bags, which were already packed because he’d just gotten home from his bender, and my mom drove him to rehab.”
I slapped my hand over my heart and sighed with relief. “Sam, that’s a good thing, not a bad thing. Isn’t it?”
Nodding, he said, “My dad thought now would be a good time. He said he’ll be gone for a while, but I’m about to go to college, and I don’t need him anymore. My mom, on the other hand, said I’ll always need him, and he’ll always need me. She said he should go to rehab now anyway because it’s never a bad time to stop being a jackass.”
I laughed. “I love your mom.”
“Me too.” His eyelashes were wet, but he grinned at me. “And when I told my dad we’re auditioning for a contract, he said he knew it all along, and it was about time.”
I slid my hand on top of Sam’s. “It was.”
He nodded slowly. I knew he was worried about his dad. But I could tell by the way his eyes moved to the ceiling of the porch, and the sky beyond, that he was already thinking through what else we needed to do before Monday.
I helped him. “I’ll make a hair and makeup appointment for Monday morning before our meeting, for me and for Charlotte. I’ll try to enlist Ms. Lottie.”