Amy cocked her head to the side, and asked, “The band?”
“Yeah.” She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair, pulling it away from her face before securing the tresses into a sloppy bun with a pencil lying on the counter. “The band’s future. And more specifically, my future with the band.”
Amy put her hand on Christina’s arm and squeezed. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry you’re having to go through this.” She glanced at the clock on the stove and added, “Are you going to be okay? I’ve got to run to a sectional practice, but I hate leaving you.”
“No, no, please, go on. I need to do some thinking. Plus, I might even take a nap.”
Nodding with enthusiasm, Amy said, “Definitely, a cup of tea and a nap sounds perfect.”
After Amy left, Christina did exactly that, and several hours later woke refreshed and ready to get some answers. She grabbed the new car keys that had been left on the kitchen counter and headed out.
Twenty minutes later, she arrived at Steven’s house. Parking in the front, she walked to his door and knocked. He threw it open, his wide-eyed expression showing his surprise. Reaching out, he grabbed her in a hug, squeezing tightly.
“Oh, my God, Tiny. I was so fuckin’ scared last night. Are you okay?” With his hands on her upper arms, he pushed her away just enough so that he could stare into her face, his gaze landing on her cheek. “Shit, I can’t believe that happened.”
“I’m okay, I really am,” she assured. His greeting warmed her, reminding her of the friendship they’d had bonding over music before the recent strained times. She glanced past him and asked, “Can I come in?”
“Of course, of course, come on,” he said, ushering her into the living room.
As usual, his house was clean if not a little messy. Sheets of music were scattered across the coffee table as well as the piano in the corner, and near one of his chairs, a guitar was propped in a stand. “Are you writing new material?”
He glanced around and shrugged. “Not really. I was trying to get my mind off the horror of last night, but I wasn’t able to get out of my head long enough to put anything decent on paper.” He waved a hand toward the sofa and asked, “Can I get you some water or soda? I’ve even got orange juice.”
Smiling, she shook her head. “No, thanks. I’m good.” She sat on the sofa, but instead of sinking into the soft cushions, she perched on the edge, her hands clasped in her lap.
“You look like you’ve got something on your mind, and your posture tells me I’m not going to like what you’re thinking,” he said, his words soft and sounding a little sad.
She held his gaze and smiled. “No, it’s not bad. It’s just… well… I’ve got some thinking to do. And maybe I need some answers while I’m doing that.”
He sat in the chair near the guitar and leaned forward, placing his forearms on his knees. “You got it. Tell me what I can do.”
“I suppose, first of all, we need to talk about Dunk—”
“He’s still in jail.”
She blinked at Steven’s rapid-fire response. “Oh, okay… uh…”
“I know I’ve bailed him out of trouble before, but not this time,” he said. He let out a long breath and slumped back in his seat. “I thought I was taking care of him by always covering for him. He’s a talented percussionist and always brought a great vibe to our performances. Pounding out the beat, shouting encouragement to us and the crowd, downing whiskeys… The audience loved him, and we all gave him a wide berth to just keep being Dunk. Even Drunken Duncan was a stupid moniker. I see that now. He had a problem, and I didn’t recognize it in time, and it could’ve got you killed.”
“Steven, I’m not here to cast blame. Certainly not in your direction. What I said last night is true—this is all on Duncan. We may not have stepped in and recognized the problem, and that’s on all of us. But he made the decision to get behind the wheel of his truck last night. And I’m not sorry that you’ve left him in jail. While there he needs to learn, either by jail time or being forced into a program. I don’t know if either will work, but something’s got to change.”
They were silent for a moment, then Steven said, “I get that there’s more here than just Dunk and what happened last night.”
“I want you to know that I’m not rushing a decision. I’m still thinking and pondering my options. I’m just not sure that I’m going in the same direction that Amhrán M'anama is going.”
“Tiny, you’re a huge part of our success, and I don’t want to lose you. Honest to God, honey, if it comes down to choosing between you and Dunk, Dunk is out.”
Her hands flew up as she shook her head back and forth. “No, no, Steven. I’m not asking you to choose between Dunk and me. It’s just lately, I feel as though you’ve been pushing for us to grow beyond my comfort zone. I know that Mr. Kincaid has had more and more say over what we’re doing, and I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that direction.”
Steven sighed heavily and nodded. “You know, I understand what you’re saying, but it’s really my fault that I haven’t gone about things the right way. I was so excited when Mr. Kincaid approached me about wanting to help the band move onward and upward that I took his suggestions and just ran with them. He loves the idea of you front and center with me. Let’s face it, Tiny, it gives us balance.”
“Balance?” Her brow crinkled as she tried to understand his meaning.
“Our music’s great, everyone knows that. Mike and Jamie on the pipes, decked out in kilts and boots. Same with me. Dunk is the hard-core, out-of-control drummer. And when you start playing and dancing, you can bring the house down with your talent and sex appeal.”
“And that’s what Mr. Kincaid wants to focus on? Our personas more than our talent?”
“I feel like I’m saying this all wrong and at the wrong time. I should have taken the time to sit down with all of you and explain what I was thinking and what we were doing. I’m sorry, Tiny. I really am.”
His acquiescence surprised her, having braced for arguments and deflections. Uncertain how to proceed, she sucked her lips in, her brow furrowing as she thought. Finally, she said, “Perhaps that’s the best way to move forward. I think whatever is said needs to include Jamie and Mike as well. We each have our own musical goals as well as the band’s. If Mr. Kincaid is sincere in his desire, the rest of us need to see that. And we each have to decide if the band’s future is where we need to be.”
Steven nodded and said, “I think that’s a good idea, Tiny… uh… Christina.” He grimaced as he stood. “I’m so glad you came, and I really hate to cut this short. I’m not bailing Dunk out, but I did promise that I would check on him today.”
Quickly coming to her feet, she apologized. “I’m sorry for just stopping by. And as frustrated with Dunk as I am, I’m glad you have a chance to see him. When you arrange something with Mr. Kincaid, just let me know. The symphony’s season is almost at a close, and I’ll have more time.”
“Let me grab a couple of things from the back, and we can walk out together.”