Sela, Carol, and Barb were in camp chairs set up in the middle of the crowd. Barb felt the cold more than they did, so she was closer to the fire. Sela stretched out her legs and relished the moment of relaxation, because those moments were few and far between.
Describing the past month as stressful was a massive understatement. She’d never expected to be in this situation, and neither had anyone else in this gathering, but they were making the best of it. She no longer felt as if she was scrambling every minute, trying to stay on top of the unknown and doubting her every decision. They had done okay, she and Carol and Barb, in their marathon canning session and the extra supplies she’d gathered in her frantic shopping expedition.
The new normal was melding with the old normal. Sunday services had started up just last week, with the nearest church making it clear that everyone was welcome. The preacher had gone to great lengths to make his sermon nondenominational. “God is God,” he’d said at the beginning. “Everything else is us trying to organize things to our liking. I’m going to concentrate on the God part, and y’all can argue in the parking lot.”
Most people had laughed, and simply enjoyed resuming services.
For now, with everything that had happened, with all that was still to come, the music made this moment beautiful. Sela sighed as her mind eased. The music flowed over and through her, and thoughts of tomorrow faded away.
Carol suddenly grinned, slapped the arm of her chair, and jumped up. Weaving her way past the others, she reached the two musicians and leaned down to whisper to Mike. He grinned, too, whispered a reply, and with a satisfied expression Carol positioned herself between the two guitarists.
Olivia hissed, “Gran, no!” and covered her face with her hands in the teenage horror of being embarrassed by her elders. She knew what was coming. Sela did, too, but unlike Olivia she enjoyed it whenever Carol belted out a song.
Carol was no Janis Joplin, but she did have a pretty decent voice and not a shy bone in her body. “Cry Baby” was one of her favorites, and she did it justice, bending over to launch into the first notes. Mike knew the song, or at least parts of it, and the kid did his best to follow along with the guitar licks but keeping it soft so Carol’s voice was in the forefront. Some of the older people laughed and began joining in.
Barb whispered to Sela, “Your aunt is such an old hippie.” She said it with a smile.
“I know.” She looked again at Olivia, who still had her face buried in her hands. She was mortified, though her friend was grinning and her foot was trying to keep up with the jerky rhythm of the song.
This was community, Sela thought as her aunt belted out an almost-Janis-like note, people supporting people, enjoying one another’s company at the end of a long day, coming together in whatever ways they could. This was so much better than each person going into their own homes to watch TV or play video games or read a book.
Maybe stories told around the campfire would come next. She could get into that—listening, of course, not as a storyteller. The thought of performing in front of other people horrified her.
Unbidden she thought of Ben, up on the mountain all alone except for the dog he wouldn’t even name. She tried not to think about him and how she’d embarrassed herself, but no matter how busy she was or what she was doing, she couldn’t keep her thoughts under control. She hadn’t seen him since he’d come to tell her about the Livingstons and she was pretty sure he was now actively avoiding her, which deepened her humiliation. Evidently that didn’t matter because she was still ambushed by the errant thoughts and longing she couldn’t control.
Worrying about him was pointless. Feeling her heart clench because he was alone was equally useless. He was more than capable of taking care of himself, and being alone was what he wanted. But what if he got hurt, or sick? He wasn’t Superman, he wasn’t invulnerable. What if—
Useless. She was wasting her time and energy. He’d made it very clear that he didn’t need anyone. He definitely didn’t need her.
“Cry Baby” ended, but Carol didn’t return to her seat. She crooked a finger at Olivia and then at Sela. They both shook their heads, Sela even more vehemently than Olivia.
“You know what I want next,” Carol said devilishly. “And God knows you both know all the words.”
Olivia’s friend elbowed her in the side. “Go on,” the girl said. “You can sing, I’ve heard you!” Reluctantly Olivia got up and went to stand beside Carol. Her stomach twisting in stage fright, Sela didn’t move. Olivia mouthed Please! at her, and the others around them began encouraging her to get up. Within seconds, her refusal was drawing more attention than singing in public ever could. She was making a spectacle of herself by digging in her heels. Reluctantly she stood and headed toward Carol and Olivia. With a giggle, Barb heaved herself up and joined them.
How many times had she sung “Mercedes Benz” in Carol’s living room? When she was a kid, the song had been on a vinyl album that Carol had played on a record player, before reluctantly succumbing first to a cassette tape and finally a CD. There might even have been an eight-track tape in there, somewhere. “Mercedes Benz” was Carol’s all-time favorite song, and she was ruthless in inflicting it on family and visitors alike.
At Carol’s lead, the four of them launched into the song, singing a capella. By the second line, a number of the older people grouped around were enthusiastically joining in because the song was a lot easier than “Cry Baby.” All the younger folks—basically anyone under thirty, with Olivia being the exception—were stumped, but entertained.
All through the crowd there was laughter, along with the voices loud and soft, talented and untalented. It seemed that everyone had allowed the power of the music to wipe away their worries, for a while. The short song was over too soon.
Sela and Olivia returned to their seats, and so did a breathless Carol.
Barb remained standing, and began singing a very different type of song. She’d never been a Joplin fan the way Carol was. She was, apparently, more into folk music. Joan Baez, maybe; Sela wasn’t sure. Barb had a surprisingly good voice, and her slow, easy song grabbed everyone. A hush fell over the crowd. After the raucousness of Carol’s Joplin offerings, Barb’s full, warm tones wove a kind of spell that was all mixed in with the bright stars overhead and the soft night air, the crisp smell of autumn and wood fire. It was a magical moment, one Sela knew she’d remember long after the lights came back on.
As Ben neared Sela’s neighborhood, he’d been surprised to hear the music. It wasn’t loud enough to carry far, but in the still night it did carry. The dog’s ears perked up, he even pranced a little, but he stayed close to Ben’s side. They avoided the road and skirted backyards to get where they were headed.
From one side of Sela’s house large trees blocked his view, so Ben walked through the backyard until he could see what was going on in the middle of Myra Road. Thanks to the dark and the distance no one saw him, but in the light of the fire he could see them well. Was that Sela’s aunt? Singing? God, what caterwauling. She screeched at the top of her tiny but apparently powerful lungs. He was about to leave, thinking he could come back another time when Sela wasn’t so busy, but when Carol motioned to Olivia and Sela and they joined her . . . Well, there was no way he could leave now. He leaned against the side of the house and prepared himself for whatever might come.