I keep my back to the people taking up their seats in the booths, around the tables, and at the counter, trying not to panic every time the bell above the door rings out and someone new arrives. Alex seems completely oblivious to the amount of people who have braved the weather and come out on a work night just to watch us play. He’s even and calm as he tells me to sit on a stool and he sets up the mic that I’ll be introducing the songs into. I’m seconds away from bursting into tears when he asks me to say something into the mic to test the sound level.
He nearly drops the mic when he looks over and me sees the state I’m in. Placing his hands on the tops of my arms, he ducks down so that he’s level with me. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. You’re really this freaked out? We can walk out of here right now if you like. My place is thirty seconds across the road. We’ll be locked inside the apartment and the door will be bolted before anyone even realizes we’ve made a run for it.”
I let out a breathy laugh. “Harry’ll never forgive me. Look at all the people who came. He’s going to double his takings tonight…”
There really are a lot of people here. They’re ordering coffees and hot sandwiches, chattering quietly to one another in their little groups, but their chairs are all turned toward our dark little corner, angled so they can get a better view of the mystery musicians who’ll be performing here tonight.
“Recognize anyone?” Alex mutters, casting an indifferent glance over his shoulder.
Slowly, I nod. “Halliday brought her little brother. They’re sitting at the counter. Dad’s a couple of seats down from them. Why the hell does he look so nervous? He’s not the one standing up here on a stage.” His face, anxious though it may be, is reassuring, though. He’s trimmed the beard that was starting to look a little scraggly back to a reasonable length of stubble, and he’s wearing a button down shirt underneath his down jacket, which completely breaks his new I’ll-never-wear-anything-smart-ever-again-because-your-mother-can’t-make-me dress code. A dress code I fully endorse. The dark grey material suits him, though. I’d never tell him to his face, but he actually looks quite dashing.
I continue my sweep of the diner, looking for familiar faces. “Harriet Rosenfeld from school’s here.”
Alex smirks, unraveling a long cable and plugging it into the back of an amp. “Ahh. The trumpet player. Aren’t you glad you agreed to give me lessons instead of palming me off on her? I could have been playing ‘Reveille’ up here with her tonight…”
“I didn’t agree to give you lessons. You gave me no choice. Oh god…is that…?”
Alex looks up, following my line of sight, and his hands go still on his guitar. “Yeah, it is,” he clips out. “I haven’t spoken to her since she came to the apartment. She’s been calling…”
On the other side of Harry’s, weaving her way through the crowd, Alex’s social worker, Maeve, looks like she’s trying to find somewhere to sit. She spots a vacant seat at the bar and grabs it quickly…right next to my dad.
“Well.” Alex clears his throat. He looks unhappy all of a sudden. Maeve shouldn’t be here. To Alex, I’m sure she’s an ill omen. She delivered the news that changed his life forever. That must have been so hard for her. It wasn’t her fault. Ben’s death had absolutely nothing to do with Maeve, but to Alex, every time he looks at her, I’m sure all he hears is her voice saying the words over and over again…
‘I’m so sorry, Alessandro. Truly, I am. But…there’s been an accident. It’s your brother. Ben…oh god, I’m sorry but Ben’s dead.’
At the counter, Dad turns and smiles at Maeve, and something uncomfortable twists in my gut.
“Alright, kids. I think that’s it.” Harry appears next to the stage with two cokes and a couple of glasses of ice for us. I’m one hot second away from asking if he has any tequila but then I check myself. Harry’s old school; he wouldn’t serve alcohol to a teenager even if he did have a liquor license. Also, Dad wouldn’t approve, and he’d be mad that I’d asked one of his friends such a dumbass question. “I think everyone I invited has arrived,” Harry says cheerfully. “I’m not sure what you two are planning on playing but some of the locals have made a few requests. Easy stuff. Y’know, Eric Clapton. The Eagles. I love Hotel California myself.”
Alex pulls a face. I think he’s trying to smile but it’s coming across all warped and twisted. “We’re not playing Hotel California, Harry.”
The old man brushes off Alex’s refusal like he saw it coming a mile away. “Okay, okay. No problem. I bet you guys have got it covered. We’ll all just sit back and enjoy the show. How about that?” He hurries away and stands behind the counter, not waiting for a response.
Alex hands me my guitar, then sits himself down on a stool three feet away from mine, putting the strap of his own instrument over his head. He seems a little grim now, as if Maeve’s presence has thrown a spanner in the works and destroyed the playful mood he walked in here with. “You ready?” he asks. His eyes are hard as jet when he looks at me, but then they soften. “You’re gonna be amazing. I already know you are. Just play. Don’t worry about any of them and I’ll do the same, okay?”
Taking a shallow, shaky breath, I nod. “Okay.”
My fingers move to the strings of my guitar, knowing exactly where they need to be without any assistance, and I pause, repeating the same phrase again and again inside my head. Please don’t fuck this up. Please don’t fuck this up. Please don’t fuck this up.
And then I begin to play.
The notes come haltingly at first. My fingers do what they’ve been doing for years, gliding up and down the frets, my other hand slowly plucking at the strings as they’re supposed to…but I can’t seem to move past the intro of the song, pedaling over the same notes, Travis Picking the same strings in a loop.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Alex positioning his hands, ready to come in. When I fail to move past the same cycle of notes again, he speaks softly beside me, so only I can hear him. “Respira e basta. It’s okay. Just breathe. Show them how bright you shine, mi amore.”
The music comes unstuck immediately, my fingers breaking the cycle. I don’t even know how it happens, but the sound of Alex’s voice is enough…
Landslide by Fleetwood Mac flows out of me, the first line of the song already out of my mouth before I even realize that I’m singing.
I do not sing.
At least not in front of people. Never in front of people. This is something I do by myself, alone, when I’m sure no one can hear me. My father, Mom, Max. Not even Alex. I’ve never even hummed in front of him for fear of embarrassing myself.
“I took my love and I took it down…”
Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit. What am I doing? My own damned fear paralyzed my senses and I just reacted, just did what came naturally, and it’s too late now. I can’t just…stop. I’m on fire, my cheeks burning, my body shrinking, like I might be able to fold in on myself and just disappear…
“Climbed a mountain and turned around…”
Just breathe, Silver. Just breathe. Alex’s words ring in my ears, reminding me to fill my lungs, which is a good thing because I’m about to fall off my chair any second now. I daren’t turn my head to look at him. If I do, I won’t be able to keep going.