“Mom,” I start. She waits, smiling patiently at me. I never thought I’d be in this predicament with my mom.
She holds up a finger to stop me. “How’s Peter?”
“Still locked up,” I mumble.
She purses her lips.
“I don’t want to hear about it, Mom. He made a mistake. That doesn’t mean Logan’s a mistake.”
Her brow furrows, and she lays a hand on her chest. “Have I ever said that Logan is a mistake? Ever? That boy is the best thing that has ever happened to you.”
Even with everything that’s happened, she still thinks that? I lean forward and wrap my arms around her. “Thank you.”
“What can I do to make things better between you and your father?”
“Get him a lobotomy?”
She rocks her head back and forth like she’s mulling it over.
“Neuter him?”
Her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. “I think not.”
“Ew,” I groan. But she makes me laugh. “He can’t keep holding his money over my head. Or their heads, for that matter.” I cross my arms in front of my chest.
“I think you’ve shown him that money isn’t a motivator for you. Or for them.” She glares at me.
“What?” I ask.
“What can I do to make it better between you and your father?” she asks again.
I shrug.
“When is your show?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“Do you want him to be there?”
Do I? I don’t know if I do or not. He won’t appreciate it either way.
“Think about it,” she says.
“Bring him there. It’ll be the last time I ever worry about pleasing him if he doesn’t show up.”
She nods. She gets it, I think.
Emily
Tonight is my big night, and the auditorium is completely filled. The announcer goes to the microphone and welcomes the audience. Julliard does nothing in small measures when it comes to performances and this one is no exception. There are lights and cameras and there will be action.
I’m a little nervous as they call my name. Dr. Ball assures me no one has ever performed a piece like this, and he’s worried about my overall presentation. The timing has to be perfect or none of it will work. I have practiced and practiced and practiced some more. I have barely had a moment with Logan all week, because I have been perfecting this piece. And he’s been a little preoccupied with Pete’s situation. But every night, I sleep in his bed. Every day, I wake up in his arms. Every minute, I know how much he loves me. Even with all the trouble Pete’s in, Logan is dedicated to me. Pete has a public defender, but his fate is still undecided.
I walk onto the stage, and I can’t even see the audience past the lights. But I can hear all the Reed boys as they call my name and cheer. I raise my hand to shield my eyes, and I can see them there. They’re on their feet clapping for me. The rest of the audience is subdued, but Sam yells, “Get ’em, Emily!” He makes me laugh. Paul whistles through his teeth at me. I’m so glad they’re here. The person I most want to see isn’t there, though—my dad’s not with them. My mom is but not Dad.
I should have known he meant what he said when he’d left me that night. I should have known that he was done. He’s proven it now. But then I see people in the row stand up, and a male form scoots down to join the four Reed brothers and my mom.
My dad’s here. He’s really here.
Tears prick at the backs of my lashes. My dad is not standing and clapping with the boys. He looks put out by it, honestly. I wish my dad had the same kind of enthusiasm that the Reeds have when it comes to my music.
I sit down on the stool in front of the microphone, and I plug my guitar into the amp. I speak into the crowd. “Good evening, friends, family, and distinguished guests.” I take a deep breath. “I hope you all will indulge me because I’m going to try something new tonight.” I laugh. “I wanted to take my music to a new level.” I shrug my shoulders. “I just hope you like it.” I look toward Logan. Then I look at my dad. “And I hope he likes it.”
I set up the screens and projectors behind me before the performance, but as I start to play my guitar, I begin with a simple melody. I look over my shoulder to make sure my timing is right. Butterflies light up the screen behind me, and I play along with their movements. I have timed everything perfectly. They don’t just fly; they pulse. They pulse along with the rhythm of the song.
I see Logan sit forward in his seat. This part is for him. This part is so that the can feel the rhythm and movement of my song. This is the treble clef that he’s missing. This is the part he can’t feel in the beat of the bass through the floor. But he can see it.
I keep playing, and the butterflies move up and down with the notes of my guitar. They fly high and they fly low, and they keep shifting with the beat.
I open my mouth, and the butterflies become the words of my song. I have timed them perfectly to my tempo and my melody, and they grow large when my words are strong and small when my words are soft. The words on the screen are for Logan. The theatrics of this piece are all for him, but the words coming out of my mouth are for my dad and my dad alone:
You’ve been asleep for some time now .
I’ve been watching you for a while now.
This is oh so hard when you’re awake
Because when you look at me I just start to ache.
I try to be