Page 124 of Just Trouble

At night I usually cook, as Daph gets in later. Nothing fancy. Protein with rice and vegetables. Dinner on a cookie sheet. Pretty quick and fairly healthy. I like when we cook together, talking about our respective days, comparing notes and sharing stories. When I cook, she sits at the counter to watch, and we talk. A couple of times a week, Merrie invites us to a taste test as she fine-tunes her menu. Wednesdays, Daph meets up with her friends. Fridays we often order from Phil but a couple of times, we walk down to the taco truck. Saturdays, I give Sierra a guitar lesson. As the weather gets warmer, we talk about what she wants to do with the gardens around the house. Well, there aren’t any gardens yet, but Daph has a vision.

But the very best part is falling asleep every night in Daph’s bed, my arms around her, her scent filling my senses. I feel anchored in a way I never have before, as though I’ve found my place in the world.

My haven.

I’m not sure she shares my view. The lovemaking is great, but we never talk about our feelings. Each time I think of opening the subject, a couple of words is enough to make her freeze up, so I stop. What is she thinking? What is she feeling? I want to know but I recognize that I have to wait for her to want to tell me.

In the meantime, work on the theatre is progressing and organization is ramping up for the concert. I’ve rented part of Daph’s commercial building so Chelsea and her team have a place to work, and Daph had the internet connection and phones turned on before they even arrived. I let them loose at Jim’sto furnish the space and it looks good. Lots of solid wood and vintage chairs.

Merrie is adding a chef’s tasting on Thursday nights and I have it on good authority that Rafe is dying. He has yet to figure out a way to be in Empire on Thursday nights and at work on time Fridays.

Noah is building his audience by leaps and bounds. He’s relentless with his interviews and demands for updates, but I love watching him work. Chelsea is giving him some pointers, too, and I usually find him there when I check in. Chelsea gives him four pairs of tickets to give away, however he likes, and he runs with it. We also give six pairs to that radio station in Havelock, and set up a raffle for another two pair to local Empire residents.

Chelsea is all about building consensus, so she talks to people on the street, identifying their concerns over the concert. Thanks to that research, we organize a central number to book accommodation and matchmake attendees with residents willing to offer a short term rental that weekend. We also book some extra cleaning teams, given concerns about litter, and there will be a line of portable toilets set up in the alley behind the theatre.

Everything is arranged when the tickets go on sale. It’s an online sale at a ticketing site and I’m nervous that our fans may have forgotten us. It’s been over a year after all. Empire isn’t exactly close to anything. Two thousand seats seems like a lot all of a sudden.

We hold our breath as the clock ticks over. We’re all in Chelsea’s offices at Daph’s place. Daph is there, holding my hand, watching with me.

The show sells out in four minutes.

It would have been two if the server hadn’t burped.

There is hooting and cheering, lots of fist bumps and high fives. We march across the street to celebrate with dinner at Merrie’s.

The show is less than three weeks away, but we have wind in our sails now. Amanda is talking to utilities companies, discussing our electrical requirements for the night in question so we don’t blow the circuits and end up in the dark. She’s also lobbying for more cell phone bandwidth in the area, but even she might not be able to make that happen.

Best of all, the next day, the trucks arrive. I’m not the only one who shows up on Queen Street to watch the two big black tractor trailers roll in. I’m probably the only one so thrilled to see them. They look huge on Queen Street, bigger even than I know them to be. The sight brings back a lot of memories of different tours, different cities, different times. The trailers have the band logo on the side and they’re full of gear, lights and instruments and everything else, all pulled out of storage and packed by the crew that have driven them into town.

They park on the other side of Queen Street, leaving a gap between them so I can see The Carpe Diem Café. The buses are right behind the trucks, two black custom buses with tinted windows. These don’t have logos, and it’s good to see them again, our homes away from home. I’m missing Taylor so much that I halfway expect him to swing down from the first bus when it stops. Brent and Zach are in their bus, and have been catching up on the drive.

We have a hug in the middle of the street and it’s so awesome. We take a little tour and have dinner together at Merrie’s. It’s a Wednesday, so Daph is at Cameron’s. I invited her but she told me to catch up with the crew. The bistro is bustling, filled with a lot of our crew as well as some locals becoming addicted to Merrie’s fare. Merrie gives me a thumbs-up from the kitchen but doesn’t pause to chat.

I say goodnight to Brent and Zach, directing the bus drivers to The Maple Leaf Motel. Bruno has set up a spot for them behind the motel and out of view. They can park on an empty lot he owns and no one will see them. A lot of the other crew are staying at the motel anyway. The tractor trailers will move down to a secured parking zone at Port Cavendish once they’re empty.

Wookie wants me to come back to the theatre to admire the gear he’s already started to set in place, and that’s when I see it.

There’s a notice taped to the door of the theatre, one that must have been put there while we were at dinner.

Someone is bringing a challenge to city council, trying to stop the concert, and we are summoned to Havelock City Hall to defend our plan next Tuesday night at seven.

I don’t need three guesses to know who the instigator has to be.

I text Daph, asking for help with a plan.

She’s coming across the lawn from Cameron’s by the time I get close to her house, clearly livid. “How dare he?” she fumes, practically spitting sparks. “Howdarehe?”

She’s my own personal Valkyrie come to claim my soul forever.

It’s hers, all hers, and I’ll do whatever she wants.

What she wants is to head to the office and make an action plan. I call in the team as she starts writing points on the big whiteboard and I love that she’s on my side.

Good luck to Patrick. She’s going to feed him his own liver.

And I, along with all of Havelock city council and any interested bystanders, get to watch.

It does not get better than this.

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