Page 10 of The River in Spring
A wave of her hand dismisses my comeback and quells further comment.
“You took her to the house?” Van says. There’s a hint of doubt in his voice, as if such an unbelievable fact has to be challenged.
“Are we being punked?” Scarlett asks.
“Where are you going to take her? Fletcher’s Steak House? Mangione’s?”
I let everyone get it out of their systems before I answer.
“She’s a singer/songwriter in a band. There’s a performance tonight, so we’ll grab something afterwards.”
This new information gets them excited. Again. Shit. Here come the questions.
“How awesome! Where are they playing?”
“What’s her name? How about the band? What are they called?”
“Her name is Dove, and I swear to God, if any of you figure out where and show up, it will piss me off.”
I’m interrupted by my sister’s squeal. “Oh my God, Nobel! We know her! She’s the lead singer with Montana! How many people have that name?”
Scarlett punches her fiancé in the arm for emphasis. “Can you believe this?” she asks him.
“I’m as surprised as the rest of you. But good for you, Nobel,” Parish says.
I’m the one surprised.
“How do you know her?”
“Your sister may be exaggerating a little. We don’t actually know her.”
“We had a conversation after one of her shows last month,” Scarlett says. “She is so talented. You’ll see. Ha! This is really cool! You make a great looking couple!”
Van gets the bad boy look on his face. “Have her sing to you.”
When all eyes look to him, he adds, “What? I went out with a girl that could sing.”
My chair scrapes the ground as I rise. “It’s been great, but I’m headed out.”
“No! Stay a little longer. We will stop the questioning,” Dad says.
That’s impossible for the Lyons. Not my father nor anyone here are able to deliver on that one.
“Thanks for the meal, Mom. Happy birthday, brother. Are you old yet?”
It’s the question I’ve asked Aargon every birthday. Being two years younger meant more back in the day. I figured my big brother would tell me when he was grown up. Then I’d only have two years to wait. Now it’s turned poignant as we get closer to leaving youth behind permanently. It’s stretching the truth to say it hasn’t already happened.
“Almost. Maybe by next year,” he answers, not skipping a beat.
My relationship with my siblings has always been either, ‘I’ll help you hide the body’, or ‘don’t even breath in my direction’.
Their protests and promises fade behind me as I leave their company. Did I say too much? Yeah, I did.
I should have called, but I didn’t want to give her the opportunity to cancel. Now, as I approach McCandy’s, it’s real. The billboard shows her smiling broadly as four band members surround her. Montana. That’s a good name for a band. All younger than me by at least fifteen years. The guy with his hand on her shoulder is good looking. I hate him already.
People are waiting to get inside. There doesn’t seem to be a certain type. I see young bucks and seniors. Couples and singles. A few cowboy hats. Maybe they’re a country band. The cold is not a deterrent. Passing the entry, I take my place at the end of the line. Shit. I thought I’d just walk in. Hope I left myself enough time.
Vapor rises from the mouths of people talking. A spring cold front has descended. Girls wrap their arms through the arms of their companions, and more than one person is rubbing hands together for warmth. The two girls in front of me turn.
