Page 47 of Betsy
Nicole: Jocelyn, when you get back, we need to celebrate.
Jocelyn: Malachi’s grandma is already planning a party. You all are invited, of course. It’s short notice, next week actually. So if you can’t make it, I understand.
Molly: Ben, Chloe, and I will be there.
Nicole: Sierra, Drew, and me as well.
Amanda: Count Peter and me as RSVPed.
Jocelyn: Betsy, I know you’re on tour, so don’t feel bad. I still love your cranky self.
Molly: Love you, Bets!
Amanda: *heart emoji*
I tapped on the screen to bring the keyboard up and thumbed out a reply.
Betsy: Congratulations, Jocelyn! I’m so happy for you and Malachi. I’ll see what I can do about the party. Will have to check what location we’re in at that time. Amanda, you’ll be happy to know I’m reconsidering my rule. Maybe not all musicians are bad. Some of them might even be worth getting to know better. *winky face emoji*
18
Asher
My smile had been pinned in place with tape, superglue, and tacks. Anything to keep my lips from slipping from their bowed position on my face, my gritted teeth the only thing keeping my thoughts in my head and not rushing out on a wave of impatience. I was grateful. I was. The night had gone better than I could’ve ever hoped or asked for. The audience had been engaged during the concert, and we’d sold more merchandize than I’d ever dreamed. But instead of basking in that, all I could see was the look on Betsy’s face when I’d come off the stage. I hadn’t planned on hugging her, on literally sweeping her off her feet. But I’d been floating on a sea of endorphins and had let the current take me right past my self-control.
Then I’d set her on her feet and stepped back. It was like all the air had been sucked out of the room. Tricia and Jimmy had commented earlier in the night that Betsy had been asking about me, but I hadn’t taken the time to consider it much. Hadn’t allowed myself to wonder so I wouldn’t jump the gun. The plan was proof through patience, after all. But the unshuttered look she’d given me as I’d stared down at her face had made me want to dive into the deep end then and there.
Her inspection of my lips hadn’t gone unnoticed, and I’d read her thoughts easily because they mirrored my own. A kiss from Betsy would be… I couldn’t fill in the blank. Would it be full of heat and passion? The way Betsy herself was? Or would it be painfully sweet and tender? The parts of herself she tried to hide revealed in the intimate moment?
I looked down at the tablet in my hand and noticed the transaction had gone through. With my pinned smile in place, I handed the man on the other side of the sales table his credit card. “Thank you and enjoy.” He walked away with an autographed CD.
Jimmy sidled next to me. “Want me to take over?”
I set the tablet on the table. “Would you?”
He chuckled. “Doreen and I may be going on our twentieth wedding anniversary, but I still remember the thrill of the chase and the butterflies she let loose in my stomach.” He shook his head, smiling. “What am I talking about? She still makes me feel that way.” He picked up the tablet with the card reader plugged in. “Anyway, I saw Betsy sneak back into the sanctuary a few minutes ago.”
I clapped Jimmy on the shoulder. “Thanks, man.”
He grinned at me before giving the person approaching the table his full attention.
There were two doors into the auditorium-like room from the lobby and two more on the sides of the opposite halls. I didn’t want any of the people lingering in the lobby to follow me back to where we’d played, so I walked the deserted hall and slipped past one of the side doors.
Music met my ears and stilled my feet. All the lights had been turned off except a dimmed recess casting a glow at the very back of the stage. Betsy stood behind Jimmy’s keyboard, the instrument unplugged from the amplifier so the notes she made it sing were only whispers in the large space. Low, tentative, her voice joined the melody, a mellifluous bridge crossing any obstacles to reach those who heard her. Reaching me.
I stood still lest any movement shatter the magic she spun. Listening to her made me ache in ways I’d never thought possible. The verse in Matthew about hiding one’s light under a bushel came to mind. Her voice had the potential to be a lighthouse to someone in a dark storm, yet she refused to shine.
I couldn’t make out the lyrics from where I stood, but I could hear the sadness and heartache in her tone. She painted strokes of emotion over my soul, moving my heart to the brink of falling off a great precipice. My vision swam, and the final notes drifted away as if on a breeze.
“That was beautiful,” I breathed. “You’re beautiful.” I stepped closer to the stage.
She lifted her face, her eyes wide. “You have a habit of catching me unawares.”
I smiled softly. “I could say the same for you.” I took another step forward. “You belong up there you know.”
She shook her head, and her eyes pleaded with me not to press. To change the subject. Let her singing—or her refusal to sing, rather—drop. But I couldn’t. If I wanted to explore these feelings I had for her—and I wanted to more than anything—then this was a conversation we had to have. A roadblock we had to clear in order to move forward.
I took a seat in the front row and motioned her to join me. “Come here.” I watched her as she weaved her way between the microphone stands and descended the platform, my heart pinching as I willed her to trust me. No relationship ever succeeded without trust. If she couldn’t trust me with what stood in the way of her doing what she obviously loved to do, then how could she ever trust me with her heart?
