Composing Amelia

by Alison Strobel

  She stared at him, lips thin and eyes narrowed. He didn’t like the vibe he was getting from her.

  “Amelia, look—”

  “We need to pray about it.” Her tone issued a challenge, as though he hadn’t been doing that already.

  “Yes. Absolutely.” He pretended she’d been gentler in the suggestion, hoping she’d come around if he acted as if she wasn’t as upset as he knew she was. “Let’s pray right now. Do you want to or should I?”

  “You.”

  He cleared his throat and took her hands. He prayed aloud for wisdom and guidance. He tried not to think too much about the fact that Amelia’s hands were limp in his own.

  When he said “Amen,” she pulled away, turned off her lamp, and rolled to her side beneath the covers. “I need to sleep.”

  He squeezed her shoulder and kissed the back of her head, receiving a prim pat on the hand in return. It hadn’t gone as badly as it could have—she could have said a flat-out “no”—but she wasn’t exactly supportive. He turned off his light and stared into the black, letting the words of the letter come back to him. He knew Amelia was nowhere near being onboard, but he couldn’t help being excited. And if this job was meant to be, then God would bring her around eventually.

  CHAPTER 2

  Amelia slipped into the booth across from Jill and let out a sigh. “So sorry I’m late. Stupid city buses between here and the community center are never anywhere on time.”

  Jill nodded. “Tell me about it. What’s Marcus up to tonight?”

  Amelia made a face. “I don’t know. Working, as usual. He took on another tutoring student, although he must have petitioned God for another hour in the day because I don’t know where in his schedule he could possibly stick another one.”

  Jill arched a brow as she handed Amelia one of the menus from beneath the napkin dispenser. “Bitter, party of one?”

  Amelia flipped over the menu to make sure her favorite salad was still there, then slouched back in the seat. “Yeah, but not about that, really. He got an interview.”

  “But that’s fanta—”

  “In Nebraska.”

  “Oh.” Jill sobered. The waitress appeared and took their order, leaving them with their drinks. Jill stirred her water with her straw as she resumed the conversation. “So, why did he apply out there in the first place?”

  “He didn’t. Apparently someone passed his résumé on to this church. The town is so small it only hits twenty thousand when the local college is in session.”

  Jill winced. “Yikes. Well, so what? There’s no law that says he has to interview there, right?”

  “Right. But he wants to anyway.”

  “Why?”

  Amelia leaned in. “It’s for a senior pastorship.”

  “But he’s only—”

  “I know.”

  “Wow.” Jill’s head tipped side to side. “Now I understand why he wants to interview though.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t want to go out there.” Jill smiled gently and Amelia’s heart sank, knowing what was coming. She held up a hand to stop Jill from continuing. “Look, I know, God’s will, blah blah blah. But if this is His will, wouldn’t He make me more excited about it?”

  “I’m not saying it is God’s will, Ames. I was just going to say that you have no idea where this might lead, or what role this might play in the grand scheme of things, and that you shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Maybe you could let it play out, see what happens?”

  “But what do we do if he gets the job and I still don’t want to go?”

  “Cross that bridge when you get to it. Until then, don’t borrow trouble.”

  Amelia smirked. “Any more where those came from, Queen Cliché?”

  “Girl, you have no idea.” She winked. “So, any word on that audition?”

  Amelia smacked her forehead. “I can’t believe I forgot to tell you. I got the callback!”

  Jill gave a little squeal. “That’s awesome! When do you audition?”

  “Friday.”

  “Break a leg. What are you going to play?”

  “They asked for two pieces in differing styles, so I’m doing ‘Hot Honey Rag’ from Chicago and a Gershwin prelude.”

  “Nice.”

  “But that’s the other thing that has me so frustrated. What if I get this and Marcus gets his job too? Who has to quit?”

  “Seriously, Ames, don’t dwell on this.”

  The waitress reappeared and set their salads before them. Jill prayed briefly for their meal, then poured dressing on her salad and continued. “You’re freaking out about something totally far-fetched and miles away from certain. You have far more interesting things to dwell on, like your audition and my delicate condition.”

  Amelia froze, her forkful of salad halfway to her mouth. “Your what?”

  A conspiratorial grin spread over Jill’s face. “I’m pregnant.”

  Amelia let out a shriek that turned heads around the diner. “Oh my gosh! That’s awesome, Jill! Right? Is that awesome? I mean, it happened awfully fast, huh?”

  “Yes, six months was indeed a little quicker than we’d planned. But even so, I think it’s awesome. Dane, not so much.”

  Amelia frowned, recapturing the salad that had dropped back to the bowl with a stab of her fork. “Oh no. I’m sorry.”

  “He’s worried—no, actually, he’s panicking that our marriage is doomed because of it, as though every couple that has a baby this soon divorces. And the money, of course.” She sipped her water. “I feel bad. I feel like it’s my fault. I know Dane is trying not to be mad, but I can tell he is.”

  “That’s stupid. It’s not like you did it on purpose.”

  “I know, but still … We dated such a short time, and now we have less than a year to get settled as a couple before we become a family. Kids were supposed to come five years down the road. What if this does damage our marriage?”

  Amelia squeezed Jill’s hand. “You guys are going to be fine. You love each other like crazy. That’s really all you need, right? Listen to the Beatles, they know what they’re talking about.”

  Jill nodded, eyes on her salad, then gave Amelia a wicked smirk. “Maybe you should take your own advice.”

  Amelia gave her a pointed look. “Ahem. Moving on. I’m very happy for you. And, no offense, but I’m so glad it’s you and not me.”

  Jill chuckled. “Still not big on kids, huh?”

  Amelia snorted. “Um, no. Not with how my … No, there’s just no way.” She didn’t want to delve too far into why and risk ruining the night with that toxicity; Jill knew enough to draw the right conclusions. “Besides, with my wonky body I doubt I could get pregnant if I wanted to. I haven’t had a real cycle since August.”

  “Still dealing with that anovulatory stuff, hm?”

  “Yes, still. But at least it means we don’t have to budget for birth control. That stuff’s expensive.”

  Jill let out an unladylike snort. “Don’t I know it. If we’d had a little extra cash one night about, oh, three months ago, I might not be in this situation.”

  Jill raised a single eyebrow to punctuate her statement as Amelia giggled. “But in this situation you are. Let’s think of baby names.”

  By the time they finished dinner Amelia was in better spirits. She decided on the way home not to even acknowledge this ridiculous job interview. Marcus would eventually come to his senses and realize that it was not only a long shot, it was a terrible idea. Taking a job so far ahead of his experience level could only be setting up himself—and the church—for disaster. He’d realize that soon enough. Until then she’d concentrate on winning this audition. Her fingers itched to play, and she ran them through the audition piece on her knees as the bus bounced over potholes on its way back toward her neighborhood. Just focus on the audition, she told herself. Marcus will come around eventually.

  Relishing the fact that she didn’t have to be at the sandwich shop at the crack of dawn, Amelia slept in Friday morning and wok
e feeling better than she had in weeks. Marcus had already left for his morning surf-instructing job, so she cranked up the stereo with a Tori Amos mix to psyche herself up for her audition and treated herself to a serious breakfast. She remembered while she ate that she’d dreamed about the audition. She’d won it, and the director for Les Misérables happened to come to the first show. He hired her right out of the orchestra pit for the next tour. If only.

  She finished breakfast and then showered, remembering to avoid the mirror until her hair was pulled back, and ran through her audition pieces a few more times before deciding she couldn’t play the arrangements anymore without jinxing them. But she had an hour left before she even had to leave. How to kill the time?

  Inspiration hit like lightning. She grabbed her jacket and nearly ran down the street to the strip mall that housed a cheap hair salon. “I just want a cut, but I’m short on time. Can I be out of here in less than an hour?” she asked the woman behind the counter.

  “Oh sure, honey.” The woman popped her gum as she entered Amelia’s information into the computer and then ushered her back to the sinks. “So what are we doing for you today?”

  Amelia freed her hair from its ponytail and shook it loose. It fell halfway down her back. She studied herself in the mirror, doing mental battle with the resemblance she saw to her mother, then held up her hand at her shoulder. “Cut it to here.”

  The woman’s heavily lined eyes went wide. “That’s a lot of length you’re losing. Sure you wanna do that?”

  Amelia smiled as the woman draped a plastic cape over her chest. “As long as I can still pull it back to a ponytail, I’ll be happy. And … maybe some bangs.”

  “Alrighty, honey. You’ve got it.” The stylist began to spray down her hair and engaged Amelia in chitchat, but Amelia was only half listening. The rest of her concentration was focused on the transformation taking place in the mirror. With every snip of the scissors she felt a little more relief, hoping she wouldn’t have any more run-ins with her mother’s likeness.

  When they were done, Amelia felt as though she’d had a full makeover. She walked to the bus stop with her head high, checking her appearance in every reflective surface she passed. She arrived twenty minutes early at the theater where they were holding auditions, but her bubble of happiness burst when she saw three other people waiting in the green room. “Auditioning?” she asked in general. All three heads nodded. “On piano?”

  “Guitar,” answered one, but the other two nodded to Amelia, and she sensed assessments being made. “Break a leg,” she said with a smile. Might as well be friendly; who knew whom she might end up working with someday.

  The guitarist was the next in, and the three pianists sat in silence as they awaited their turns. Amelia sat on the floor, closed her eyes, and went through the songs in her mind. C’mon, God. Please give me this.

  When the first pianist emerged from her audition, Amelia stood and began to stretch. She had just barely heard the music through the heavy wood door—it sounded good. The pressure was on.

  The second pianist appeared ten minutes later, looking smug. “Good luck,” she said to Amelia as she held the door open for her. Amelia gave her a smile that was at odds with her competitive thoughts. “Thanks. You, too.” She entered the hallway and followed it to the stage, where the piano sat waiting for her, flanked by the directors.

  Ross and his cofounder, Gabe Reynolds, both shook her hand. “Thanks for coming back, Amelia,” said Ross. His smile was warm and put Amelia at ease.

  “Of course. Thanks for the invitation.”

  “We really enjoyed your audition last week,” Gabe said. “I’m looking forward to what you play today. We’ll take a seat”—he motioned to the front row—“and you can start when you’re ready.”

  He gave her a smile, and Ross squeezed her shoulder before following Gabe to the steps that led to the seats. She rolled her shoulders and sat down, then ran her fingers over the keys and played a few bars of Brahms to calm herself. “I’ll start with ‘Hot Honey Rag’ and then play ‘Prelude Number Two in C-sharp Minor’ from Gershwin’s Three Preludes,” she said, then took a deep breath, said a prayer, and began to play.

  She pictured herself accompanying a cast as she played the Chicago tune, imagined a full house drawn in by her music. Her execution on “Hot Honey Rag” was perfect, better than she’d played it during any practice, and even before she started her second piece, she honestly believed it was one of the best performances she’d ever given. Too bad there are only two people here to hear it.

  And then it happened. She missed a note. Then another. She continued on as if nothing had happened, but she knew even an untrained ear would have picked up the mistakes. The rest of the prelude went well, and she kept her head high as she stood and shook their hands, but she knew it didn’t matter. She’d gotten cocky and lost her concentration. She only had herself to blame.

  Big surprise, she thought. Like mother, like daughter. Not only do you share your musical talent, you share your inability to pass up any opportunity to foil any chance of success.

  Amelia brushed a finger beneath her eye as she lifted her chin against the voice in her head. She would not fall for those comparisons. She would not let herself be dragged down into those lies. They are lies, right?

  “Thanks again,” she called over her shoulder as she headed for the door, trying to sound unfazed, as though the tears weren’t already falling to her cheeks. She pushed the door open at the end of the hall and was relieved to see that the room was empty. She let herself crumble then, head down as she made her way to the street doors and out into the overcast December afternoon.

  She shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and blinked against the tears. Despite her resolve not to listen to the condemnation in her mind, she couldn’t help berating herself for her stupidity. She’d blown her audition on a song half as complicated as the one she’d led with and nowhere near as complicated as some of the pieces she’d played before without a problem. She’d played Chopin and Mozart flawlessly in front of hundreds of people—how could she flub an arrangement that was, to someone of her caliber, just a few steps up from beginner level? The memory of her face in the mirror before the stylist had made the first cut almost stopped her short. No matter how she changed her look, she couldn’t escape the curse of her genes.

  Amelia reached the bus stop at the corner and sat on the bench, wiping tears from her face and wishing she had a tissue for her nose. She’d never been so embarrassed. If God was merciful, she’d never see Ross or Gabe again. Opening her purse, she pulled out her cell phone and was about to call Marcus when she heard someone shouting her name.

  “Amelia!”

  She sat up straight and looked around. It was Ross, jogging up the sidewalk toward her. She wanted to die.

  “I’m so glad I caught you,” he said, breathing hard but smiling. The smile faded, though, once he got a good look at her face. “Are you all right?”

  “Hey, Ross. Yes, I’m fine. I just—” Did he really not know why she was upset? “I just got some bad news,” she lied. She flashed her cell phone as if the news had come by text. Then she pulled her shoulders back. “Forgive the tears. Anyway—what’s up? Or do you always run on your way to the bus stop?”

  Ross shook his head and gave a breathless laugh. “No, not usually. It’s just that you ran out of there so fast, I didn’t get the chance to tell you—you were brilliant. That was an amazing arrangement of ‘Hot Honey Rag.’ And ‘Prelude Number Two’ was beautiful.”

  She stared at him, confused. “But …”

  “I know what you’re going to say. So you’re not perfect. Big surprise, no one is.” His smile returned. “Overall, it was beautiful. You’re hired if you want the job.”

  Amelia slowly shook her head as the words sank in. “What? Are you serious?”

  “None of the other pianists came close to your talent. I was going to call you, but I thought it would be more fun to tell you in person. That
was, if I could find you in time.” His boyish grin returned. “Hope this makes up for the bad news you got. Congratulations.”

  Amelia let out a laugh. “Um, yes, it—it does. Thank you. I can’t believe it. Thank you so much.” She shook his hand and tried to tone down the smile that stretched her face, but couldn’t. He filled her in on some of the details of the troupe until her bus pulled up, then promised to email her with the rest that evening. With the smile still on her face, she swung into a seat and caught her reflection in the window. I may look like Mom sometimes, she thought, but maybe the similarities end there after all. Be it by dumb luck or divine providence, I’ve got my first break and I am not going to waste it like she would have.

  Marcus clapped a hand on Dane’s shoulder when they met in the sports bar. “I hear congratulations are in order, Big Daddy.”

  Dane rolled his eyes and took a seat in a booth that gave them a clear view of the Anaheim Ducks game on the TV in the corner. “Yeah, apparently.”

  “You’re not happy?”

  Dane gave him a look. “Are you kidding me? I wait for how many years to get married, and then bang, she’s pregnant practically right out of the gate? It’s cruel, man.”

  Marcus got the drift and couldn’t help laughing. “Get a grip, Dane. I don’t think sex is off-limits during pregnancy.”

  “Not officially, no. But when your wife spends her whole morning puking and her whole afternoon working, she’s not exactly in the mood at the end of the day. And once the baby comes, there goes … everything. Or so I’m told anyway.”

  A waitress came to their table and took their order. When she left, Marcus tapped and spun the cardboard coaster she’d left as he talked, trying not to let his own feelings on the subject taint his words with bitterness. “You’re a lucky man, Dane. I’d love to have a family sooner rather than later. I’m happy for you guys. Make sure you give us lots of opportunities to babysit, okay? Maybe it’ll change Amelia’s mind.”