The Happy Hour Choir

by Sally Kilpatrick

  After practice, Luke wandered in to set up his materials. He refused to let his eyes meet mine. I caught Sam’s arm before he could wander off. “So, do you think you’d like to join the Happy Hour Choir?”

  Sam looked at me then looked at Luke and back to me again. “You only wanted me for the choir, didn’t you?”

  I blushed to the roots of my red hair. I liked his honesty, and I could stand to learn more on the subject myself. “Yeah. You really do sing well.”

  He nodded twice to the affirmative, although his brain was still working through my question. Then he fixed me with a stare that said he wasn’t ready to give up on me quite yet. “I reckon I like to sing, and I need to meet some new people, so I’ll do it. Aunt Nona’ll be glad to see me going to church again, anyway.”

  I exhaled with a whoosh of breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

  I gave him a quick squeeze and jumped on the riser to grab my purse. I gently laid my song suggestions on Luke’s Bible study notes while he was in the corner talking with Bill.

  “Hey, where are you going?” Sam asked.

  “Oh,” I said. “This is the Bible study portion of the evening. I usually don’t stay for that.”

  “Why not?”

  What to tell him, what to tell him. Should I tell him I wasn’t too friendly with God? That I was only playing the piano as a favor to a little old lady riddled with cancer? That I didn’t think I could sit still while I waited for Luke to finish whatever he was going to do so we could finally have a much-needed heart-to-heart? I decided on something simple and true. “I really need to check on my . . . Ginger.”

  “Don’t you want to show me the ropes here?” he said with a wide smile.

  I felt Luke’s glare and looked in his direction before I could stop myself. His beer was suspended in midair again. If Luke didn’t want me to stay and sit next to Sam, then maybe that was the very thing I ought to do. “You know what? I think I might. Here, let’s sit down next to Tiffany.”

  What was wrong with me? What was I doing in Bible study? And why was I leading on one man in the hopes of making another jealous? I had already learned that the only person I could truly count on was myself. And Ginger. And maybe Luke. And most likely Tiffany. Okay, so there were a few people I could trust—that didn’t mean I was ready to include God in that exclusive little group.

  Each member of the Happy Hour Choir was there as well as Goat Cheese, who was no doubt gathering intel. I smiled and nodded through Bible study, thinking of anything else but what was going on. For one, there was a crack on the wall beyond the piano—that would need to be fixed before it got cold. I’d forgotten to fill some of Ginger’s prescriptions, but I could do that the next day. And then there was the hint of hair at the collar of Luke’s shirt and how he rolled up his sleeves like a benevolent politician on the campaign trail.

  As everyone concluded a spirited discussion about jealousy, Saul, and several other things I didn’t care about, Luke pulled out his phone and frowned down at the number, placing it on the table beside him. When it was time to pray, I bowed my head with everyone else then waited a few sentences before I looked up to watch Luke pray.

  I had watched him many times before, but I had only seen the back of his head, the perfectly squared line of his hair where the barber had shaven the locks with precision. Looking at his face, though, was revelatory. He didn’t furrow his brow or squint his eyes as some preachers did. He didn’t keep his eyes open and consult a list of requests like others. No, he bowed his head slightly, his face perfectly serene as his ridiculously long and dark eyelashes hardly fluttered. No smile, only a calm I envied.

  “Amen.”

  “Hey, Beulah, Sam’s going to take me home,” Tiffany said.

  Sam nodded to me, and I saw purpose. He figured if I could use him to make Luke jealous, he could use Tiffany to make me jealous. I shot him a return look that hopefully said, “This ain’t All My Children, and you had best not hurt my friend.”

  He frowned, but who knew if he could read my mind. I wasn’t going to count on it. I did, however, curse under my breath as Tiffany locked arms with him and looked up with blatant admiration.

  “Stick around for me, if you will.” I turned to see Luke walking toward the door with his cell phone at his ear. As if I was going anywhere. Instead, I sat and fiddled with my purse strap while I watched everyone else file out.

  “Yo, Beulah, can you lock ’er up for me?” Bill pulled out his suspenders and let them fly back at his belly with a satisfying slap.

  “I’ll do it for a Stella,” I said.

  He waved away my request as he waddled to the door. “Take two if you need to. Marsha hates it when I’m not back in time to watch her shows with her.”

  I grinned at him and walked back to the bar to get a beer. When I saw Luke put his phone in his pocket and reach for the door, I took out a Heineken for him. He took two steps in, his face serious.

  “What’s wrong, Preacher Man? Looks like you can use one of these.” I slid the Heineken his way.

  “Nothing’s wrong.” He took a swig and put the bottle back down with a frown. Then his eyes brightened. “Something good for you, maybe.”

  “Oh?” I put the bottle to my lips and drank.

  He frowned. “You’re never going to believe who just called.”

  “Clem Kadiddlehopper.”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind.” Living with an old lady meant your pop culture references were often outdated.

  “Remember that day in the cemetery when I had something to tell you? I forgot all about it, thanks to the trip to the hospital, but Tom Dartmouth told me he has a nephew who’s interning as a talent scout for a little Christian label in Nashville. He wants his nephew to hear your choir.”

  That sucked the air right out of me. A talent scout? As in a record company? As in a golden ticket out of Ellery? I grabbed Luke and hugged him before I even registered what I was doing. “I can’t believe it!”

  My heart pounded. I was already thinking of studios and limos and crowds full of people. Wouldn’t that show everyone? For once in my life I had the chance to be someone. Well, my Happy Hour Choir and I had the chance to be a bunch of someones.

  Luke put a hand on my shoulder, effectively dissolving my daydreams. “Look, this is only one meeting with an intern. Please tell me you’re not going to get your hopes up.”

  “No, Ginger, I’m not going to do anything as silly as that. When is he coming?”

  “Next week. After Sinners to Saints. I told him you sounded great live, but Tom has Sunday appointments and can only come on a Wednesday.”

  “I can’t believe it. Nothing like this ever happens to folks around here. I’ve got to go call Ginger.”

  I was already taking my cell out of my pocket when Luke grabbed my arm. “Beulah, about our kiss—”

  “What about our kiss?” My pulse was officially out of control.

  “I’m hoping you don’t think I was out of line.”

  “Out of line? Are you crazy?”

  “The more I thought about it, the more I thought—”

  I put a finger to his lips to silence him. “Preacher Man, you think entirely too much.”

  “You have no idea how happy I am to hear that,” he murmured as he took a step closer. My body leaned forward without consulting my brain. All of a sudden, oxygen was in short supply. The Fountain’s silence shouted. My heart beat a million times a minute, reminding me of a day almost ten years ago when I’d breathlessly waited for a kiss in a hand-me-down ragtop, the last time I’d breathlessly waited for anything.

  His lips glanced mine, and I almost blacked out before they made another gentle, grazing pass. He hesitated for a second then kissed me full-on, a hungry kiss that left us both clinging to each other as tightly as we could. One of his hands knotted in my hair and the other palmed the small of my back to pull me closer. My hand traced his spine as I stood on tiptoe to reach
him while my fingers flicked through his precisely cut hair.

  And this is why people have sex, I thought, as he set me up on the counter and leaned into me. It was beyond a need to procreate. No, we each needed to be needed, a need interrupted by the slam of the screen door.

  We broke apart to see Mac frozen just inside the door. His eyes immediately shifted to the floor. “Forgot my wallet,” he muttered.

  Leaning over by his chair with a grunt, he raised his trophy high with a cheery “Found it!” and beat the hastiest retreat I’d ever seen.

  The spell broken, Luke rested his forehead on mine. “This is not a good idea.”

  Forget picking out curtains, I didn’t even merit a third kiss.

  “You’re right,” I said, leaping from the counter. “Because I’m me, and you’re you. You could lose your job over this.”

  “You have no idea,” he muttered, jamming his hands into his pockets.

  I took a step back, willing any tears I had to stay unshed. “I mean, this relationship, or whatever it is, could never go anywhere. Obviously, we were just caught up in the moment.”

  Two of them, to be precise.

  “Yes. I mean, no.”

  “I agree.” I wrenched The Fountain key off my ring and tossed it at him. “Lock up when you’re done, you hear?”

  He grabbed my wrist instead. “I meant we weren’t just caught up in the moment. At least I wasn’t.”

  He stared down at me looking for something, some sign he could kiss me again.

  My pride still stung. “Well, maybe I was.”

  And I’d hauled off and hurt the Preacher Man again.

  The hurt in his eyes flickered to understanding, and he kissed me once more, another feathery kiss teasing promise. “Sure about that?”

  Hell, no. I’m not sure of anything. “Still just a kiss.”

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “I think you’re afraid of something.”

  Snakes? Zombies? Falling in love with a man who couldn’t possibly ever love me? Getting that man fired? Oh, there were plenty of things that scared me—not that I planned to admit any of them.

  “Not even the dark,” I lied as I slid from his embrace. “I meant it when I said to lock up.”

  When I got to the door, I turned to see if he would follow me. I wanted him to barge over, slam the door shut, and then tell me I wasn’t going anywhere. I wanted him to say to hell with his job and to hell with what everyone else thought. Instead he leaned against the counter with a calculating look.

  I walked out the door, catching the screen door to keep it from slamming, holding back tears and willing my throat to stay open. And I wished with every bit of my aching heart that he wouldn’t be able to sleep for other things that ached. Just like me.

  Chapter 15

  Everything was up-tempo the next night at The Fountain. Somewhat reconciled to the idea that Luke and I weren’t going anywhere, I couldn’t help but feel hope about the scout’s visit. I mean, karma may be a bitch, but I’d done a good turn by leaving Luke alone. Surely that had to count for something in the scheme of the universe.

  Bill was trying out a new waitress, a brunette version of Tiffany, who hefted trays with a similar beefy-armed ease. Tiffany, for her part, was excited about her job at the florist, and Ginger had even treated us to a New Orleans sing-along earlier that afternoon. It was one of those rare moments when the world made some semblance of sense. I sighed and leaned a little deeper into the Beatles’ “All You Need Is Love,” complete with the Gates brothers drunkenly blaring the “bum-ba-dum-da-dum” in all the right places.

  Luke pushed through the door, and my first thought was that he had recognized the song and wanted to join in. The set of his jaw, however, told me that something was very wrong.

  “All you need is—”

  “Beulah, you gotta come now. It’s Ginger.”

  “—love.” I stopped, leaving the chord progression unresolved. He offered his hand, and I jumped to the floor.

  Bill picked up his Co-op cap and put it back down on his head. “What’s going on?”

  “Miss Ginger’s in the hospital,” Luke answered for me.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “We’ll find out when we get there,” he said, holding open the door for me.

  “We’ll be sure to say a prayer for her,” Bill said.

  “She’d appreciate that,” I ground out. As if a moment of silence in a bar would amount to anything.

  And then I was in Luke’s ridiculous roadster racing for the hospital. “That’s all you know?”

  He sighed. “Tiffany called 911 for an ambulance. Then she called me. She said Miss Ginger grabbed around her heart.” His lips pressed together, and he sped up. I should have been amused by the vision of Reverend Luke Daniels breaking the law, but I was too busy picturing Ginger clutching her heart.

  “A heart attack?” I whispered. Not yet. Please, not yet. We only had a little bit of time left, and I wasn’t ready to give her up.

  I crossed my arms and fumed for a good ten minutes before Luke spoke up again. “Good thing Tiffany was there to catch Ginger when she fell and to call for an ambulance.”

  “Yeah, but not as lucky as I would be if Ginger were still sitting in her recliner watching CSI,” I snapped, even though he had a point.

  I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. It was all Luke’s fault. And Ginger’s. I wouldn’t have been trying to figure out the mysteries of the universe if I hadn’t been forced to play all of those religious songs or to sit through Luke’s sermons.

  Or if I hadn’t tasted heaven only to have it wrenched away.

  “Beulah, are you praying?”

  My eyes snapped open. I’d had enough prayer for a lifetime. “No, I’m not praying. Why does everyone seem to think I’m either praying or ought to be? I’ve never seen anything to tell me a prayer could amount to a hill of beans.”

  Luke nodded, unruffled by my outburst. “You’re living proof prayers come true.”

  I snorted. “I’m living proof prayers don’t come true. Just ask my momma what she prayed for all her life. I’m not it.”

  Luke took a corner way too sharply and had to jerk to the right to avoid a one-eyed car trying to take his half down the middle. “Yes, but I prayed you would be okay after Carl threw you into that cinder-block wall. Miss Ginger prays for you every day, and here you are.”

  “If prayer is so potent, why did I lose my baby? Why did Ginger get cancer? Why did my daddy have to die, and why, in heaven’s name, did my momma have to yell at me all the time and beat me with her damned wooden spoon?”

  Luke sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. His eyes never left the road. “It’s a world of good and evil.”

  I tuned him out, thinking only of all those wasted prayers that I would somehow be a half-decent mother and that my baby boy would grow up to be healthy and happy. I prayed and prayed for that child—right up until the day I walked into the nursery and couldn’t hear him breathing anymore.

  Hot tears slid down my cheeks. “I loved my baby boy so much.” My throat ached, and my words stuck there. “I didn’t mean to love him. I didn’t want to love him, but I could believe—I could see—as long as I cradled him in my arms. When he died, I saw what a fool I had been to think I could make myself someone different just for him.”

  The good Reverend Daniels didn’t have anything to say about that.

  Of course, he wouldn’t. The night before, I’d convinced myself not to get involved with him for his sake, but here was a potent reminder of why I needed to stay away from him. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life listening to religious mumbo jumbo. I was the last person who needed to be the preacher’s girlfriend, much less the preacher’s wife.

  I swiped away my tears. Time to put on my game face for Ginger. “Anyway, that’s why I’m done praying.”

  He pulled into the hospital parking lot, sliding into the first available parking space with a squeal of tires. He didn’t say anything at fi
rst, letting the hot engine click and fizz. Finally, he turned to look at me with more compassion than I deserved. “Then I guess I’ll have to pray enough for both of us.”

  I sat with Ginger through the night and well into the next day. It was as though I hadn’t realized how much she had gone downhill over the past few months until I saw her lying there in the hospital bed with her skin gray against the white linens of the hospital bed. They still didn’t know what was wrong with her, but they had ruled out a heart attack. For the moment, she had a morphine drip to help with the pain.

  She slept, but her body still tensed against the pain. She hadn’t penciled in her eyebrows nor put on lipstick, and she looked oddly naked without her clip-on earrings. I couldn’t bear to look at her, but I couldn’t bear to look away.

  “Miss Belmont?” A doctor leaned into the room.

  “Miss Belmont?” he repeated before I realized he was talking to me.

  “Yes.” I didn’t bother to correct him. Sometimes organizations underestimated the family we had created, somehow thinking it inferior to those defined by shared blood. In my experience, many of the strongest bonds came from those who chose to be together.

  “Thanks to some of the tests we ran last night, I think we’ve narrowed it down to a clot in the spleen.”

  “What does that mean?” And what the hell is a spleen?

  He smiled at me then pushed his glasses back up his nose. “That means a little blood thinner should take care of the clot, and we should have Miss Ginger back to her old self in no time.”

  I released a shaky breath. “How long?”

  “It’s hard to say, but it should be a little less than a week.”

  He turned to go, but I touched his shoulder. “No, I meant the cancer?”

  He shrugged. “You’ll have to ask the oncologist about that, but such clots are not uncommon among patients with cancer.”

  “But, has the cancer spread?”

  His formerly friendly face went blank. He didn’t want to get anywhere near cancer or any predictions of what such an unpredictable disease might do next. “You’ll have to ask the oncologist.”