I glanced around, searching for a clock and absentmindedly wondering what Alice had been doing the whole time I was dancing.
"It's almost eleven," Alice said, seeing me look for the time.
I turned to Michael with a regretful expression. "I have to go," I said. "I'm sorry, but if it's almost eleven, we really have to leave now." I paused, looking at him and really regretting that I had to say goodbye. "Would you mind walking us out?" I asked.
Michael smiled and moved to tuck my arm into his. "I was going to insist on it," he said.
Max and Alice followed Michael and me toward the door. I saw Curtis on the way out, and I lunged to the side and reached through the mass of people so that I could pinch him. I depended on Michael to keep my other arm steady as I leaned over to speak to Curtis, and he did.
"Thank you!" I called through the crowd.
"Thank you, Ivy! You leavin' baby?" Curtis stepped forward to hug me, and I let go of Michael so that I could squeeze him back.
"Yep, I'm leaving," I said. "I'm already running late."
Curtis glanced at Michael and Max the way a protective older brother would before looking at me again. "How you gettin' home?" he asked me.
"Alice," I said.
"Are you two seeing these ladies to their car?" Curtis asked the guys.
"We are," Michael said. He offered his hand to Curtis who shook it. "I'm Michael Bishop."
"Curtis. Curtis Sharpe. Word is you were the one who moved here from Detroit."
Michael smiled. "Is that the word?"
"Is the word true?" Curtis asked wearing a big grin.
"It is," Michael said.
Curtis shook his head, looking utterly impressed. "A motorcycle builder, huh? Imma hafta come over there and try out one of your machines sometime—try my hand at driving one of those things."
"Come by anytime," Michael said. "I'm always there."
Curtis's smile broadened and he gestured to the room around us. "Cept when you here," he said.
I leaned forward and put a swift kiss on Curtis's cheek. "Thank you so much Curtis, but we have to go. I'm already late."
"Thank you!" he called as we all went quickly for the door. "Y'all be good!"
We jogged all the way to Alice's car, which was parked way down the street in a row with other cars. I despised the fact that I had to tell Michael goodbye. We had been talking and dancing for the past couple of hours, and it was nowhere near enough. I wanted it to never end. The evening had passed far too quickly, and now it was over and I had to rush off. Once we made it to the car, I glanced at Michael with an expression that reflected my regret for having to leave in such a hurry.
"You can ride with me," Michael said with a shrug when he saw my distress. "Max could ride with Alice, and we could follow them if you want."
I did want. I wanted it more than anything. But I knew I couldn't show up at midnight in Michael's car—not on the first night I met him. I wanted badly to ride with him, but Michael was already at a disadvantage with my family, and I didn't want to give them another reason not to like him.
"Or not," Michael added, seeing my wheels turning and my serious expression and taking it for reluctance.
"It's not that I don't want to," I said.
He smiled. "I get it."
"It's just that I'm staying with my parents for the summer, and—"
"You don't have to explain," he said.
Alice was already in the driver's seat, and Max was standing right next to us, absentmindedly kicking at the gravel beneath his feet. I knew I had to leave, and it made me feel sick to my stomach. I sprang toward him, leaning upward and putting a kiss on Michael's cheek.
"I'm really glad I met you, Michael Bishop."
"Curtis got that," he said.
"Got what?"
"A kiss on the cheek."
"What's that mean?" I asked.
"It means you should do it again."
"What? Kiss you on the cheek?"
He nodded, and I popped up to place another careful kiss on Michael's cheek. I used his forearm for leverage, pushing down on it as I stretched up to meet his cheek. He turned, forcing my lips, which were already in motion to meet his. And there it was. It was like liquid lightning. His lips met mine and my whole body got warm and melty—like I was in real danger of dissolving into a big puddle on the ground.
Michael smiled and opened his eyes wide in a playful way as if indicating that he hadn't expected the kiss. I opened my eyes wide to match his.
"You're in trouble," I said, poking him. "You're making it impossible for me to leave."
He grinned. "I'm trying."
"Goodbye, Michael Bishop."
"Goodbye, Ivy Lewis."
"I'll see you soon, okay?" It was more of a question because I wanted to make sure Michael committed to it.
"Soon," he agreed. He reached out and quickly kissed me again on the top of my cheek before we broke away and I headed for the car.
"I have no idea what just happened," Alice said as we got onto the road.
I got to the edge of the seat so I could look in the rearview mirror. "He kissed me," I said, regarding my mouth in the mirror and feeling a little disappointed that there wasn't some kind of evidence of it.
"I saw y'all just now," she said as she drove. "But I wasn't talking about that. I'm talking about the whole night—the music, Ivy. When did you start playing and singing like that?"
"When I left for college," I said. "I play a blues set in Nashville every week, so I have about fifty or so songs worked up."
"Fifty songs? In that voice?"
I laughed. "You mean my voice?"
She glanced at me from the driver's seat, looking at me like I might be a space alien that had taken over her friend's body. "And how long have you been knowing this Michael Bishop character?" she continued in a skeptical tone.
"Tonight," I said. I second-guessed myself after I said it, because honestly, I felt like I had known him for much longer. I wore a somewhat confused expression like I wasn't quite sure of my answer. "We met him at the Summer Social earlier, didn't we? Was that tonight?"
"That was tonight," Alice said. "The same night that you played Amazing Grace on the piano just like you always do." She glanced at me. "You should perform Amazing Grace like you did those songs in the club," she said. "I had no idea you could sing like that. Do your parents know you can sing like that? Does Jacob? Have you ever sang for them in that voice?"
"Not really," I said. "They might think it's okay for a blues song, but my dad would think I was being disrespectful he saw me do church songs like that. It's so different from what he's seen me do all these years."
"I wish you would do it. I think the congregation would have a fit over it."
"That's exactly why I'm not going to. He would think I was just trying to turn it into a rock show."
"Oh come on, your dad loves how talented you are. I think he'd love to see you do that."
"I think I'm just gonna leave it like it is," I said.
Alice was being nice, but she didn't know my dad as well as I did.
We rode for a couple of minutes in silence before Alice spoke up again. "And what's up with that guy, Michael? You didn't look like you just met him tonight. You two were looking at each other like you have history."
Just the mention of his name had blood rushing to my face. I cracked the window, letting the warm summer air circulate through the car. "I can't even breathe right when you say his name," I said.
"Miiiichael," she said, teasing me. "Miiichael Bishoooop."
My face turned red as she repeated his name—I could feel it by how hot it was. I was thankful that we were in the dark. "He offered to give me a ride home," I said. "He said Max could ride with you, and he and I could follow in his car."
"I think he might be doing that anyway," she said, adjusting the rearview mirror so that she could see the car behind us. "I think that's him. That car came up behind us not long after we got on the road."
<
br /> I glanced over my shoulder, but I couldn’t tell anything about the car behind us other than the fact that it looked like a white car with its headlights on. That same car was behind us as we drove through Memphis, but it turned before we ever got to my house. Alice and I talked about whether or not we thought it was Michael who had followed us into town to make sure we made it safely. She said it was him, and I said it wasn't, but deep down, I obviously thought it was.
Alice dropped me off, and I thanked her for the ride and the fun evening before jogging into my parents' house. I used the kitchen door, and I tried not to act surprised when I opened it and found my dad sitting at the kitchen table.
I closed the door behind me and smiled at him. I assumed the first thing he was noticing about me was that I'd been kissed, so I grinned and did my best to look innocent.
"What are you doing? I asked, pointing at the Bible and the stack of papers in front of him. It was obvious what he was doing, but the question helped me buy a little time so I could think of what to say next.
"Going over my notes for tomorrow morning," he said. He sighed as he stood up, and then he stretched a little before reaching out to put a hand on my shoulder. "You smell like cigarette smoke," he said with a regretful smile.
"Not because I've been smoking," I said.
"I hope not."
"I haven’t."
"Where'd you go?"
"To hear some music with Alice."
Dad looked at me thoughtfully. I could tell he wanted to know more but was reluctant about asking.
"Blues," I said. "Rhythm and blues—in a little shack. A place called Jim-bo's."
"You know it's not safe going to those places, Ivy."
"It must be," I said holding my palms up and smiling. "I just went to one, and I'm standing here, safe."
Dad gave me a skeptical expression but seemed reluctant to voice his disappointment.
I reached out to touch his arm. "You don't need to worry about me, Dad."
He let out a little laugh. "That's never going to happen. There will never be a time when I don't worry about you, Ivy."
"Well, try not to worry too much," I said. I smiled and flexed my biceps for him. "I'm tough."
"Were there gentlemen there?"
"Are you asking if there were men present?" I asked.
"Yes."
I grinned and nodded. "About half of them."
"Was Stephen Meyers there?" he asked.
"No sir. Why would he be?"
"Because I thought you two were sitting together at dinner tonight. And I thought he gave you a ride home from the banquet hall."
"He did, but I haven't seen him since he dropped me off."
"So you weren't there with any guy tonight?"
I could feel myself starting to have another hot flash. "Alice just dropped me off," I said, avoiding the question. Then I felt juvenile for being elusive, and that feeling of embarrassment gave me the bravery to add more to my comment. "But I danced with one guy most of the time."
My dad's expression turned into one of real interest, and I regretted saying it instantly. "Who'd you dance with?" he asked.
"Michael Bishop."
"Not the boy who took over Mr. Morrow's place, huh?"
"Yes, and he was a total gentleman. And they invited me up on stage, and I played a couple of songs."
I added that last part as a distraction from the topic of Michael, but I realized I was just digging a deeper hole.
Dad tilted his head at me. "You played music?"
I nodded.
"What kind of music?"
I sighed and leaned in to hug my dad. "Chuck Berry—just a song or two." I paused and then added, "Love you. I'm going to bed," before he could ask any more questions. "And just so you know there's nothing for you to worry about. I didn't smoke or drink or any of the things you don't want me doing. I sat in with the band on a couple of songs, and then we danced a few songs, and that was it. Alice brought me home." I gave him one last hurried hug before I took off toward my room. "Love you, Dad."
"Love you!" he called.
Chapter 9
Sunday mornings were always busy for our family. We had Sunday school before church, and half the time, Mom or Jacob would get roped into helping out in children's church or doing some other duty that needed to be performed.
Our church had a pipe organ. I knew a little bit about it, and could get by for a funeral, but I usually stuck to the piano since I was more comfortable there. There were a few women who switched off playing piano and organ, and they were all happy to volunteer to take a few weeks off when I came home for summer.
We played four songs—classic hymns sang by a choir that was led by Mr. Dixon. He had been the choir director at the church since long before my dad ever took over as pastor (which was twenty years ago). We played the songs, and then we all left the stage before my dad came up to preach.
I was taking my seat when I noticed Michael Bishop in the back row. I stared at him with a perplexed expression as I tried to decide whether or not he was sitting there, or if I was just seeing things. I must have been gawking at him because he smiled and wiggled his fingers at me in a discreet wave. A whole rush of emotions hit me, and it was all I could do to make it to my seat in the third row without tripping over my own feet.
I sat on the wooden pew, staring at my dad but not hearing a single word he was saying. He gestured at me and smiled, and I realized he was telling the congregation how nice it was to have me back for the summer. I smiled and tried to seem like I had been paying attention by nodding.
My heart raced like crazy for the next five minutes. I didn't look back to confirm that Michael was sitting behind me, but I knew it was him. I waited until about fifteen minutes later before I decided to quietly get up and use the restroom. I figured if it really was Michael sitting back there he would get up follow me.
I went to the restroom. I really did need to use it, so I took care of that before washing my hands and checking myself in the mirror. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had hoped Michael would show up to this church service, so I had worn one of my best Sunday dresses—a navy dress with white eyelet trim. I tightened my ponytail and straightened myself up, preparing to see him before making my way into the hallway again.
I could hear the muffled sound of my dad's deep voice coming from the sanctuary. I scanned the long hallway, looking for Michael. "Pssst," I said, thinking he might be behind one of the partitions.
Nothing. I crossed to the nearest door that led to the sanctuary, and peered through the small window. There sat Michael—right there in the back row, in the same exact spot where he was earlier.
Nobody was paying attention to me so I took a second to stare at Michael through the window just to make sure it was him. I tried to tell myself it could be someone else, but I knew that wasn't true. It would be more likely that I was seeing things than there actually being someone else who looked so much like Michael.
I took a moment to work up the nerve to go back inside before opening the door. I quickly found my place on the third row. Alice was sitting a little ways down, and she leaned over to regard me with a questioning expression. My brother did the same thing, and I just smiled like I hadn't noticed them and stared toward the stage.
My dad wrapped up the service about an hour later. I joined him on stage so I could play the piano during the invitation and dismissal. I lost sight of Michael when my dad dismissed service, and by the time I made my way back to where he was sitting, he was gone.
Alice had followed me toward the back of the church, and she had caught up to me by the time I saw that he wasn't there.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"I could have sworn that guy was here," I said, still looking around. "The guy from last night. Michael."
"You think he came to church?" Alice asked.
"I know he did," I said. "I saw him. He was sitting right here."
"Hey Ivy." The voice came like a frail whisper s
omewhere in the midst of all of the other talking in the sanctuary. I glanced down the pew to see the person who had said my name. It was an old man in a wheel chair named Mr. Harris.
"Hi, Mr. Harris," I said, smiling and waving and trying to be nice even though I was anxious to catch Michael. The man waved me over. He motioned with his hand for me to come that direction. The gesture was unmistakable.
"Hello!" I said, waving and pretending not to notice his invitation.
"Come here," he said weakly as he continued to gesture. I could barely hear him but I knew what he was saying. I glanced at Alice before making my way over to Mr. Harris. I leaned over to hug him as soon as I came near. "Hello Mr. Harris! It's good to see you this morning."
"It's good to see you too," he said.
He spoke so slowly that it felt like it took a full minute for him to say the six simple words. My blood pressure rose as I stood there, staring at him and trying my best to remain patient.
"I hope you have a good week!" I said, touching his bony arm. I was about to take off, but he put his hand over mine to trap it in place.
"Are you looking for the young man?" he asked. Again, the words came so slowly that I thought of about five things he was going to ask me before he said 'young man'.
The question took me by surprise. I had to think about what he was saying for a second as I stared blankly at his wrinkly face. "That young man?" I asked, sharply coming to attention once I realized what he was saying. I pointed at the spot where Michael had been sitting and regarded Mr. Harris with an intense expression.
He smiled. "His name's Michael," he said (slowly). "He owns a motorcycle shop over on 70. Mr. Morrow's old place."
"Yes sir. Do you know where he went?"
Mr. Harris shook his head. "He gets up and leaves before anybody has the chance to talk to him. I always sit right back here on the same row, and it took me a few weeks to catch him long enough to shake his hand and get his name."
"Weeks?" I asked.
The old man nodded.
"Of coming to this church?"
He nodded again.
"Are you talking about the guy who was sitting right here today?"
Summer of '65 (Bishop Family Book 1) Page 6
