Composing Amelia (13 page)

“I think I’m done; I’ll help you.”

She was quiet for a moment, then sighed and pressed herself closer to him. “I miss you already.”

“I know.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ll call every night.”

“We’ll need to get a better cell phone plan.”

“That’s all right. I’ve got a real salary now, remember?”

“Yeah, but …” She pulled her hand from his and wiped her cheek. “Do you hate me?”

The question came from nowhere, taking Marcus by surprise. “What—hate you? Are you nuts?”

“I’m making this all so difficult. I know it’s all my fault.”

“Hey, babe, ease up.” He gave her a squeeze and rubbed her back. “Listen, you were absolutely right about what you said at the beach. This is no different than you going on tour. Yeah, it’s longer than we ever expected to be apart, but think of it this way: If we can handle this, then we’ll be able to handle any little trip you—or I—might have to take for our jobs. And yeah, I wish you were coming with, but … I’m okay with this. Really.”

The next day went so quickly that Marcus had no time to get emotional. He and Dane moved Amelia’s boxes over to Dane and Jill’s apartment, then they’d taken the boxes that didn’t fit in Marcus’s hatchback to the shipping store and sent them on their way. Back at their apartment, Amelia showed up with sandwiches for everyone at lunch and, despite Marcus’s protests, insisted he leave as soon as he was done eating.

“I told you I’d help you clean the apartment,” he said.

“It’s a Friday afternoon—you really want to wait until two or three to get on the road? The I-15 is going to be locked up with the Vegas-bound before then. You know you don’t want to start the trip at a snail’s pace through the desert.”

She was right, but he still felt rotten leaving her with all the work. When he said as much, she gave him a pointed look that told him she wouldn’t be able to maintain dry eyes for much longer. “I’d sort of like the time alone. ”

Dane had wisely taken his leave with his lunch after giving Amelia a copy of the apartment keys. With a final look at the clock Amelia had nodded to the door. “You need to go.”

“Right. Okay.” Marcus pulled out his keys and took off the front door and mailbox keys from the ring and placed them on the counter. “I’ll call you from the road, let you know how things are going.”

“Okay.”

“I told the management company we’d be out by tomorrow night, so you’ve got some extra time if you need it.”

Amelia nodded but said nothing.

“I love you, Amelia.”

That broke the dam and brought her into his arms. She cried into his shoulder and he hugged her close, telling himself again that this was the right thing to do, even though it no longer felt that way. When they pulled apart she gave him a gentle push for the door. “Get out of here. Drive safe.”

“I will.” He kissed her again and then left for the parking garage, not wanting to linger and make leaving any more difficult than it already was. When he reached the car, packed with suitcases and boxes, he prayed nothing would go wrong—with the car, the drive, or their plans. He sensed a long stretch of quiet on the horizon and quickly climbed inside and pulled out, eager to get on the freeway with his music blaring and his thoughts focused fully on the road before the silence got the best of him.

Amelia closed the door behind Marcus and allowed herself a good cry on the couch that would soon be hauled away by Goodwill. Did she really want this job this badly? This barely paying, super-off-Broadway gig that might or might not bring the connections she was hoping for? She’d been telling herself for days that “no pain, no gain” was a cliché for a reason. But now, with the apartment nearly empty and Marcus gone, her heart hurt so much she had to wonder if she’d reached the point at which the gain wasn’t worth the pain it caused.

No—you’re not there yet,
she told herself while she mopped her tears.
Give it another couple years and then we’ll see. If you give up that easily you’ll never know what you can do. You’d regret quitting now. And worse, you’d be just like her.

Crumpling her tissue, she went to the kitchen to get the cleaning supplies and start working on the apartment. She set her iPod to
Little Earthquakes
and sang along as she pulled on rubber gloves and started on the kitchen. If she worked nonstop she’d be out of here in just a couple hours and could get back to Jill’s to put her room together.

She’d been cleaning for an hour when her phone’s ringing came through between songs. She yanked out the earbuds and raced to grab it, thinking it might be Marcus, but the number on the screen was unfamiliar. “Hello?”

“Hey, Amelia, it’s Ross.”

“Oh—hey, hi.”

“I know this is last minute, but I wanted to see if you were free tonight. Gabe and I selected the last troupe member yesterday and thought it would be fun to get everyone together for a celebratory drink or two at the Melody Lounge near Chinatown. We’ll get there around five to take advantage of happy hour. Can you make it?”

Her first impulse was to say no, but then she thought it might help put her in a better frame of mind. Plus, it would be nice to meet everyone before the first rehearsal. Jill’s apartment was only about ten minutes from there by bus; she’d just stay for an hour or so and then go. “Sure. Why not.”

“Great! I’m glad you can make it. I’m looking forward to it.”

She hung up and went back to work, feeling a little less morose. It would be fun to finally meet the others she’d be working with—and to get her mind off missing Marcus. Maybe she’d even make some new friends.

The bar was packed, but Amelia spotted Ross and Gabe in a back corner booth with a handful of others. She unzipped her jacket and straightened her blouse, hoping the freshening up she’d done at the apartment had lasted the bus ride over. She’d forgotten she didn’t have any clothes or even her makeup at the apartment, and hadn’t finished cleaning in time to stop at Jill’s. Threading her way through the crowd, she noticed with dismay she was the only woman in their party.
It was last minute. Who knows who else might show up later, or just couldn’t come tonight. Maybe you’ll click with someone at rehearsal on Monday.

“Amelia! So glad you made it.” Ross and Gabe both stood to give her a brief embrace, then Ross pulled out the empty chair beside him for her and started the introductions. “Gentlemen, this is Amelia Sheffield, our wicked-talented pianist.” He pointed to each of the others as he named them and their position within the troupe. Only two of the five were musicians; the others were actors. “Blythe, Dana, and Carson can’t make it tonight, but you’ll meet them Monday. Carson’s our drummer, Dana and Blythe are actors.” He nodded to two appetizers in the middle of the table. “Help yourself. Can I get you a drink?”

“Cherry Coke, thanks.”

He saluted and stood. “Coming right up.”

Amelia helped herself to a plate and a handful of chips for the guacamole as the conversation continued where it had left off when she’d arrived. She eyed each of the other musicians, wondering what their stories were. For the first time she worried they’d be better than her, that her performance would lack something special they each possessed. She decided to start practicing more, just to be safe.

“… UCLA for two years. What about you, Amelia? Where did you get your degree?”

“Oh—started at Juilliard but transferred to LA Bible College to complete my bachelor’s.”

The brief silence that followed told her this was likely not a crowd that often rubbed shoulders with Bible-college grads. She hoped her embarrassment didn’t show on her face.
Quick, change the subject!
“So what else do you all do to pay the bills?”

The conversation took off from there as everyone compared stories of how they stayed afloat financially while they pursued the careers they really wanted. As they talked over each other in friendly one-upmanship, Ross returned with her drink and set it before her with a flourish. “
Senorita,
” he said as he smiled and sat down. She saw him glance at her wedding ring. “Ah.
Senora,
I mean.” His face changed slightly. “How long have you been married? You’re so young.”

“Last June, straight out of college.”

“A nice Christian boy?” the guitarist asked.

Ross looked from the musician to her. “Huh?”

“Oh—my alma mater. LA Bible College. And yes, he is a nice Christian boy.” She sipped her drink, tipping her head downward to hide the surprising onset of tears.

Ross was perceptive, however. “Are you all right?” he asked, leaning in and speaking quietly while the others returned to their conversation.

“Yeah, I’m fine, thanks,” she said with a brief smile. “My husband just got a job in Nebraska and left today.”

Ross frowned. “Like—contract work or something?”

“No, it’s a head pastorship at a church out there.”

“So … he left you here?”

“It was a mutual decision. I already had this gig—”

“He got the job after you signed on with us? And he still took it?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, that’s his dream. And I could have quit and gone with him, but this is
my
dream, so I’m staying. It’s like touring. Not that big a deal.”

Ross shook his head. “He left behind a woman like you?” He whistled. “He must really trust you.”

Amelia didn’t know what to say. She settled on a meek “He does” and turned her attention to the food on her plate in the hopes he’d engage someone else. It worked. Amelia tried not to read too much into Ross’s statements, figuring her discomfort was more keen because Marcus had just left. On another day she’d have likely appreciated the compliment.

She stayed longer than she meant to, completely forgetting the time until the violinist stood and nodded for the door. “Early shift in the morning; I need to run.”

“What time is it?” Ross asked, fishing for his cell phone.

“Eight.”

Amelia nearly choked. “I have the early shift in the morning too. And a new room to unpack.” She stood and pulled on her jacket. “It was really nice meeting you all. Thanks so much for inviting me, Ross.”

“Of course, Amelia. Looking forward to Monday.”

She returned his smile, shook hands with the others, and followed the violinist to the door where they parted ways. The streets were crowded with Friday night fun seekers, making her feel safer as she made her way to the bus stop and looked up the bus she’d need to take to Jill’s. She took a seat on the bench and took out her phone to check the time, and saw a text from Marcus.
In UT hotel. Easy drive. Luv u.
She texted him back with
On my way 2 J&Ds. Will call when I get home. LUV U.
She was mad she’d missed him; if she’d seen it when he’d first written she’d have called him right back. She kept checking her phone, waiting for a response, but none came.

By the time she got home, the emotional and physical strain of the day had started to take their toll. She was relieved to see the note on the door telling her Jill and Dane had gone to a movie—but, even though she’d been to their place scores of times, she felt awkward being there alone. She tried to unpack but was completely unmotivated. Instead, she pulled her pajamas and toiletries from the suitcase, readied herself for bed, and called Marcus once she was under the covers. It rang four times before going to voice mail, and then she remembered Utah was an hour ahead and Marcus had likely gone to bed early after such a long day of driving. She shut the phone, set it on the nightstand, and stared at it, willing it to ring, until she fell asleep.