Grounded (19 page)

“I found a hotel near the college campus. Just need to know if you want it for one night or two. The flight from Chicago to St. Louis is only an hour, but someone at the college would need to pick us up and Greenville is another hour or so by car. You could fly in Friday morning and probably still have time to practice with the band before the concert that night …”

Grace's stomach knotted. She stared at the white and black piano keys, which started to blur. There it was. The Big Question. Was she willing to go through airport security again?

Sam didn't wait for her response. “You know what? Don't worry about it. We can drive and go down on Thursday. The band will be driving Barry's van and pulling a trailer, it's only a few hours—four or five at the most. I'll rent a car and we can drive back on Saturday. If I drive down, you'll be rested and have plenty
of time on Friday to get set up in the auditorium and practice with the band.”

Grace looked up at her gratefully. “Sounds good. Yes, let's do that.”

“But … the next concert is Cincinnati, a bit further. Might make sense to fly. Should I—?”

Grace quickly shook her head. “Wait on that, okay? Go ahead and book a hotel near the university for two nights. That'll give us room to decide how we travel there. The band's driving to Cincinnati, right? Must be doable.”

Sam looked dubious, but shrugged. “Okay.” She headed back toward the dining table where she'd been working on the laptop, then turned back. “Uh, just one more thing.”

It was all Grace could do not to roll her eyes. “What?”

Sam didn't flinch. “Look, don't shoot the messenger. But there's a new e-mail from Barry. Says he needs your song list ASAP since it's only two weeks till Greenville. He also wants to know if you plan to practice with them here in Chicago or wait to put it together at the college.”

Grace sighed. “I know. I'm sorry, Sam. I shouldn't have snapped at you. Just feeling all this tension. I—I feel stuck.”

Sam moved quickly over to the piano, sat down on the bench beside her, and gave Grace a hug. “Hey, that's what you have an assistant for! Look, soon as I make these hotel reservations and line up a rental car, let's come up with a set list. You've got some great songs. Honestly, I don't think it's going to be that hard.”

Sitting on the living room floor an hour later, the two women sifted through Grace's song file and began making piles by category: original songs Grace had written herself … songs written by other artists that Bongo had gotten permission for her to use … new arrangements she'd done of classic hymns. “Why don't you pick a few from each category,” Sam said, “some of your favorites. After
all, this is just ‘Grace Meredith in Concert.' You can sing whatever you want—”

“Wait.” Grace's eyes widened. “Greenville is my alma mater. I should take advantage of that, maybe do a retro thing—sing some of the songs that were popular when I was a music major there. I wrote a number of songs then too.”

Sam laughed aloud. “Grace! That's a great idea! You could lighten it up by telling stories from your college days …”

The two women brainstormed and sorted, and finally had a set list. Grace was pretty sure the band already had scores for most of these—except the songs she'd written while still a student—but Sam said she'd drop them off that weekend.

As Sam left the house, she poked her head back inside the front door. “Hey! My sister and cousin are coming in for the weekend. You want to come have a sleepover with us tomorrow night? Do you good to just have some fun.”

A
sleepover
? She hadn't done anything like that since crazy high school days. She didn't really know Sam's sister and cousin—just a brief introduction after the concert in Memphis. Would feel kinda weird. “Uhhh, thanks for the invite, but think I'll decline. Need my beauty sleep, you know.”

It was supposed to be a joke, but Sam didn't smile. “What you
need
, Grace Meredith, is some
girlfriends
.”

Grace felt mildly annoyed. What did Sam know about her friends? But she couldn't let it bother her. She really did have stuff to do this weekend and she couldn't afford to stay up till all hours and risk getting sick again.

Grace spent Saturday morning rehearsing several of the songs they'd selected, accompanying herself on the piano, but keeping her voice level to about a third of her normal concert strength. “Don't want to wear out the instrument too fast too soon,” she told Oreo, who'd taken up residence on the piano bench beside her, his
rumbling purrs adding a steady rhythm section. But it felt good to sing some of the old songs again …

“I could sing of your love forever …”

She couldn't help smiling as the words to Martin Smith's hit came flooding back into her memory and through her fingers on the keys. Still, she was surprised how limited her range was. She should've been more faithful to do the at-home vocal exercises Dr. Erskine had given her. But … there was still time.

And there was the first song she'd composed at Greenville.
“You said follow me (and yes I will but …) First I need to see what life can offer … before I bend my knee (one day I will, but …) …”
Never recorded—for obvious reasons. Kind of corny, but it had reflected a real spiritual struggle she and many other students identified with back in the day. Might speak to some of today's students too.

Grace finally closed the lid on the piano, bundled up, and went for a walk in the welcome afternoon sunshine. The sun had traveled in a clear sky all day Saturday, sending temperatures into the forties again. Most of the snow was finally gone, the lawn chairs and saw-horses had disappeared, and flocks of chickadees could be heard twittering in the trees up and down the block.

Several of the neighbors were out tinkering with cars or sweeping salt off their sidewalks. She nodded hello as she passed, noting that the two-flat across the street was still empty. There was another two-flat on the block, this one two houses down on her side of the street. The family on the first floor was Hispanic, with two or three cute kids Grace saw from time to time. She'd seen several other adults of various ages too. Maybe they were related. All the other houses on the block were single-story brick bungalows similar to hers, probably with functional basements. A few had one or two garret rooms in the attic with curtains in the gable windows.

She glanced back over her shoulder. All, except for that oversized McMansion at the dead end, backing up against the cemetery. What was
his
story?

As Grace reached the end of the block and turned the corner, planning to walk around to the main gate of the cemetery, she saw
the Jewish family who lived on the corner walking toward her. Of course … Saturday. Probably had been to synagogue. The man sported a serious beard and wore a large black hat with a flat brim and a black suit coat, the fringes of a white prayer shawl hanging beneath it. The mother wore a long black skirt beneath her winter coat, hair gathered into some kind of covering, pushing a stroller with a sleeping toddler. Two other children—a boy wearing a yarmulke and a girl in a winter coat and dress—trotted alongside, chattering away happily, noses red from the still nippy air.

Grace nodded, smiled, and said hello, and the woman smiled back. Her husband grunted absently as they passed. Must be Orthodox. Seemed to be a lot of Orthodox Jews living in the area. Somewhere she'd heard they had to live within walking distance of a synagogue. She wondered where it was.

Reaching St. Mark's Cemetery, she stretched her legs, walking as fast as her snow boots allowed. She could tell the exercise at Curves had been helpful. She avoided a graveside service—a small huddle of people under a protective tent—choosing another wide path … but realized she wasn't being entirely successful stuffing down feelings that she should be in Houston that weekend, filling another large venue.

At least things were coming together for the concert at her alma mater. That helped. She and Sam were going to drive—that was a relief. And she had a song list. Once the band had had time to work on the music, they could schedule several sessions and decide on the final sets, which would be important, since most of the songs were different from the New Year, New You tour—

Things were coming together …

An answer to prayer?

A pair of cardinals flitted from one bare tree to another, chirping happily in the welcome sunshine. Grace stopped and turned her face upward, feeling the warmth of the sun on her skin. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Maybe God hadn't turned a deaf ear to her after all.

By the end of the next week, Barry Fox called to say the band was ready with the retro songs, and he and Sam scheduled a practice with Grace for that Saturday. Barry thought the mix was good—a sampling of songs by Steven Curtis Chapman, Michael W. Smith, Avalon, and Sonicflood, plus Grace's early original songs—but he met Grace and Sam at the practice studio with a wry grin. “Just remember, a few of these guys”—he jerked a thumb toward the band members who were setting up—“were only in middle school ten years ago. They've never heard some of these songs.”

“Oh, thanks.” Grace swatted his arm. “Nice way to make a girl feel old.”

“Don't they go to church?” Sam asked. “We still sing some of these worship songs at my church … well, okay, not many. Salem is big into black gospel. But I bet County Line and those other mega-churches do.”

Grace thought the first practice session went well—though Sam had to remind her to hold back on volume and intensity. And even then, Grace was a little hoarse the rest of the weekend, and back on lemon-and-honey tea and frequent gargles.

But it was March—surely spring was coming, in spite of the up-and-down temperatures. Some of the days had already made it into the fifties and sixties, along with foggy mornings, cloudy skies, and the occasional soggy drizzle. “Sure would like to see the sun, though,” Grace muttered to the cat the following Monday as she got ready to leave for her session at Curves. The countdown toward
the Greenville concert seemed to be speeding up. Another practice with the band that evening, a third scheduled for Wednesday, and the drive to Greenville on Thursday.

Whatever happened to that long, leisurely sabbatical?

At least she'd cleaned out the bedroom closets. And the sessions with the trainer at Curves were definitely paying off—or would eventually. She felt stronger physically, actually had an appetite, and was sleeping better.

Except on those nights when she let her mind wander into that wasteland of her failed relationship with Roger.

Strange that she hadn't heard from Jeff, though, for … what, over a week? He'd said he'd keep in regular touch with her during her sabbatical. When he still hadn't called by Wednesday, she decided to call the office to give him an update. She eyed Oreo as the phone rang in her ear. “And,
hmm
, what am I going to do with
you
for three days?”

“Grace!” Newman said when the receptionist at the Bongo Booking Agency put her through. “Believe it or not, I had you on my to-do list to call today. Sorry I haven't been in touch, but I've been out of the office. Trying to get face time with each of the clients Fowler handed off to me. How are you feeling? How's the prep coming for the Greenville gig?—hey, that's this weekend! Can't believe it! You doing okay?”

It took Grace a moment to actually answer, “Uh, yes, I'm fine,” because her mind was still dodging Jeff's pinball greeting. She was an item on his to-do list?
Good grief, Grace
. She shook off the niggling temptation to feel neglected. Talk about being oversensitive! He sounded genuinely glad to hear from her. “Thought I'd let you know I'm feeling ready for this weekend. Greenville is my alma mater, you know, so I decided to do a retro concert, putting together popular worship songs from the years I was a student there with some songs I wrote back then—”