Totally Unrelated (7 page)

I'm on such a high after the show that I'm almost vibrating. I've been doing this for years, but for the first time I really feel like I'm a full member of the band. I don't even mind when Dad motions for us to follow him into the crowd when we're finished.

An old woman comes up to me and grabs me by both hands.

“I moved to Boston when I was sixteen years old,” she tells me. “I used to come home every year, but after my husband died I stopped coming altogether. The last time I was home to Cape Breton was almost twenty years ago. I was worried that everything would be different. And it's so nice to learn that the important things have stayed the same.”

She stops talking, and her eyes fill up with tears.

“You people keep the music alive,” she says. “God bless you.”

She glances past me and smiles, then leans in to whisper to me. “You know,” she says, “girls love a good musician.”

I turn around and see that Sandy is standing right behind me, waiting her turn.

“Thanks very much,” I say to the lady. She smiles and pats me on the arm before moving away into the crowd.

I turn to Sandy. “What did you think of the show?” I ask.

She grins widely. “Are you kidding me?” she says. “You were so good, Neil. You were great the first time I saw you, but it was like you were possessed tonight!”

“Thanks,” I say. “It was fun. Dad let me—” But I don't have the chance to finish, because she's leaning into me and kissing me, full on the lips, with all these people around. For a moment I don't know what to do, but I pull myself together and return the kiss.

She steps back and smiles. “I don't know why I did that,” she says.

“It's okay,” I manage to squeak out.

“Listen,” she says. “I have to go. But we're going to practice tomorrow, right?”

“Definitely,” I say.

“Okay,” she says, and for a second we stand there smiling goofily at each other. “I'll text you tomorrow,” she says. Then she disappears into the crowd.

I stumble back to the side of the stage, where a steady line has formed at Gran's merch table.

“I have to say, boy,” says Gran as she counts out money and shoves T-shirts into bags, “I've seen every show you guys have ever done, and this was one of your best nights, hands down.”

I have to agree with her. We've just finished one of our most awesome shows ever, I'm playing the best guitar of my life, in less than a week we're going to be opening for a music superstar, and the girl I like just made the first move on
me
. I doubt I've ever had a better night in my life.

Of course, it would be too much to ask for it to last.

Eleven

I'm lost in my thoughts and don't realize that Dad is yelling for me until Gran pokes me in the arm and points him out. He's standing backstage with some man I've never seen before.

“Neil,” says Dad as I walk up to them, “this is an old friend of mine, Martin Teasdale. He's the guy who helped us land the Vince Beach gig.”

“Call me Marty,” he says, shaking my hand.

“So you're their manager?” I ask him.

“No,” he says. “I work for the promotions company that's coordinating the Halifax end of things. We were asked to find some local openers, and since I've been hearing good things about you guys, I decided to give your old man here a call. After what I just saw, I have to say I'm extremely happy I did. You guys were incredible!”

“Thanks,” I say.

“Seriously,” he goes on. “Just incredible. I can't wait to hear you on the big stage. I know Vince is going to love you guys. So how do you feel, Neil? Getting excited about Thursday? Nervous?”

For a moment I wonder how he's heard about the talent show. But that just doesn't make any sense.

“Thursday?” I repeat.

Marty laughs. “Of course you aren't nervous,” he says. He turns to Dad. “I gotta say, you've raised a bunch of true professionals, McClintock. Listen, guys, I would love to hang out longer, but I have to drive all the way back to Halifax tonight, so I should hit the road. You know where you're going, right?”

“You bet,” says Dad. “We'll be there bright and early.”

“Good man,” says Marty. He shakes Dad's hand and then reaches out and slaps me on the back. “See you guys on Thursday.”

“Dad,” I say as Marty walks away, my heart sinking into my stomach, “what does he mean, on
Thursday
?”

Dad gives me a funny look. “What are you talking about?”

“The Vince Beach show is on Saturday, isn't it? That's what you told us.”

“Yeah, but I had the date wrong. I told you guys about the change the next day at rehearsal. It's been on the calendar for weeks, Neil.”

My head starts to spin.

“But Thursday is supposed to be our day off,” I say.

“Come on, Neil,” says Dad. “You aren't going to turn this into a problem, are you? Not after the show we had tonight. You did a great job up there, buddy. I'm proud of you, but it was just a warm-up. Aren't you dying to get up in front of a really massive crowd on Thursday?”

I'm at a loss for words. I don't know what to do or how to explain to my father how horrible this is. Before I have the chance to say anything, he's hustled me around to the back of the stage and called the rest of the family over to help tear down our equipment. Next thing I know, we're packed up and driving home, and even though everyone else is chattering excitedly about the great show we've just had, I'm staring out the window of the bus, thinking about Bert and the Family McClintock and the Vince Beach Band and the awful way they've become tangled up with each other. Mostly, though, I'm thinking about Sandy and wondering if she'll ever talk to me again if I bail on the talent show.

“What's the matter with you?” Johnny asks me as we pull into the driveway. “You haven't said anything since we left the park.”

“Nothing,” I say.

“Yeah, right,” he says. He leans in and whispers, “I saw you kissing that chick from the church show. Nice work. No wonder you're tongue-tied.”

I look at him, and for a second I consider telling him what's happened, but then Dad parks and everyone piles out of the bus and starts to unload gear.

When everything's been put away, Dad locks the garage and we head into the kitchen to grab something to eat. Kathy and Gran drove home ahead of us, and they're pulling pizzas out of the oven and making a Caesar salad.

I'm starving and the pizza is delicious, and I'm happy to have something to focus on while around me my family laughs and talks. The more happy they sound, the less I can stand to listen to them, and I eventually manage to zone out completely. Then I hear my name being called from across the table, and I look up from my plate to see everyone staring at me.

“Earth to Neil!” says Kathy, laughing. “I just said your name about a dozen times!”

“Sorry,” I say. “What is it?”

“I was just asking if you think we'll meet him.”

“Who?” I ask.

“Vince Beach!” says Molly. “Do you think he'll let us hang out in his dressing room?”

“I don't know,” I say. “I don't care about Vince Beach. He sucks.”

“Jeez,” says Shamus. “What crawled up your butt?”

I push back from the table and stand up, almost knocking my chair over in the process. Everyone looks startled. I'm so frustrated that I want to cry, but I don't know how to explain it to them.

“I hate country music!” I yell. “You all know I hate it, so why do you expect me to be excited about this stupid concert? I—I'm not coming to the show in Halifax. I can't do it!” I can't stand the way they're all looking at me, so I stare down at the table, clenching my jaw.

“Neil,” says my mother, after a long moment. “What do you mean you can't do it? Of course you're coming with us.”

“I'm not,” I say, forcing myself to look at her. “I'm staying here and I'm playing in the talent show on Thursday.”

“What?” says my father. “What talent show? What is going on?”

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” I say. “Or a secret, I guess. Bert and I started a band with this girl that we know, Sandy. We've been practicing for weeks, and we're already signed up.”

“Well, I'm sorry to hear that,” says Dad. “But we're signed up for Vince Beach too.”

“No,” I say. “
You're
signed up for Vince Beach. I didn't sign up for anything. If you'd told me from the beginning that it was on Thursday, this never would have happened.” I know that's not fair, that it's my own fault for not keeping up to date with the schedule, but I can't help saying it.

Mom and Dad exchange a long look across the table, and then Dad turns to me.

“I'm sorry, Neil,” he says. “But it's not up for debate. We need you with us on Thursday.”

“Why does everything come down to me?” I say. “What about everyone else? What about Kathy?”

“Neil!” she says.

“What are you talking about?” says Dad.

“Kathy might not even be here next year,” I say. “Are you going to blame her for making us weaker? I doubt it!”

Everyone turns to look at Kathy, who stares at me with her mouth hanging open, shaking her head with disbelief.

“Kathy,” says Mom, “what is he talking about?”

I don't stick around to listen. I turn and leave the house, grabbing the key to the garage on my way out. I let myself in through the side door, but I don't turn on any lights. I wait until my eyes adjust and then grab my guitar from the wall and drop into the beat-up old couch in the corner.

For a while I don't play anything. I just lie there in the dark with my guitar on top of me. I run my left hand up and down the frets, forming and reforming chords, while my right hand moves over the strings so lightly that no sound even comes out.

I'm not sure how long I lie there like that, but eventually there's a knock on the door and Gran comes into the garage. She switches a light on, and I put my arm up to block my eyes.

“You okay, Neil?” she asks.

“Not really,” I say.

She comes over and pulls a stool up next to me.

“You know,” she says, “I fell in love with your grandfather because he was such a wonderful musician. All the girls were after him back in those days.” She looks at me and her eyes twinkle. “Girls love a man who can play music. It gets them all weak in the knees.”

I allow myself to smile a little bit.

“Johnny told us about this girl you've been hanging out with,” she says. “Is this the same girl you and Bert have been playing music with?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“Well, she could sure do worse than the likes of you,” Gran says. “Fine musician and a good-looking fella to boot.”

“Yeah right,” I say.

“What's that supposed to mean?” she asks. “You know you're the only one in the whole damn family who took after me.”

I look at her and raise an eyebrow.

“Really,” she says. “Take a close look at my wedding photo in the living room. Short and dark but awful cute, if I do say so myself. Your grandfather was a big tall redheaded hunk of a man, and his tough Scottish genes blasted right down into every one of my kids and then into every one of my grandkids.” She reaches out and pokes me in the forehead. “Except for you.”

I've never thought about that before, and I can't figure out why she's telling me now.

“Don't worry,” she says, as if she's reading my mind. “I don't expect that hearing you look like your grandmother is going to do much to cheer you up. All I'm saying is that genetics is a funny business, and you never know who's gonna get what from whom. And this family is awful lucky, if you ask me, because every one of you got the gift of music, and that's something you'll be able to carry with you right through life.”

“I guess,” I say.

“It's true,” she says. She gets up from her stool.

“If you refuse to go to Halifax on Thursday, they'll get over it eventually. You don't need to worry about that. But I would expect the same is true of Bert and this Sandy girl. If they don't cut you some slack, they probably aren't very good friends to begin with.”

That's not my biggest concern at the moment. “Did I get Kathy in trouble?” I ask.

“Nobody is in trouble,” she says. “Kathy is in there talking things over with your parents. It's not a bad thing if this family starts to communicate a bit better.” She walks back over to the door. “You could probably help out with that, so don't stay out here all night.”

She leaves, and I force myself to sit up. I'm still holding on to my guitar, and I find myself strumming out the tune to “Pass the Test.” I get through a couple of verses and then switch over to my piece from “Off to the Dance.” I can't get into either song, so I stand up and hang my guitar back on the wall. Then I pull out my phone and stare at the screen for a minute before sending a message to Bert and then Sandy.

Bert texts me back almost immediately, with a string of swearwords and exclamation marks. Although I check my phone every five minutes for the next couple of hours, I don't hear back from Sandy at all.

Twelve

By Wednesday, I still haven't heard a word from Sandy, although Bert breaks down and calls me. He's still ticked off, but at least he's calmed down a bit. He tells me Sandy hasn't returned his messages either.

“I don't know why,” he says. “It's not like I'm the one who screwed everything up.”

“Thanks for making me feel better,” I say.

“Sorry, buddy,” he says. “You screwed up. What do you want me to say?”

At least Kathy doesn't hate me. I apologize to her so many times that she eventually has to tell me to stop.