“We’d love to hear you sing.” He points to the choir in their long blue robes, all with big grins.
That’s it? After I just admitted to being an atheist?
I stare at him incredulously. Lightning didn’t strike me dead, I wasn’t stoned, and no one dragged me off to jail. In fact, the congregation is all smiling, especially Mrs. Quinn.
Andy has his face hidden behind his hymnal, shoulders shaking. I’m not sure if he’s laughing or dying of embarrassment.
“I ah, don’t really know any church songs.” It’s a good excuse and should get me extracted from this mess, I’m sure.
The choir starts humming a familiar spiritual and the preacher hands me a piece of sheet music. I start singing because it’s what I do. The melody starts withSwing Low, Sweet Chariotand I take a verse, solo.
Then, the piano speeds up toWade in the Water, which is a lot of fun in four-part harmony. It’s actually a pretty good arrangement. At the end, I don’t even realize I’ve been duped. The choir stops singing and it’s just me and the somewhat out of tune piano.
Now, some people might have just stopped right there and left people hanging but I’m a professional.
Amazing Graceis just a few notes on paper, a few words written by a guy in the seventeen-hundreds. I sing like I always do, pouring out my heart and soul. There’s no now, no yesterday, just the music and me in the surreal place.
When I open my eyes, there’s not a dry eye in the house and I don’t quite know what to do. If I was onstage, I would wait for the applause, thank the house, and take my seat. I guess Andy gets where I’m at because I hear loud male clapping from his pew followed by lighter ones until the whole church thunders.
“Thank you.” With a warm face I’m sure is red, I hand the mic back to the preacher and take my seat.
“Do you know that song was written by a slave trader? Maybe the worst kind of sinner that ever lived?” The man climbs up the pulpit.
Along with the rest of the congregation, I shake my head, no.
“Do you figure that man went to hell?”
I shrug.Good question.
However, his audience seems to know all the answers. The church fills with negatives from the pews. “Uh-uh. No way…”
“Well, neither do I.” The preacher squats by the kids. They’d been so quiet, sitting on the floor in front of the altar, I almost forgot they were there.
“What do we say to the lovely singer, children?”
They all yell together as if rehearsed daily. “Judge not lest you be judged.”
“That’s right. Good job. Now, y’all may leave.”
They get up and join the Sunday school teachers, beaming at the back of the church. One little girl with wispy blond hair hesitates, runs up to me, and gives me a big hug.
“Don’t worry none. Okay? God believes in you. That’s what counts.”
Holy shit. Even though I haven’t converted, I might believe in this small church of really nice people.
The rest of the service goes by in a blur. After, I say hello to at least one hundred people, some from the bar last night. Everyone promises to keep watch for my resurrected dead husband.
I don’t know where they found time but Jack and Andy put signs all over town and posted on social media. No way is Peter going to come into town without everyone knowing.
An older gent purposefully hangs back at the end of the line and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. However, Andy’s right behind me, his arm resting around my waist, as the man approaches.
He shakes my hand at the foot of the steps to the church. “I’m James Big. I own a couple clubs in Charlotte. A band I manage is looking for a lead singer. You interested? I can arrange an audition.”
“Ah, I’m only here for a few weeks.” At the thought of playing again with a group, I miss my brother and my life in the city. If I was home, I wouldn’t even be awake yet.
His card appears in my hand. “Well, if you change your mind, here’s how to reach me.”
“Thank you.” Suddenly, a couple important brain cells fire. “Do you think they might want someone for a just few weeks?”
“Not sure. You can always ask.”
After I thank him again, Andy kisses the top of my head. “Not sure if Charlotte is such a good idea.”
‘I can’t keep sponging off you forever.”
“Now honey, I would gladly-”
“Don’t now-honey me. I mean it. I earn my own way.” I grab both his hands as well as his gaze.
He needs to understand what kind of woman I am. No matter how much I love him, I’ll never stop working, it’s too much a part of me. Andy’s smile disappears as we head toward the truck but I’m thrilled. With last night’s winnings, I can buy a cheap guitar in a pawn shop and then, who knows?
