“They’re really good.” Chris shouted, trying to be heard over the pleasant racket.
Before the song ended, Michael stood back and stopped singing. No doubt catching his breath. With everyone else singing, it hardly mattered, but it caught her attention.
Now that the lights were focused on him, the paleness of his face became more pronounced. His skin had all the glow of a well-used ashtray.
Still singing, Eli walked across the stage and nodded at his older brother. Michael acknowledged him, took a breath, and walked back to his microphone stand. He joined in on the last few words and then brought the song to an end.
As another round of applause erupted throughout the bar, Emily considered brushing past the other audience members to snag Michael’s attention. He appeared ready to drop. At the very least, he looked as if he could use a break. Before she could act on it, the band started their third song.
The ominous strains of Pink Floyd’s “Comfortably Numb” insinuated themselves throughout the packed room. Everyone quieted and Emily bit her lip. It was one of her favorite songs, although Michael wouldn’t have known it. As he sang the opening “Hello,” a tingle danced between her shoulder blades.
The mood changed immediately as everyone hung on Michael’s words and the haunting minor chords. Emily would have forgotten about Michael’s headache and earlier distraction if it weren’t for the fact his face took on a pained aspect. Others might think he was lost in the song, but the darkness in his eyes told her he was hurting.
His voice grew fainter with each phrase. At the point in the song where he was supposed to issue the anguished scream, he stopped singing altogether and stared at a spot at the back of the club. Frowning, he ceased strumming his guitar. Still and lonely, he resembled a store mannequin.
Eli and Nick shot looks at each other. They played the last phrase over again to allow Michael a chance to catch up. When he didn’t, his face frozen in harsh angles, Eli took over the vocals.
People in the audience whispered. Chris leaned over. “What’s up with your friend?”
“I don’t know.”
Luckily, they reached the break in the song. Michael snapped out of his funk right before his guitar solo. He blinked, nodded at Eli, and joined him as he sang the last part of the chorus. When Michael launched into the guitar solo, hands flying over the neck of the instrument, his mouth tightened in anger. He poured his heart into David Gilmour’s music, twisting and turning it into something all his own. Every chord seem laced with fury. Each minor interval broke Emily’s heart a little more. Although the audience only seemed to think he was playing the hell out of that guitar, she knew Michael’s heartache manifested in each fraught note.
She wanted to ease his suffering.
When the song ended, the crowd applauded. Michael rolled his eyes as he spoke into the mic. “Thanks, folks. Sorry about the momentary lapse. Not enough caffeine today.”
There was no way he was dealing with insufficient caffeine. She had seen him all day and he’d enjoyed a steady stream of coffee.
“I hate to break it to you,” said Chris, elbowing her, “but you’re staring at him. Gawk any harder and he’ll get a restraining order.”
“Whatever.”
“You know it’s okay for you to feel something for him. It doesn’t make you a bad person.”
“Doesn’t it?”
Chris took gentle hold of her arms. “Remember what Nonna used to say? ‘We are exactly where we need to be.’”
How could she forget? It had been her mantra her whole life.
“You met Michael for a reason, sis, and there’s a reason you discovered Trent cheating. Anyone with a fraction of a brain can see you want to be with Michael.”
“I think all that love poetry has gone to your head. It’s not that simple.”
“He makes you happy. It’s very simple. Don’t you want to be happy?”
“Yes, but…”
“Life’s too short for buts, Em. You need to take that man by the hand and do dirty things with him. Remember, ‘celibacy has no pleasures.’”
“Shakespeare again?”
“Nope. Samuel Johnson. Have I taught you nothing?” He pushed her closer to the stage. “Now be a good groupie and go flirt with the lead singer. The poor man looks as if he could use some inspiration. Or a blood transfusion.”
Emily was just about to whack her brother when Michael spoke to the crowd again. “We appreciate you all coming tonight. In fact…”
She waited for him to finish his statement, but once again, he stared with unfocused eyes at the back of the room. This time, he wove in his place.
