“Your mom’s a musician?”
Jake seemed to come back to himself. He studied Rachael for just a moment, as though weighing his words. “She does sing, but she’s more of an actor. Isn’t everyone in California?” His smile grew bigger as he changed the subject. “Do you know what song you’re going to do?”
No, she didn’t. She couldn’t decide which song would work best, whose lyrics wouldn’t fly out of her head once she faced a crowd of people. A wild part of her, the fearless girl-she-was before her mother left, wanted to get up and sing one of her own songs written in a notebook she kept hidden at home. She tamped down that voice as unrealistic. Who was she to think her songs were any good?
“I’ve narrowed it down,” Rachael lied. “But I’m not going to tell you.”
Jake grinned. “You’re going to surprise me then?”
“Like you surprised me with this?” She gestured around the bar.
“Your surprise will be better.” He looked past her at Bill, who signaled that she was next. “Now, go shine.”
Rachael’s heart pounded in her ears as she walked to the stage. She started up the three steps and grabbed the short railing as she paused on the second one. Lightheadedness threatened to overtake her, along with the old dark memories. Those dead-of-night blackbirds.
Not now. Not this time, please. Rachael fought to keep herself centered. Did anyone see her stop? The bar was filled with people, the crowd had not thinned out as Bill had promised. With a deep breath, Rachael walked to the mic. The last guy played guitar without singing and the mic was in the wrong position for her. Rachael tried to adjust it but couldn’t figure out how to change the height. She felt a bead of nervous sweat trickle down her neck. Someone laughed. Was everyone staring at her, thinking she was an idiot? Rachael braved a look at the audience. Instead of ridiculing her, she saw that people were talking to each other, drinking and eating. No one paid her any attention.
Except Jake. Carrying a glass of water, he bounded up the steps and handed it to her. Then he went to work on the mic stand. Rachael sipped the water. It tasted lemony. She hadn’t realized how dry her mouth had gone. She took a big drink as Jake finished adjusting the mic to the perfect height. As he took the glass, he leaned in close enough to kiss her. Instead he whispered in her ear, “Break a leg, Angel.”
He set the glass down within her reach on a speaker, exited the stage, and it was Rachael’s time to sing.
The old memories closed in again, a flock of blackbirds threatening to fly her back to her childhood, to rob her of this moment. But this time she was ready. She’d turn the blackbirds against themselves.
Rachael closed her eyes as she went into the old Beatles song. She’d sung this one a thousand times in her life if she’d sung it once, but this time she felt it reach down into her bones. She saw the dark night of her past, her father’s silhouette blocking the moon as she crouched in his shadow, terrified and silent as the cicadas whined.
Not here. Not tonight. Tonight she sang. Tonight, she flew away into the light.
Rachael ended the song, her eyes still shut tight, waiting. The room was silent.
Jake was wrong. She’d failed. They hated her. Of course they did. She didn’t deserve—
And then the applause erupted.
She opened her eyes to see people rising out of their chairs. They clapped, they cheered, they stomped on the floor. From behind the bar, Bill shouted, “Encore, encore!” and the rest of the bar took it up.
Rachael swore she could hear Jake’s clapping over all the others. He stood like the rest, but he didn’t smile—his face looked more awe-struck.
“Thank you,” Rachael said into the microphone. “One more.”
The room quieted down immediately as people took their seats again. This time Rachael didn’t take her eyes off Jake.You’ll get it in one.
As Rachael started the old Sarah McLachlan song, singing about a woman who spent all her time waiting for a second chance, Jake mouthed the word ‘Angel’ and she gave him the tiniest of nods. His smile was her light for the rest of the song.
Eleven
“You are amazing.” Jake hugged Rachael when she came back to the table. He still felt awed after her performance. She was made for the stage, made to sing, not to cower in a hellhole day after day. He squeezed her tightly, his hand buried in her thick, dark hair.
Please be innocent, he thought desperately.
Jake had come to actually like some of the lowlifes and criminals he’d met during his undercover career, just enough to gain their trust before betraying them. They may have been entertaining, or had sad stories that drew them into a life of crime, but he never lost perspective. He held them accountable for the choices they’d made that hurt others and saw that they met justice. But for the first time, he felt his perspective slide, found himself making up scenarios in his head that proved Rachael innocent—based more on his developing feelings than on the ugly facts he’d learned before meeting her. The thing was, the facts he’d observed since only made her seem more like a good woman caught in a bad place.
And the tighter he held her right now, the more that objective perspective slipped away.
“It was just a couple of songs, just me,” Rachael said, breathless and flushed. She looked around in wonder at all the people still clapping.
“Tell that to the poor souls following your act.” Jake lifted his chin to the nervous-looking couple carrying guitars to the stage.
Rachael’s eyes rounded as she watched them. She pulled away from Jake’s embrace. “What do I do? Should I apologize?”
