breath caught in his throat.
A framed picture on the nightstand faced the bed. He recognized a young, carefree Libby her arms draped over a younger girl who could only be her little sister, Sarah. Her parents stood on each side of them. They were a beautiful family. The weight of al Libby had been through struck him ful force. God, he wished she was here right now, but they’d be together again soon.
Reluctantly he put the photo back in place. He opened the top drawer and found pens, highlighters and pencils on top of a drawing pad. He eased it out of the drawer and opened the cover and found a pencil drawing of a little boy. He turned the pages to discover dozens of drawings of everything from wildlife, the Twilight Motel and little boys. But what gave him pause the most were the drawings of himself. There were only a couple and they were at the front of the pad. Had she moved on? Didn’t she think about him anymore? That was stupid thinking. She was coming to Red Rocks and the drawings didn’t reveal what her feelings were. He slid it back into place.
Peter closed the drawer and saw Bea pressed up against Roger. “So then I went to Nashvile to sing for this big record producer. He said he liked my style, said I had real panache, whatever that is.” Bea fluttered her peacock lashes again.
He didn’t have the heart to watch Roger suffer any longer. An assault from Bea had to be worse than Roger’s tour of duty in Desert Storm.
“Roger,” Peter interrupted. “I just realized we’re going to miss our flight if we don’t head out.” He efficiently pushed the two apart. “Bea, it’s been a pleasure and I can’t thank you enough for al your help.”
He bee-lined to the car and started the engine. Roger literaly leapt over the hood, slid in and slammed his door. Bea flitted after Roger, her words stil flying. Peter backed up, sped away and pretended not to notice.
Roger glared at Peter. “You owe me big time for that.” Peter howled in laughter and honked the horn as he cruised out of town, one step closer to Libby.
Chapter 24
Two days later, ominous clouds thundered over the Red Rocks Amphitheater. “We are not canceling this concert,” Peter said. “I don’t care if there are torrential rains, earthquakes or tsunamis; this show is happening.” He glared at the Red Rocks stage manager, his posse of security, and the management team.
Peter’s family stood in formation behind him, a silent army of supporters.
“As I said before, it’s not safe.” The stage manager held his ground. “With an outdoor amphitheater there are added dangers when inclement weather strikes.
“And I’l say it again, we are not canceling.” Peter said, hands on his hips, a formidable opponent.
The stage manager looked to Peter’s parents for help, but received none. “You don’t understand. We have guidelines, policies and insurance issues at stake here. Do you want to take responsibility for that?”
“You bet I do. What do you need?” Peter didn’t flinch.
“Where do I sign? Do you want a check?” Too much rested on this concert. Libby was coming and he would not let her be sent away.
“That’s not how it works and I’m sure your father can attest to that. We’re talking about the safety of ten thousand people in and around the amphitheater.”
His father interrupted. “Let’s take a look at the radar once more.” He gestured toward the computer screen nearby. “At this point, most of the fans are already in the stands or on the grounds.
Canceling the concert isn’t going to help. There must be some sort of emergency procedure when unexpected storms occur during a concert.”
“Yes, of course there is. However, the goal is not to need them. Moving this many people can result in panic and injury. Plus there is an added threat with a storm system of this magnitude.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little late to send everyone home,” his mother said. “In fact, it would be irresponsible. According to radar this is a fast moving system. Let’s get the fans to safety here on the grounds, we wil wait the storm out, and then al enjoy a the concert. No one goes home disappointed.”
“Wel, I don’t know. The stage wil be soaked, and the seats in the stands wil be wet. There wil be no dry place to sit,” the stage manager argued.
“The stage is simple, we can squeegee it off