crowd there was laughter, along with the voices loud and soft, talented and untalented. It seemed that everyone had allowed the power of the music to wipe away their worries, for a while. The short song was over too soon.
Sela and Olivia returned to their seats, and so did a breathless Carol.
Barb remained standing, and began singing a very different type of song. She’d never been a Joplin fan the way Carol was. She was, apparently, more into folk music. Joan Baez, maybe; Sela wasn’t sure. Barb had a surprisingly good voice, and her slow, easy song grabbed everyone. A hush fell over the crowd. After the raucousness of Carol’s Joplin offerings, Barb’s full, warm tones wove a kind of spell that was all mixed in with the bright stars overhead and the soft night air, the crisp smell of autumn and wood fire. It was a magical moment, one Sela knew she’d remember long after the lights came back on.
As Ben neared Sela’s neighborhood, he’d been surprised to hear the music. It wasn’t loud enough to carry far, but in the still night it did carry. The dog’s ears perked up, he even pranced a little, but he stayed close to Ben’s side. They avoided the road and skirted backyards to get where they were headed.
From one side of Sela’s house large trees blocked his view, so Ben walked through the backyard until he could see what was going on in the middle of Myra Road. Thanks to the dark and the distance no one saw him, but in the light of the fire he could see them well. Was that Sela’s aunt? Singing? God, what caterwauling. She screeched at the top of her tiny but apparently powerful lungs. He was about to leave, thinking he could come back another time when Sela wasn’t so busy, but when Carol motioned to Olivia and Sela and they joined her . . . Well, there was no way he could leave now. He leaned against the side of the house and prepared himself for whatever might come.
None of them would ever make a professional singer, but there was joy in their stupid song, in the way they grinned at the crowd and shared smiles with each other. His eyes were drawn to and remained on Sela. She moved to the song a little. She wasn’t as boisterously into it as the others, but the way her hips swayed . . . Shit, he did not need this distraction. What he had to do could wait until tomorrow. And to be honest, he didn’t have to do anything at all. He shouldn’t even be here.
But he didn’t walk away. Even the dog, who sat at his side, seemed oddly entranced.
The song ended too soon, and Sela returned to her seat. He couldn’t see her nearly well enough from this vantage point, but he wasn’t willing to move from this safe spot to get a better view, though he was tempted. The older woman who had been singing with them remained standing to sing her own song, something slow and easy. She wasn’t too bad on her own.
Music by firelight. He hadn’t expected this.
When she was done with her easy song, someone else from the crowd took her place to sing a hymn. Several people joined in, until it seemed everyone was singing the familiar hymn. They should’ve sounded terrible, but they didn’t. They were out of tune—with gruff and less-than-pleasant voices mingled with those more talented—but . . . not terrible.
Ben didn’t leave, as he’d intended, but stood there in the deepest shadows of the night until the crowd began to disperse and Sela headed his way. She spent a lot of time with her family, but she slept here, in her own house, all alone. She thought she was safe. They all did.
No one was safe. He knew that, and surely some of them did, too. So why were they laughing and singing? This was a crisis, not a damn picnic.
And yet . . . A part of him envied their innocence, their ability to come together and forget for a while. He wished he could let himself believe everything was going to be okay.
He didn’t.
Sela, flashlight in hand and pointed to the ground, had almost reached her front door when he stepped around the corner and surprised her. He really surprised her. She damn near jumped out of her skin.
“Damn it!” she gasped, as she placed one hand over her