“Nutbush City!” the crowd roared, their fists pumping in the air.
“Nutbush City Limits!” cried Mickey.
Cried the crowd.
Cried Lincoln.
Cried Teddy himself, his own fist pumping with the rest.
“Nutbush City Limits!”
Lincoln
Mickey, surrounded by fans, came over to the edge of the stage when Lincoln called to him. “Jesus, Face Man. Don’t tell me you’re leaving?”
“No,” Lincoln assured him. “I just need to return a call.” He waved his phone, which had vibrated during the set—no doubt Anita responding to the video he’d sent.
“So what’d you think?”
“You’re good. Great, actually.”
Mickey shrugged. “After four decades, you’re supposed to be, right?” But Lincoln could see that the compliment pleased him.
“What I don’t understand is why you aren’t deaf.”
“What?”
“I said…” Lincoln began, then got it. “Oh, right. So…how come you told Teddy what was up and not me?”
“I didn’t. He figured it out. Seriously, is he going to be okay? He doesn’t look so hot.”
“I wish I knew.”
“I’m trying to get him to hang out on the Cape for a couple days, but he won’t.”
“I know.” He consulted his watch. “How long’s your break?”
“Half an hour. Give Anita my love.”
Since he hadn’t told Mickey who he was phoning, he said, “I could be calling someone else, you know.”
“Yeah, but you’re not.”
Outside, night had fallen, and the chill in the air was autumnal. Half of Rockers’ audience was now smoking on the narrow sidewalk, so Lincoln headed into the Camp Meeting Grounds, which, this late in the season, felt abandoned. The silence, after the pounding music, felt preternatural.
Anita answered on the first ring. “Lincoln.”
“Pretty crazy, huh?” he said. “The band’s actually called Big Mick on Pots, just like back in Minerva.”
“Lincoln.”
This time he heard the urgency in her voice. “Wait, didn’t you get the video I sent?”
“Something came through, but I haven’t looked at it. Your father’s in the hospital. It looks like he’s going to be okay, but it was scary.”
“What happened?”
“We were having dinner and all of a sudden he went rigid, like he’d stuck his finger in an electric socket. Then he slumped over and started speaking gibberish. Anyway, we got him to the hospital—”
“We?”
“Angela and I.”
“Angela.”
“His lady friend. At least that’s what I’m assuming she is. She doesn’t speak much English.”
“What language does she speak?”
“Spanish, of course.”
“But Dad doesn’t speak Spanish.”
“I know that. What’s important here? Your father’s health or his living arrangements?”
Lincoln opened his mouth to respond, but his phone vibrated again. He half expected the caller to be Dub-Yay himself, determined to take over the narrative as always, but this was a local number.
“Lincoln? Are you still there?”
“Sorry. I had an incoming call.”
“This one is more important.”
“I know that. I’m sorry. I’m just feeling a bit blindsided.”
“Should I continue?”
“I’m listening.”
“So the doctors are still running tests, but the initial diagnosis is a TIA, what they call a ministroke. Apparently he’s been having them for a while.”
“You got this from a woman who doesn’t speak English?”
“No, from your father. The language impairment from strokes like these doesn’t last long. By the time the ambulance arrived, he was making sense again. He might say bike when he means rake, but you can kind of figure it out.”
“Put him on, then.”
“He’s resting. The doctors say he’ll probably sleep through till morning. The strokes are exhausting, even the baby ones. But here’s the thing. Each one is like a valve that relieves pressure, but then the pressure builds back up again. There’s apparently a bigger one coming.”
“When?”
“Unknown.”
Lincoln sighed. “I’m really sorry, babe. This should not have happened on your watch.”
“I’m just glad I was here. Meanwhile, he’s comfortable and in no immediate danger. Angela and I are heading back to the house now.”
“You and Angela.” His phone vibrated again. Whoever called earlier had apparently left a message. “The old bastard.”
“Lincoln.”
“I’m just saying.”
“I know what you’re saying, but you’re awfully hard on him. The only thing he’s ever really wanted is to be important.”
“What he wants is his own way.”
“Yeah, and there’s a lot of that going around.” When he didn’t respond to that, she said, “Sorry, that sounded like I meant you, and I didn’t.”
“You sure?”
“Pretty sure.”
He was silent for a moment. “Have I mentioned recently that I love you?”
“I know you do. I never doubt that.”
“I really wish you were here.”
“Right this minute, so do I.”
“That’s good. You prefer me to Angela, at least?”
“I do, yes. Wait, you sent a video?”
“Watch it. It’ll cheer you up.” He knew he should let her go, but he didn’t want to. “You should see