a cappella.”
“We know your time is limited,” Stephanie said, “so maybe we should get started.” She led the group to the piano. “How many songs would you like to hear?”
“Two or three are all I have time for.” Monica paused to read a text message, then lowered the phone. “And let me warn you, I’m blunt by nature, which I try to temper by grace.” She put a hand to Kelli’s shoulder. “If I don’t like it, I’ll tell you.”
Kelli’s heart pounded.
“Perfect,” Stephanie said. “We want the straight-up truth.” She looked at Kelli. “Ready?”
Kelli lifted the lid and sat at the piano, propping her steno pad on the stand. She’d skimmed through it before they left the room and chosen a few favorites. She was pretty sure she remembered how to play them—kind of like riding a bike. She was also pretty sure she remembered the words, but she wanted the pad in case her brain froze.
She went with a lively song first, one she called “Praise Him.”
Monica leaned against the piano, nodding her head. In no time she’d caught on to the lyrics and began singing along. But about two-thirds of the way through, she raised her hand for Kelli to stop.
“I really like that,” Monica said, “but I’ve got all the up-tempo songs I need on this album. The one I was about to record was a slow, worshipful type. Got any like that?”
Two came to mind, and Kelli chose the one she liked best.
Monica stared into the distance, listening, and looked at her phone when it rang—a tune that competed with Kelli’s—but she didn’t answer. Moments later, she raised her hand again and made a face. “It’s cool, love the words, but the vibe isn’t really me.” She looked at her assistant. “We got time for one more?”
Laura gave an iffy nod. “You’ll have to jet right after. Next panel’s about to start.”
Monica looked at Kelli. “Bring it, girl. Give me your best.”
Kelli nodded, staring at the keys.
Stephanie leaned over and whispered, “Kel, think Cinderella. You tried to shove those other songs into the slipper, and they didn’t fit. Choose the one that fits, and you know what I’m talking about. Sing that wedding song.”
The jitters came instantly. It would be doubly hard to sing today, after seeing Brian. She closed her eyes. Lord, help me. If You want me to sing it, You’ll have to give me the strength.
Taking a deep breath, she played the first notes.
After the first couple of bars, Monica glanced at her assistant and looked back down. When she shook her head, Kelli thought she was about to raise her hand again—and she did, this time in praise. She seemed lost in the song, and while she couldn’t pick up all the words easily, she sang the repetitive parts of the chorus.
“I will love you . . . and I will love you . . . I will love you . . . Yes!”
Kelli peeked at Cyd and Stephanie, both of whom were about to jump out of their skin . . . and trying to hide it.
At the middle of the bridge, Monica shook her head again. “Stop. Just stop.”
The room fell silent. Kelli was confused. Didn’t she like it?
“We’ve got to call Roxie,” Monica said to Laura. “She needs to hear this. Now.”
“I agree,” Laura said.
Monica pushed a button on her phone and waited. “Roxie, whatever you’re doing, put it on pause. I got something for you . . . yes, you need to hear this . . . no, just listen. One second.” She put the phone on the piano. “You mind starting from the top, Kelli?”
“Not at all.” Kelli ran through the song again, this time to the finish, glad she could keep her composure.
Monica picked the phone back up and walked across the room, talking to Roxie, Laura beside her.
Kelli, Cyd, and Stephanie talked with their eyes.
Looks good, right? Cyd’s eyes said.
What’s Monica saying over there? Stephanie’s said.
Kelli’s were cautious. I just don’t know.
Monica walked back over. “I can’t begin to tell you how pumped I am,” she said. “I like this song better than the one they took from me—ha! Thank You, Lord!”
“I’m speechless,” Kelli said, shaking her head. “I can’t believe you like it.”
“Roxie loved it too—she’s my manager. We need the production team to listen, but I know they’ll love it. I’m just now realizing, though . . . you don’t have a recording that I can pass along to them.” She thought a