e-mail it?”
“The mp3 file? Yeah, that’s easy.” Brian walked her through it.
“This is great. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“No problem at all.” His thoughts drifted again. He’d hoped to get a glimpse of Kelli, but she was obviously determined to steer clear of him, to the extent of missing her own party. He’d stayed longer than expected, but with the tutorial done, it was time to go. His phone rang, and he glanced at it. “Excuse me, I need to get this.”
Stephanie stood. “And I need to see what’s taking these guys so long to get this food off the grill.”
He answered as Stephanie left.
“You won’t believe it,” Harold said. “Got some good news.”
“What’s up?”
“My old connections paid off. I sent your stuff to G-Freddie, and he digs your style. Said he’d be willing to guest on your album. That’s huge, man! Crazy airplay on the radio. He could put you in the stratosphere. And check this out. He thinks you’d be helping him too. A feature on your album might clean up his image . . . he had a little problem with that jail stint recently.” Harold laughed. “What do you think?”
Brian had to temper what he wanted to say. “I think we need a face-to-face. Let’s set a date. Will you be in St. Louis anytime soon?”
“What about? Just tell me now.”
“Okay.” Brian nodded, resolved. “This isn’t working, Harold. We’re not seeing eye-to-eye, and I don’t even think you’re listening to me anymore.”
“Oh, you just gonna dump me now? After I got you where you are?”
Calm coated Brian’s insides. “You helped me get a deal, and I’ll always be appreciative. But God got me where I am. If I had followed your advice along the way, I wouldn’t have the ministry or the following I have now.”
“True,” Harold said. “You’d have a bigger following—but it’s all good. I feel like God’s been telling me to go back to secular anyway. Maybe He wants me to minister to those artists.”
“I appreciate your understanding, and I wish you well. I’ll hit you up later this week so we can talk more about what we need to do.”
Brian got up, exhaling, feeling one weight lifted . . . but he still had a ton on his mind. He found Cyd and Phyllis in the kitchen setting out plates, glasses, and soft drinks.
“You’re staying to eat, aren’t you?” Cyd asked.
He put his hands in his pockets. “Thanks, but I need to head home.”
“You got a home-cooked meal waiting for you?”
He smiled slightly. “Grandma usually cooks, but she made Sunday her day off. There’s always leftovers, though.”
Cyd stepped closer. “Let me put it this way. Are you hungry?”
“Well . . .”
She passed him a plate. “Brian, get some food.”
“But I saw the balloons and signs and everything. This is Kelli’s celebration, and I know she’s upstairs because of me. I need to go.”
The women looked at one another.
Cyd took the stoneware plate from him and exchanged it for two paper plates. “Pile the food high, and I’ll wrap it up for you.”
“That’ll work,” he said.
Phyllis passed him the baked beans and potato salad on her end of the counter. “Are you working on your next album?” she asked.
“Good question.” He gave an empty chuckle. “I should be, but nothing’s really coming to me.”
“How can we pray for you?” Cyd was taking some macaroni and cheese out of the oven. “You’ve got to get some of this. It’s Phyllis’s specialty.”
“Oh, that’s awesome—the prayers, I mean,” Brian said, then added, “but the mac ’n’ cheese looks awesome too.” He turned from the food. “Please pray for direction. A couple of months ago I thought God was moving me away from my graduate studies and telling me to focus on music. But now I don’t know . . . He might be saying the exact opposite.”
“Oh, Lord, please keep him in music,” Phyllis said. “Anybody who can reach my husband needs to keep doing what he’s doing.”
Brian gave her an appreciative smile.
“Brian, I think we should all pray for you while you’re here,” Cyd said. At his nod of agreement, she walked to the back door and called everyone in.
They trooped into the kitchen moments later, though he noticed one of the families had left. The dog trotted in with them, panting from an obvious workout outdoors, and went straight to her water bowl.
“Time to eat?” one of the little guys asked.
“Yep,” Cyd said, “but first we’re going to pray for Brian.”
They formed