glance toward the bar and see Carlos leaning over the counter, a dish towel forgotten in his hand. He’s watching Trish with what could almost be categorized as a dreamy stare.
I reach across the table and nudge Ari, then point. When she sees Carlos, she claps her hands over her heart, swooning.
Always eager to see love, no matter where or when, or who. Even if Carlos has been her older-man crush for months, I can tell she’d be thrilled to see him find someone.
That’s one thing I adore about Ari. She finds so much happiness in the joys of others.
Trish finishes the song to enthusiastic applause from the audience. She does do a good job of warming up the crowd, I have to give her that.
Next up is a guy who sings a hip-hop song I’m not familiar with, followed by a man and woman who perform a saucy duet. They’re all pretty good. Not great, but not bad. The songs have been fun and they’ve all done their best to work the crowd.
Then Trish calls Ari to the stage, and suddenly, I’m nervous for her. Ari’s voice might be beautiful, but her stage presence is … less impressive.
I hold my breath, silently rooting for her as she takes hold of the microphone.
The music opens with a melancholy guitar riff.
And Ari starts to sing.
The song is, indeed, haunting and lyrical, and Ari’s voice is captivating. My heart swells with pride, to see her, to hear her. I can’t wait until the day that it’s her songs people are belting out through that microphone.
“She’s really good,” whispers Quint.
“I know,” I say, wondering if the tiny twist in my stomach is envy. Except, thinking it only brings back Quint’s earlier words … that I’m cute. Grinning, I lean closer to him. “Some would call her fetching.”
He meets my eye. A shared smile. A shared joke.
I don’t want to look away, but Ari’s voice comes and goes in sweet but powerful eddies as she moves from the verse into a chorus. I devote my attention to her, and a strange contentment comes over me. An overwhelming sense of belonging, in this moment, in this place. To be here with my brother and my best friend, with Quint’s elbow pressed lightly against mine, to have this unfamiliar yet beautiful song speaking to my soul.
And I guess I can understand why Ari longs to create music. It does have this uncanny way of bringing a moment into focus. Of making the world seem suddenly brilliant and magical and right.
I don’t know if I’m the only one feeling it. But I do know that when Ari is finished, we all applaud our freaking hearts out.
THIRTY-FIVE
There was a time when I was a regular visitor to the pawnshop on Seventh, though I was never on a first-name basis with the owner, Clark, like the beachcomber is. The shop is the sort of place that regularly takes in music memorabilia, so my parents used to stop in every few months, dragging us kids along, to see if they’d gotten new Beatles posters or merchandise, or if there were vinyl records they could get for cheap and sell at a higher price back at the store. Years ago my mom found a set of plastic Beatles picnic plates that we still use to this day.
The store is also a go-to stop for instruments. This is where we got Jude’s guitar and Penny’s violin, and even my keyboard.
But it’s been years since I’ve been inside. So I’m surprised when I open the door and am immediately greeted with a slew of familiar smells—musk and lemon wood polish and cigar smoke. I’m even more surprised when the man behind the counter grins widely when he sees me. “Is that Prudence Barnett? Holy hell, you’ve gone off and turned into a teenager. Look at you!”
I freeze a couple steps into the doorway and smile awkwardly. “Um. Yep. Hi.”
“Come in, come in.” He waves his arms, like he’s trying to drag me forward with the force of his gestures. He’s a big guy. Like, Hagrid big. I’d remembered this, but thought that my young mind must have been exaggerating, because now that I think of it, I was a little afraid of him when I was a kid, even though he was always really nice to me and my siblings. But there’s just something unsettling about being greeted by a guy well over six feet tall, who probably weighs twice as much as