I’m behind the drum set. I start to stand and yell a warning, but before I can, Noah turns around and his face meets the guy’s fist coming right at him.”
“Oh, my God.” I’d never heard this story before. Why would I have?
“Yeah, so the place erupts in a riot of pool sticks, and I start grabbing up my drumkit and packing it away as fast as I can because I can’t afford another one. Micah’s trying to extricate Noah from the fracas, and Rick just stands there and lights up a cigarette like we’re on a break.”
“Fucking Rick,” said Adam.
“Moral of the story—don’t flirt with the girls at the bar.” Shane snorted. “Or count on Rick to have your back.”
Adam shook his head, commiserating. “Beats that time we were playing some bar slash restaurant, and in the middle of our set, these patrons at a booth erupted in the Happy Birthday song. Seriously. Midway through one of our songs. Come to find out, some lady there is celebrating her eightieth birthday.” He widened his eyes in remembered disbelief. “I can tell you, we felt like edgy rock stars that day.”
I listened silently, absorbing everything and trying not to draw attention to myself—a fly on the wall—until Shane remembered I was there. “I’m sure this isn’t interesting to Layla.”
“No. It really is.” I couldn’t even begin to express how I could sit there the rest of the night, hearing them talk about anything at all. “My dad used to play in a small band, and he would take me to gigs with him sometimes. Not to bars, but I remember he once played a subdivision club house.”
Shane laughed. “That would have been an improvement from some of our early gigs.”
As an afterthought, it occurred to me I could have name-dropped an actual musician instead of recalling my dad’s adventures in rock. I’d grown up with Dylan Ramirez an aspiring pop star who now went by the stage name Dylan Black. But whenever I saw him back home, he was still just that ordinary guy who lived out on the farm and dated my best friend in high school. Other than the few times he performed at the local beer hall, I couldn’t honestly say I’d had much experience with his music. Meanwhile, I’d been my dad’s mandatory audience.
Adam focused on me with inky black eyes, like he saw me, like I mattered. “What was that like for you?”
It meant everything to me that he asked. “Weird. Kind of boring, though.”
Eden bent to pick up the baby. “Yeah. People don’t realize what a snoozefest a musician’s life can be at times.”
She was right about that, and I didn’t understand why I found rock bands so intriguing, but I hadn’t wanted to participate in my dad’s music at all.
“I’d bring my homework or a book to read while they set up. The funniest thing would be the older ladies who came to get away from their bridge games or whatever they did on a Tuesday night. They’d gush to me about how excited they were to see some live music. All I could think was that they were coming to see my dad’s band play ‘In The White Room’ which I’d heard approximately seven thousand times in our basement at home.” I heard myself and realized who I was talking to. “God, that sounds so rude when I say it out loud.”
Adam raised his bottle toward me. “You were a brave soldier.”
“Does he still play in a band?” asked Eden.
“You know, not really. It was a hobby, and now he practices alone or plays solo at the local bookstore cafe. He always wanted me to learn guitar and become a family band of two.”
“Did you?” Shane crossed his arms on the table and leaned in, giving me his full attention. “Learn guitar, I mean.”
It was a bit unnerving. Nobody ever listened to me talk for so long unless it was in writing.
“I tried. My dad sat me down with a ukulele, then moved me to a half-sized guitar. If I was forced to, I might be able to strum ‘Horse with No Name.’ ”
They all laughed at that. I guessed everyone started out with that two-chord song.
“I guess I’m more music fan than musician.”
“She saw Theater of the Absurd in Indianapolis.” Shane beamed. “She’s one of our fans.”
“Oh?” said Eden. “Have you ever seen Adam in concert?”
“Actually, yes.” Twenty-seven times. Twelve times in Indianapolis, from the smallest clubs to Market Square Arena.