The Funeral Singer (13 page)

“Can I see her?” Mr. Waldron grabbed my arm, and I jumped.

“Of course.” I motioned toward the bedroom. “You should do that.”

He rose and shuffled to the hallway entrance, then turned and stared at me expectantly.

He wanted me to come with him? Why? I waved for him to keep going. “Um. I’m good. Anyway, you should have a few minutes alone with her.”

I scooped up Dumbledore and went to the front window to look for Patrick, who was leaning against the hearse puffing calmly on his cigarette and talking on a cell phone. What was he thinking, leaving me in here like this? This man had just lost the love of his life, someone he’d been married to for three times as long as I’d been alive. All that humming was creeping me out, and every time I opened my mouth I brought it on even worse.

A long, loud sob came from the bedroom. I pressed my face up against the window to feel the cool of the glass. I needed to get out of here. I set Dumbledore down on the windowsill and stumbled out the front door.

Patrick straightened when he saw me and said goodbye to whoever was on the phone.

I marched up to him. “What are you doing? Why would you leave me in there like that? Did you need a smoke that badly?”

Patrick smiled and started to take another puff, but I grabbed the cigarette out of his mouth and threw it to the ground. “Mrs. Waldron’s ready. Please go get her so we can leave.”

“He’s not,” he answered.

“What?”

“Mr. Waldron. He’s not ready. He needs some time. Did he go in to see her?”

I sighed. “Yes, and he’s practically keening right now. I could hear him all the way across the freaking house.” I opened the limo door. “You said ten minutes. It’s been twenty-five.” I climbed in and slammed the door. Patrick was right, of course, but I didn’t have to like it and I certainly wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

No way would I make my 1:45 bus. The best-case scenario put me on the 2:15, which would get me to Ty’s about twenty minutes later than the rest of the band. I sent Zed a text to let him know.

I closed my eyes and tried to stay calm. I went over the newest Grime song I was learning, sounding out different background compositions, until finally I heard the hatch on the rear of the hearse creak open. As Patrick loaded the gurney in behind me, I peeked out the window and saw Dumbledore staring at us, his ears back and tail twitching. He looked pissed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I ran the half mile from the bus stop to Ty’s, so by the time I got there I was sweating and breathing as hard as a pallbearer at a sumo wrestler’s funeral. The gates flew open as I approached. Great. I squelched the urge to wave at the camera.

I’d spent the past twenty minutes rehearsing my explanation for being late, but something about the set of Zed’s chin when he met me at the door stopped me from even trying. “Sorry,” I managed to mumble as I raced past him into the foyer and toward the basement. “Long story.”

The usually spacious studio seemed almost cramped with Tex in it. He wore a Stetson hat and a brown leather vest that showed off his biceps. He pointed me toward a mic. “Let’s roll.”

This was only my third time singing with the entire band, but it felt like we’d been together forever. Tex sat in a corner, eyes closed, his right hand pulsing to the beat. We went through a few of the older songs and then debuted “White Out.”

“Hold it.” Tex stopped us halfway through the second chorus, as I sang my line, “deeper than you’d dare to go.”

“That has a nice sound, but you’re going to want to build it. Let’s hear it without that line the first time. Wait to add that until the second time around.”

We tried it again, and Tex nodded. “Better.” He hummed the chorus a few times. “Let’s try this. The first time without the last line, the second time with it, and then the third time, Mel repeats the entire chorus by herself,
a cappella
.”

We ran through it again. When I got to my solo, I sang it straight, no fancy stuff, but I held onto the word “go” for a couple of extra beats. As I ended, Ty threw in a soft bass drum fade that sounded eerily like a heartbeat. My whole body tingled. Brilliant. Now I understood why Tex was so in demand. And why Zed was so anxious to work with him.

I held my breath, and I got the sense the guys were holding theirs, too. What was Tex thinking? Did he like it? Did he like us?

He stared at us, idly fingering his goatee. After what seemed like an eternity, he cleared his throat and spoke. “Well then, if you’ll excuse me, I have a train to catch.”

That was it? I have a train to catch? My stomach tightened and I felt like I might puke for real. “Maybe we could try it again. I could add a vibrato to—”

“No, no, I’ve heard enough, thank you.” Tex shook each of our hands, and then Zed walked him out, leaving the rest of us staring nervously at each other.

J.B. was the first to speak. “So, do you think he’ll sign us?”

Bruno scowled. “What universe do you live in? ‘I’ve heard enough’? He’s blowing us off. He may as well have said, ‘Good luck with that.’”

I twisted a strand of hair around my finger. “That build was incredible. I thought we rocked it.”

Jon set his guitar on its stand. “We did. Screw him. If he can’t appreciate what just happened here, he ain’t worth our time.” He pointed at me and smiled. “Nicely done, by the way. You nailed it.”

Bruno nodded and looked down at the floor. “Sounded good,” he mumbled.

“Thank you.” I knew it took a lot for him to say that.

When Zed came back, we pounced.

“Well? What did he say?”

“Is he going to call?”

“Did he like us?”

Zed shrugged. “No idea. He didn’t say a word. Just went on and on about how cold it’s been in New York and how nice it is to see stuff blooming down here.” He turned and pointed to Ty. “He did ask me to thank you for last night’s party. And he loves your house.”

“It’s over,” Bruno said. “Talking about the freaking weather? Doesn’t get much worse than that.”

“We gave it a shot.” Zed looked at me. “Though it might have helped if we could have fit in another song or two.”

My face flashed red. “I am so sorry about that. The thing is, I was in the hearse, and we had to stop, and—”

“Forget it,” Zed said. “I shouldn’t have said that. I know you tried.”

My eyes burned with tears and my throat felt parched. What if he was right? What if I’d just blown our big chance to work with one of the best managers in the business? “I need some water,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “Anyone else want anything from the kitchen?”

Before anyone could answer, I took off and ran up the stairs. I grabbed a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and stepped out onto the back deck. I felt sick, shaky. I needed some fresh air.

It was cool outside, and the evening shadows stretched all the way across Ty’s backyard. A line of forsythia bushes bloomed alongside the edge of the deck.

I leaned against the railing and closed my eyes. A tear escaped and rolled down my cheek. Damn it. I wanted this. It wasn’t just about hanging out with The Grime or getting together with Zed. It was about creating something. It was about doing more than standing up in a balcony singing for strangers who were too consumed by their own grief to even hear, or standing in the first row of two dozen teens performing the same songs as every other high school chorus in the state and maybe even the whole country.

When I opened my eyes, I saw that a cardinal had landed on one of the bushes below, his feathers a spot of bright red against the yellow of the forsythia. I gave a low whistle. He cocked his head, eyeing me warily. I whistled again, louder. He gave two short chirps and hopped up onto a branch a little closer to the deck. He was no more than a few yards away now, his wide eyes a mixture of fear and curiosity. I mimicked his chirps, and he immediately chirped back. I stood as still as my shaking knees would allow. “Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.”

He echoed back with three chirps. Ever so slowly, I reached out my hand. He took a small hop away, but he stayed on the branch. I chirped again, and again he echoed. I leaned forward and inched my hand out further. “You’re beautiful,” I murmured, but at the sound of my voice, he gave a loud chirrup and flew off into a fir tree at the edge of Ty’s property.

I took a deep breath. I didn’t want to go back inside, but I couldn’t hide out here forever. As I finished my water and steeled myself to face Zed and the rest of the band, I heard the soft strumming of an acoustic guitar coming from somewhere above me.

At the far end of the deck was the turret where I’d found Lana and Bruno last night. Through one of its windows, the deep, slow, sad sound of a minor chord drifted down.

“You say it’s a new day, but I can’t hear.” Bruno. I’d never heard this song before, but somehow I knew it. Why were those lyrics so familiar?

I crept directly beneath the window to listen and pressed myself against the wall of the house so no one could see me from inside.

“I’m falling, crawling, falling, crawling, into the void.”

Of course. It was the song The Grime was supposed to have sung at Mick’s burial. For some reason, I’d always imagined it would have a hard sound, an edge. But the way Bruno sang it was mournful and rhythmic and haunting—a lot like a traditional funeral dirge.

The slow beat had an almost hypnotic effect on me, and the sickness and the shakiness I’d been feeling slipped away. I closed my eyes and slid down the wall until I was sitting on the deck, knees curled up against me. The raw emotion in Bruno’s voice did make it feel as if the whole world were falling, falling, falling away, and an odd sense of stillness came over me. He sang the last few lines so softly, I had to strain to hear him. This song obviously meant so much to him. Why hadn’t he performed it at the burial?

“Bastard!” Bruno’s shout startled me out of my reverie. A loud crash followed, as though he’d thrown a glass, or maybe knocked a lamp off a table. Who was he yelling at? Was someone up there with him? “What the hell were you thinking?” he shouted. Another crash. “Why would you do something so stupid?”

His voice betrayed a pain I recognized all too well. Bruno was alone in that room, of that I was certain, yet suddenly I felt as though I’d been eavesdropping on a very private conversation. I needed to get out of there, get back inside, but as I stood up, my phone rang. Pete’s ring tone, Vivaldi’s “Summer.”

I lost my balance as I tried to straighten and dig my phone out of my pocket at the same time. I grabbed onto the wall to keep myself from falling over and finally managed to open my phone. I snapped the ring off, but it was too late. The screen to the turret window flew open.

“Who’s down there?” Bruno leaned out. He glared at me. “What are you doing?”

“I needed to get some air,” I said. “I’m done, though. Getting the air. So I guess I’ll go back inside.”

Stupid. I turned to leave, but he stopped me. “Wait. What was that song?”

Why would he ask me that? It was
his
song. Should I pretend I hadn’t heard it? “‘Into the Void,’” I said finally. “You sounded good.”

Bruno’s voice softened and cracked. “Not that song. The one on your phone.”

“Oh. Right. It’s part of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. ‘Summer,’ my favorite.”

Bruno nodded. “Nice. It seemed familiar.”

“You’ve probably heard it on a car commercial or something. It’s classical.”

“Wow.” Bruno shook his head. “What kind of idiot do you think I am? I have heard of Vivaldi, you know.”

“Right. I only meant … ” I looked away. What had I meant?

“Personally, I like ‘Winter,’” he said. “The speed and intensity of the strings on that one make my head want to explode. The sonnet he wrote for it has a line about slipping and crashing on ice, and that’s exactly how the song makes you feel.”

I stared. Who would have guessed Bruno Locke would be into Vivaldi? And not just his music but his sonnets?

Bruno must have noticed the surprise on my face. “I heard it once on a jewelry commercial,” he said. He straightened up, his frame forming a dark silhouette against the light of the window. How had I never noticed those shoulders and arms before? And that jaw line?

I shook my head and blinked hard. What was wrong with me?

“Are you okay?” Bruno asked. “Do you need another water?”

“No, I’m fine. A little dizzy, maybe.” That’s all it was. I was still dehydrated from puking, and standing out here on the deck craning my neck like this was screwing with my mind. I took a deep breath. “Bruno, can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“That song. ‘Into the Void.’ Why didn’t you—”

My phone rang again, interrupting my question. Pete again. I quickly answered. “Pete, I can’t talk right now. Let me call you back.”

I flipped my phone shut and looked back up to the window, but Bruno had disappeared.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

When I went back inside, Jon and J.B. had left and Zed and Ty were zoned out in front of the TV. Guess no one was in the mood to practice. I slipped out before anyone could notice me and walked back toward the bus stop. On the way I dialed Pete.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Okay. A little woozy.” That was true. “How was chorus?”

“Okay.”

Something in Pete’s voice told me he was holding back. Did he figure out I was faking it today? What if Lana let it slip? I hoped not. All State was such a big deal to him. “Pete, I know I’ve missed a lot of rehearsals, but I promise you, I’ll do fine. I’ve been practicing at home every night, and—”

“I know,” he interrupted. “I’m not worried about that. You would’ve blown them away.”

“What do you mean I
would have
blown them away?”

“Shit. I shouldn’t have said that. Jensen needs to tell you.”

“Tell me what? Is she kicking me out? Because I was sick. She can’t do that.”

“No, she’s not kicking you out.”

“Then what?” I stopped walking. “My solo.”

Silence.

“That’s it, isn’t it? Who did she give it to?” She wouldn’t have given it to Maria, would she? Made it a soprano solo? “Please tell me it’s not Maria.”