Helena and Jim were hanging a banner Helena had made out of half a sheet. In blue magic marker she’d written: KATIE FAYE’S BAND!!! Jim stood on the gazebo railing putting thumbtacks through the linen into the post. He hadn’t put on his stringed tie yet, and the late afternoon sun shone through the banner in front of him. The taping was finished. Ryder set Jim’s guitar stool in front of the center microphone, then Jim climbed down and told Helena to count into each mike once he and Ryder got to the rail fence at the edge of Beatrice’s lot. Leo didn’t think Helena looked a bit nervous. She wore blue jeans, those white sandals, and a pink sleeveless blouse. She cleared her throat into the first microphone and smiled at anyone watching. And that was quite a few people. There were a good dozen or so families spread out on the lawn between the trees, and now most all of their faces looked up from their picnic suppers to the gazebo and Helena’s high counting voice. Leo felt like squatting to the floor behind the railing, pretend he was checking wires again or something, but instead he rested his hands on his hips and made himself stand straight and not move. He kept his attention on his father and Ryder, and when they started back for the gazebo, he looked over at Beatrice’s windows. The last of the sun was on them though, and he couldn’t see inside. He knew Allie was working. He wondered if she’d be able to hear them.

Then he saw Chick Donovan in the parking lot. His wife was pushing him in his wheelchair, headed for the entrance to Thompson Green, and little Christopher sat in his lap, his sneakers resting on Chick’s leg cast. Mrs. Donovan wore a straw sun hat whose brim bobbed slightly as she pushed the chair onto the grass. Chick waved his good arm. Leo wanted to wave back but Jim and Ryder showed up at the base of the steps, so he looked away from Chick and down at them.

“You still want to introduce us, my lovely?”

Helena said of course she did. “I think I like show business, skinny.”

Jim looked at his watch. “Give us till ten past. Let’s go, son.”

The three of them walked back to the car parked behind the Fremont Theater. The generator was humming at a steady pitch. Lars had set it up on a short two-by-eight over two cinderblocks. He was sitting in a lawn chair next to it sipping a Narragansett and on his bald head was a Heywood Paper Products cap, its cloth visor shading his eyes. Ryder faked a bootkick at Lars’ knee, and Lars yelled something back, but Leo couldn’t hear over the engine. He followed Jim to the Valiant.