After lunch, he says he’s going out to the sun porch to paint and I’m welcome to read anything on his bookshelves if I want. I know I should go downtown to busk, but I choose a book called The Bean Trees and sit in the sun on the squeaky porch swing while Ethan paints blue streaks on a fresh white canvas. He hums to himself, a song my dad used to sing: The water is wide, I cannot cross o’er. I don’t even know exactly when I start to hum along with him, but I catch my voice twisting around his notes, and it makes me smile. His back is to me, but I hope maybe he’s smiling too.

Later, we walk to Robert’s restaurant for my gig. This time, when Ethan offers, I let him carry my guitar case. When we pass a streetlight I see the shine from a stray piece of moon glitter on my cheek.

— Chapter 44 —

The restaurant is warm and humid and smells like garlic and fresh bread. It’s been at least two years since I’ve gotten nervous about a gig, but I feel butterflies. I know better than to want things, and then here I am all wound up because I liked spending the afternoon with Ethan, and let myself think what it might be like to be warm, fed, clean, and rested as a matter of habit.

The tables are pushed away from the far corner of the restaurant to make a stage. There’s a wooden stool and two mics. Next to the stool is a side table with a fresh white towel and a glass of water garnished with a sprig of mint and slice of lime.

“Look at you, Angel, with your performance space waiting,” Ethan says, carrying my guitar case across the room for me.

Robert walks out from the kitchen. Greets me with a kiss on the cheek and says, “Thanks for saving my ass. I’m hoping we’ll get a good crowd.”

“I’m sure we will,” Ethan says. “You should have seen the mass of people who stopped to watch her play in the park yesterday.”

Ethan is so certain, but I know these things don’t translate. I caught those people at the right time on a nice day. They didn’t know my name, so it’s not like any of them could see it on the board outside and know they should come in to hear more of me.

I do my sound check. I always make sure I blow in the mic so I can hear if it will crackle. I hate when I hit a note so it’s light and airy and it sounds like a wind tunnel coming through the PA. I tune up and get the guitar mic positioned in the right place.