I moved to the doorway and checked the raised dais where the band must have been setting up while the pool match was going on. Ethan sat on a wooden stool in a pool of light, head bent over his guitar. A hush settled and then he began to sing. He wore the same outfit I’d seen him in at home—jeans, desert boots, a long-sleeve white T-shirt with a placket down the front that he’d unbuttoned partway. He looked utterly unlike the man I’d talked to earlier. His vocalizing transformed him from an ordinary mortal to someone from another realm. I blinked, trying to reconcile this image with the man I’d seen only hours before. His voice was mellow; his manner, relaxed. What struck me was the soul shining through his song. Maybe it was technique or maybe he had a natural sense of showmanship. He seemed oblivious, so absorbed in the music he might as well have been alone in the room.

I checked the crowd and saw the same rapt attention. He seemed totally out of place in such a common setting and, at the same time, he seemed completely at home. It dawned on me that these people were here for him. The lounge was packed with avid fans, loyal followers who came specifically to hear him perform. I’d seen this before, this otherworldliness, and it had taken me years to sort the truth from the illusion.

My second husband, Daniel Wade, was a musician. The first time I saw him, he was playing piano in a bar in downtown Santa Teresa. It was late. The air was smoky in the same way it was smoky here. I don’t even remember now why I was there or whether I was in the company of someone else. Daniel, with his cloud of curly golden hair, leaned over the keys like an alchemist. He played like an angel. His talent was magic, the philosopher’s stone that promised to turn base metal into gold. I saw him through a haze of longing. I fell in love, not with the man, but with a mirage. Watching him play, I’d assumed he was as remarkable a person as his music implied. I wanted to believe. I projected onto him qualities he didn’t possess, qualities that only appeared to emanate from somewhere deep inside. I don’t know that he was aware of the effect he had, so I can’t accuse him of trickery or deception. He was accustomed to admiration and it may not have occurred to him that his skill obscured the reality of who he was. I thought I was seeing the truth about Daniel when it was really only a reflection cast up along the wall.