Blessed Tragedy (8 page)

“You sure you're okay? Just get back from your morning jog or something?” It was nice to see my dad's sense of humor hadn't been completely drowned by sorrow.

“Funny, dad. No, I think I'm just tired and I ran up the stairs to find you.” My breathing back to normal, I came around the desk to hug my dad. There were five years of lost hugs to catch up on and only a couple of days to do it in. “I want all of us to sing at Mom's funeral.”

Dad's expression fell. I knew he was worried about what I had in mind but I knew that if he'd listen to me, it was going to be perfect. “Are you sure? Do you guys sing anything that would be appropriate?”

Any other time, his words would have pissed me off. True, the songs we performed on stage weren't what you would hear at the funeral of a fifty-seven year old woman but that wasn't all we knew how to do. Hell, I was surprised Jon hadn't already found the piano in the living room. He was like a moth to a flame any time there was a piano nearby.

“Yes, believe it or not we all listen to things other than hard rock. As a matter of fact, Jon has over fifteen years of classical piano experience. Tell you what, I'm have to head upstairs for a minute but come to the top of the steps in about twenty minutes. You can wait to make your decision until then. Okay?” I didn't want my dad agreeing us performing as a way to appease me. I wanted him to feel confident that we would do my mom proud.

“Honey, I trust you, it's just--”

I cut him off before he could finish. Emotions were running high and I didn't want anything to spoil the time we had together. “Dad, just come to the top of the stairs. I'll talk to you in a bit.”

No one in the band knew that my mom made me take violin lessons from the time I was six until I was sixteen, when cheerleading took center stage. If there was any way to knock off the dust and sound decent, I was determined that Blessed Tragedy was going to give the performance of a lifetime in honor of Mom.

I barreled down the stairs and set my violin on the floor just outside the basement door. I needed to make sure the guys were on board with my idea before I divulged one of the few secrets I seemed to have left.

“Hey, can you guys come over here?” I sat on the sectional and waited for the guys to join me. Colton sat next to me and I didn't hesitate to lean into him. It was already a tiring day and he was quickly becoming my solace.

“What's up?” Colton asked.

“Okay, so my dad asked me last night if I'll sing at Mom's funeral tomorrow.” I paused to see if there was any visible reaction to this first statement. I wasn't sure why I was so worried about asking them to do the same thing we do every day but there was something so much more intimate about this that it scared me. “You guys were right the other night on the bus. I need you. You're my rocks. I don't want to sing without you.”

Colton kissed my forehead as Jon patted my thigh. It was probably the most affection we'd all shown one another ever but I liked it. In a way, my mom's death was bringing everyone I knew closer together and there was some comfort to be taken from that.

“Travis and his hidden affinity for Kansas gave me an idea.” I looked up at him and smiled. “That was one of my mom's favorite songs, that's why I kind of lost it for a minute. And you were amazing over there. Would you guys be willing to spend part of today working out the arrangement to do it tomorrow?”

I watched as Jon looked to both Travis and Colton before pulling me away from Colton's side. “We'd be honored to. Does your dad know?”

“Well, I asked him about it. He's still worried that you guys can't tone it down enough for a room full of middle-aged mourners so I told him to have a listen down here in a little bit. I think if I sent Travis upstairs right now, he'd be sold. Seriously man, where'd you learn to do that?”

Travis shrugged. He never was one to take compliments well. He was perfectly content to sit in the background and let everyone else take credit for our success. “I taught myself a long time ago. Mom wanted me to play bass in the orchestra, I wanted to play guitar. When I got to high school, the pop band had a guitar sitting in the corner of the room and I'd play during study hall.”

“Dude, you were in fucking orchestra?” Colton joked. Little did he know that Travis's admission to being in the school orchestra meant Colton was the only one of us without any classical music training.

I backhanded Colton as I stood to reveal my own secret. Placing the violin case on the pool table, I looked over at him. “What's wrong with being in orchestra? Just because you're an uncultured buffoon doesn't mean the rest of us are.” I flailed my bow in his direction. I winked at him to make sure he knew I was giving him a hard time and not being serious.

The look on their faces was well worth it. It was like Mom was up there pulling strings to make everything go a certain way, including me shocking the hell out of my band mates. “What? Never seen a violin before?”

Travis shook his head. “Okay, so you're a violin playing cheerleader who somehow turned into this badass tattooed and pierced rock goddess? What the fuck else are you hiding from us?”

Jon and Colton laughed. I narrowed my eyes. “If you value your damn kneecaps, that'll be enough to keep you from hunting for anything else. And you won't mention this again once we leave tomorrow night.”

Jon stepped in between me and Travis before I could say anything else. I wasn't seriously pissed off yet but Jon knew me well enough to know it wouldn't take much on a day like today. “Hey, you know anyone up at the school?” He asked, effectively changing the subject.

“Um, Mike's a teacher up there, why?”

“I was thinking that with you having that violin, Travis and Colt on guitar, it'd sound just about perfect if we can track down bongos. Think he could get us a set?” It amazed me how quickly the gears started grinding in Jon's head. He probably already had the full arrangement figured out, just waiting for us to quit bickering so we could get to work.

“Yeah, I'll run up and ask him. You guys start working out the harmonies.”

Mike couldn't grab his keys fast enough when I told him what was going on. He agreed with me that there wasn't a better song we could play. “Hey, you wanna come? Pretty sure we could make a couple of boys cry if you walk into the school.”

It was a bizarre statement from my typically reserved brother. “Um, sure?”

“Oh, come on. You have to know what you do to hormonal boys with those short skirts you wear. Plus, you're probably the only famous person to ever come out of this town. It'll be good.”

My brother, the same one who had spent five years avoiding the subject of my chosen career was now asking me to go to his workplace, a school filled with impressionable teens, to “make boys cry.” That's when I started feeling like I had no clue who these people were and what they'd done with my family.

“Yeah, sure. Let me tell the guys.” I ran back down to the basement to let them know where I was going. I let Colton know where my laptop was so they could print off some music while I was gone and ran back up the stairs. The nice thing about living on a tour bus? No stairs. I would not miss these flippin' stairs.

“Ready?” Mike asked, opening the door and ushering me through.

The next hour was spent at Lexington High School. It was amusing to watch people do a double-take as we walked through the halls together. If I didn't know better, I would have thought Mike timed it so we'd walk through the front door just as the bell rang between classes. Judging by the look on his face, either he was finally proud to be seen with me or he was absorbing as many cool teacher points as he could rack up. I was okay with either.

As anticipated, more than a few students had a hard time concentrating while I was there. It was strange because I didn't feel like I was coming across as Rain, I was just Madeline Neumann, in town for her mother's funeral. It's something that's hard for people to understand but I really feel like two completely different people sometimes and Maddie is no big deal. Honestly, I wished everyone else could understand that. It would make things less awkward. I have no problem with my status when I'm scheduled to be in the public eye but other than that, it's always been something I've struggled with.

“Mr. Neumann, how in the hell--” One of the football players all but ran down the hall to talk to Mike.

“Joshua, you will watch your language.” I bit my lower lip to keep from laughing at the authoritative tone in Mike's voice. He asked for this, not me. He's the one who wanted me to come down here; he couldn't exactly be upset with the boy for forgetting his manners.

“I'm sorry, sir. Is that Rain Maxwell?” He asked my brother, barely able to look in my direction. It was cute, kind of made me want to scruff his hair a little bit.

“Yes, but don't go telling everyone. We're just here to pick up something quick and then we have to get back home.”
Did he ask me to come with him just so he could torture these poor kids?
Mike grabbed my arm and hustled me towards the band room.

“Wait, you
know
Rain Maxwell?” The kid's eyes were about to bulge out of his boyishly handsome face. “I'm surprised you even know who she is, but damn, Mr. Neumann, you actually
know
her?”

This was the good thing, in my mind, about being so private. We were still a new enough band on the national scene that no one had dug deep enough in my life to figure out where I was from. After Mike's little stunt I was pretty sure that piece of my anonymity was gone.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Mike laughed. “She's my little sister.”

“No fu--”

“Joshua!” Mike barked. I was beginning to think it would be impossible for me to get out of the school without a bloody lip from biting it to stifle my laughter.

“It was, uh, it was nice to meet you, Rain.” The kid stuttered. “Sorry 'bout your mom. That's a crap deal.”

We walked into the nearly empty band room and I about fell over when I saw Garrett Dietrich sitting in the director's office sorting sheet music. He certainly had grown up in the few years since we graduated. As Mike talked to him, I started praying he wasn't the type to hold a grudge; if he was, I'd have to explain why we were bongo-less.

Mike came out of the office, walked to the practice rooms and returned with one set of bongos. “He said it's fine. Then he asked if you'd consider stopping by with the guys during eighth period band. Thinks it'd be good for the kids to see what can happen if they pay attention and put in the hard work.”

The thought of being put on display in front of students sitting in the same seats I once occupied was disconcerting. With everything I'd learned about how wrong I was about my family's opinion of me, I felt like the antithesis of a good role model. I'd shit on every one of them while trying to prove I wasn't a princess. But Garrett's dad, the former band director, was monumental in my own life so I felt like I owed it to him.

“I'll have to see how things are going at home, but we might be able to do that. You think we could sneak in through the gym? I really don't need to walk through hormone hell again today.”

If I still had a place with Blessed Tragedy by the time this ordeal was over, it would be a miracle. First, I turned our hard rock band into a funeral entertainment act and now I was going to go home and tell them we were coming back to talk to the high school band. We'd done things like that before but it was always a paid gig arranged by our manager.

“I come bearing bongos,” I called down the stairs when we got home. The guys broke out in what could only be described as a fit of giggles at the statement. When you spend as much time around them as I do, it's easy to forget that even they can turn into immature little boys sometimes.

“Look, she brought the drums too!” Jon laughed hysterically. He stopped immediately when the bongos hit him hard in the chest.

“There are your damn bongos.” I hopped onto the pool table and started fidgeting with my hair. I didn't do it often but when I did, it was a sure sign I was up to no good. “So, uh, how much do you guys love me?”

Travis laughed. “Well, Jon and I like you an awful lot, but I think Colton's the only one here that
loves
you.” My eyes shot up at Travis and then over to a blushing Colton.
Shit. This is not the way anything is supposed to go.

“Anyway...what's up?” Colton glared at Travis as if he'd just shared some major secret.

“So...uh...we need to get through this and get changed. Mike might have told the band director we'd go up there for eighth period.”

“Okay, sounds cool to me.” Jon said, not lifting his eyes from the sheet music in front of him. If Jon said it was cool, it was cool and not open for discussion. I'm not sure why I doubted these guys. Even if they weren't willing to do just about anything I asked while we were here, they did have a soft spot for encouraging kids and the arts.

The four of sat on the sectional huddled around the papers Jon had printed out and made notes on. With such an iconic piece of music, it wasn't hard to pick up on what we needed to do to make it come together. By one-thirty, we were confident that it would be passable with one more practice tonight.

My dad knocked on the basement door when he brought lunch to us. “Sounds amazing down here. Maddie, your mom would be so proud.” Tears were forming in his eyes. I silently begged him to stop before I started crying again.

“Thanks, Dad. I assume that means you're okay with them helping me out tomorrow?”

“You know I don't like admitting when I'm wrong, Moo-- sorry, Maddie. I was wrong. I'd be honored to have all four of you up there tomorrow. It's what your mom would have wanted and it's what I want too.” I glared back at my band mates who were snickering at my dad's use of my nickname, knowing there was no way I was going to escape it at this point.

“Thanks. I told you we knew more than just our stuff. But really, Travis and Jon deserve the credit. Trav was playing it when I walked down this morning and Jon's a genius at arranging music in a hurry.” I hugged my dad tightly. “They're good guys, I swear,” I whispered before letting him go.