Memory's Door (A Well Spring Novel) (19 page)
When he reached his dressing room, his manager, Kevin Kaison, was standing outside of it, arms pulled tight across his lean frame. “You’ve been keeping this from me, haven’t you?”
Brandon shrugged and sighed.
“How long?”
“Three weeks,” Brandon rasped out.
“Not good, pal.”
“I know.”
He did know. Depending on what he’d done, he could be out anywhere from a few days to forever. He didn’t mean to get dramatic, but if it was nodules on his throat and he’d pushed it too far, he might never sing again like he once did.
First Reece with his eyes and now Brandon’s voice. It seemed his premonition might be right. What was next? The professor would sprain his mind? Dana would lose her ability to lead? He
needed to talk to Reece about it. Get the Warriors to pray for him. Get healed fast.
Brandon scowled at the floor, then glanced at Kevin. “It’s no surprise. The enemy is trying to take me out. Reece said this would happen.”
“Uh, maybe it’s not the enemy.” Kevin cocked his head. “Maybe it’s just you being stupid.”
“Wow, thanks for the sympathy.”
Kevin tapped his foot in double time as he rubbed his brown hair. “Sorry to be harsh, but it’s easy to blame the enemy on something you should have taken care of. You had to know it was more than a sore throat, but you kept it to yourself and kept pushing your voice till it snapped. Couldn’t it be as simple as that?”
Brandon shrugged.
“I’d find out quick. I’m getting an appointment for you in the next day or two.”
Brandon nodded.
He sat in his hotel room that night trying not to swallow and trying to figure out if Kevin was right. He hadn’t taken care of his throat. So was it the enemy who did this to him, or just Brandon’s neglect? But regardless of the cause, he had a feeling there was a deeper plan in the works that would make the sore throat a blip on the screen in comparison.
On Tuesday afternoon, the doctor slid the images of Brandon’s throat onto his table and grimaced.
“I don’t like the look in your eyes, Doc.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t either.” He poked at the shots with a mechanical pencil. “But it’s really not that bad.”
“Define ‘not that bad.’” Brandon rubbed the edge of his chair and braced himself. To him, not that bad would mean go home,
drink some tea with honey, and not sing for a few days. Anything else would be a disaster.
“The good news is, I think you’ll be fine. This happens to singers more often than people hear about.” The doctor nodded at the statement. “The bad is, you won’t be belting out the hits for at least five weeks. And that’s after the surgery.”
“Surgery?” Brandon shook his head. “Not an option.”
“You’ve been mightily unkind to your vocal cords. You could take care of this with six months of no singing—that’s what Celine Dion did, but it sounds like you don’t want to take that long. Plus, in your case I’d recommend the surgery anyway.”
“I need to be singing faster than that.”
“Nope. Sorry.” The doctor leaned back and put his hands behind his head.
“I have a concert out in Redmond at Marymoor Park in three weeks.”
“You’ll be recovering from surgery three weeks from now, so unless you want to lip-synch—”
“Can I put off the surgery till the first part of September?”
“Sure.” The doctor leaned forward and gathered the photos into a stack. “You can put off the surgery forever. But if you want to sing again, I’d recommend having the procedure done sooner than later.”
“How soon is sooner?”
“Since I like your music, you could persuade me to do the surgery tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you have to get prepped for something like this?”
“When Kevin called and set up the appointment, he persuaded me to act fast. I did. Plus I’d like to see you up and singing, maybe not as fast as you do, but pretty close. So are you in?”
“O
UTSTANDING WORK YOUR FIRST TEN DAYS IN THE NEW
role, Dana.” Robert popped his head into Dana’s office on Wednesday mid-morning and grinned. “You made me look like a hero when you were a general sales manager and you’re already making me look that way as GM.”
“Already?”
“Yes. I’ve noticed the restructuring you’ve been doing.”
“Thanks for pushing for my promotion.”
He waved his hands. “Nope, I won’t take any credit. The only thing I did was say yes when they asked if I thought you’d do a good job as general manager of the station.”
“I appreciate it anyway.”
“Listen, are you and Perry still on for joining my wife and me a week from tomorrow for dinner?”
“I’m not really seeing him anymore.”
“Oh, is that right?”
She nodded, then waited for the invitation to be withdrawn. As a couple she was desirable. Single? Not so much. Dana knew how the game was played.
“So you’re coming solo? That will still work if you’re okay with it. We’ll have a great time.”
“I thought—” She stopped, not knowing how to put her thoughts into words.
“You thought we were just doing the polite couples thing?” Robert spread his arms wide, placed his palms on Dana’s desk, and leaned forward. “We like you for you, Dana. Period. You don’t have to have a date to be around us.” He straightened up. “But if you want me to try to fix you up with someone . . .”
“No. I’m okay.”
“Great.”
Dana smiled as Robert whapped the door frame of her office and strode away. She’d always liked him, but before the promotion she wouldn’t have described their relationship as a friendship. A good working acquaintance? Yes. But hanging out together and possibly becoming friends with Robert’s wife? She hadn’t ever considered it.
But even though it had only been ten days since her promotion, she already felt as if she’d been given membership in an exclusive club where there was no official card to get in, but there was a card nonetheless.
Her cell phone chimed and she glanced at the reminder. Oops. Ten minutes before the staff meeting and half an hour of work to do before she got there. She’d never worked harder during the past week and never loved it more. Everyone in the station had responded positively to her promotion and a significant amount of revenue had been booked in the past week. Huge blessing.
A knock came on her door frame. Rebecca. “Your buddy Reece on line one.”
“Thanks.” She picked up the phone while reading an e-mail regarding a TV spot they were developing to promote their summer jam concert.
“Reece, hi.”
“How are you?”
“Good, but busy. No time to talk.”
“I’ll be brief. Just confirming you’re still coming to Well Spring next week to help train our next batch of recruits. We leave next Thursday at noon, back Sunday night late as usual.”
Dana rubbed her eyes and moaned inside. “Didn’t you get my e-mail?”
The line went silent for a few seconds. “E-mail isn’t the most effective way to communicate with me these days.”
“I thought you were going to set up computer reading software for your e-mails.”
“I don’t see much need when I’m sensing the Spirit is going to heal me soon. What did your e-mail say?”
“I can’t go, Reece. I’m sorry.”
“What?”
“I have another commitment.” Dinner with her boss and his wife was a commitment? Yes, it was. She’d earned it. She needed it. She wanted it.
“The mission of training these people is critical, Dana.”
“I’d love to hear of one mission over the past year that hasn’t been critical.”
“None, but that doesn’t change the importance of the time and the fact the entire team needs to be there.”
“Point taken, but that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t make it.”
“Why can’t you?”
Heat rose to her face. “I don’t have time to get into it right now.”
“I think you should make the time.”
She glanced at her watch. Eight minutes till the meeting. “I’d love to be able to make time, create it out of nothing, and add it to the twenty-four hours I get every day, but I can’t. Twenty-four is all there is and all there ever will be.”
After she hung up, Dana glared at her phone and shoved it across her desk where it teetered on the edge, then dropped off and thumped onto the carpet. She was mad at Reece, mad at herself, mad at the emotional energy the Warriors and always fighting the enemy took, and mad that her excuse for not going to Well Spring would melt under any kind of honest scrutiny.
Was it so wrong that she finally felt like she belonged at the station and wasn’t alone in her job? That a group of people she liked
didn’t center around activities that exhausted every fiber of her? That she might get a social life going where she could enjoy simple pleasures like going to dinner or a play and maybe even at some point going on a blind date with one of Robert’s friends?
She glanced at her watch. Six minutes till the meeting. She’d have to fake it. And try to ignore the tiny neon beacon in her heart telling her she was going the wrong way down a one-way street.
K
EVIN SAUNTERED INTO
B
RANDON
’
S HOSPITAL ROOM ON
Wednesday evening, leaned against the wall, and pointed back into the hallway with his thumb. “They told me the surgery went well this morning. That it couldn’t have gone better.”
Brandon flashed a thumbs-up.
“That’s the good news. The bad is, it sounds like we have to scrap the Marymoor concert.”
Brandon shook his head as he motioned his manager-agent to come farther into the room. No, they wouldn’t have to cancel. The solution was simple. As long as Kevin would go along with it, and Brandon didn’t think it would take that much persuading to get his manager behind the idea.
“No?”
Brandon shook his head and beckoned Kevin closer. When he reached the hospital bed, Brandon rapped out a message on his laptop.
The show must go on.
“There’s no way the doctor I just talked to will let you sing at Marymoor. It’s too soon. I suppose you could stand up there and talk for two and a half hours, but I’m not thinking that’s what the audience will be coming to hear.”
We can still do the show.
“Let’s get serious. You want to explain how that’s going to happen without your being able to sing? The concert is in just under three weeks and the doc just told me he won’t even let you speak till next Thursday, and singing again won’t come for another four weeks at the earliest.”
Brandon smiled and typed out another message.
I have an idea.
“Let me guess. You want me to play videos of you in concert on a big screen? Or are you going to lip-synch?”
Brandon shook his head, moved his mouth as if singing, played an air guitar, and then pointed at Kevin.
“Me?” Kevin shook his head.
Brandon nodded.
“Nah, nah, nah, no way.”
Brandon grinned and typed out another line.
This could be a big step, a nice break for you.
“Yeah, right. Nice break like break my career into a million pieces before it starts? I’m not ready to headline an entire concert. Plus I’m not going to make my debut trying to step into the monstrous shoes of Brandon Scott. I’m telling you, they’d figure out really quickly I wasn’t you.”
Brandon whipped his fingers over the keyboard.
You have a hit song, bro. Big hit. They’re singing it in churches. A lot of people are starting to know your name. You’re working on an album so you have those songs as well. You’ll sing yours and some of mine. You know all of them by heart. It’ll be a combo pack. They’ll love it. I’ve already worked out all the details with the band. They’re ready
to rehearse. I’ve talked to the promoter, and she’s good with it. And every ticket holder has been sent an e-mail explaining the situation, and they’ve been offered a full refund if they want.
Plus Spirit 105.3 is promoting it on air and on their website. And I convinced them to say, “Come hear Kevin Kaison, the inspiration behind Brandon Scott, the one who believed in him and cared for him and supported him and made him into the man he is today.”
“What? That makes it sound like I’m your wife. They aren’t really saying that.”
The hospital bed shook and creaked from Brandon’s silent laughter. He bent over his notebook computer again.
No. Not the last part, but they are pushing the concert.
“I don’t know, man. That would be too weird to have me up there.”
Pray about it. Think about it. I believe it’s the right moment for a live crowd to discover Kevin Kaison and his stunning songwriting and singing ability. And “I’m scared” is not a valid excuse. Not after all the speeches you’ve given me over the years about pushing through fear.
Kevin’s eyes grew brighter and Brandon knew his friend would accept.
“I need a day to mull this over.”
Really?
“No, not really.” Kevin stuck out his fist and bumped Brandon’s. “I’m in.”
You’re going to kill. I guarantee it.
