Chapter Twenty-Six
Rinforzando: reinforced or emphasized, sometimes like a sudden crescendo, but often only applied to one note
Damian
“I should let you go. It’s getting late.”
Charlie makes a little whining sound over the phone that has me smiling. “I’m not ready to go to bed yet, though.”
Adjusting my pillow behind me in bed, I prop my head on my free hand as I chuckle. “You were just telling me how tired you are a few minutes ago.”
She huffs. “That’s different. I had a long day writing and recording and listening to The Professor putting it all together. My brain is tired, but I’m still wired from all the work and how the new singles are sounding.”
“Okay.” My mouth is turned up in a permanent smile at her pouty, whiny, huffiness. Since we saw each other last week in Boise, I’ve been making more of an effort to not keep her on the phone too late. “I get that. But you need your rest, and I don’t want to be the reason you’re too tired to perform or end up getting sick because you’re not getting enough sleep.”
Another huff, and I can practically hear her eye roll. “Thanks, Dad. I’m pretty sure I can manage my own bedtime.”
“Are you sure? Because you seemed exhausted when I saw you.” Even though I’m still smiling and make an effort to keep my voice light, she doesn’t seem to react well to my pushing.
Actually, she doesn’t say anything at all for a long moment. I pull the phone away from my ear to make sure the call didn’t drop unexpectedly.
I open my mouth to apologize, to take back what I said, but before I can she finally speaks. “I didn’t call you for a lecture about my sleep schedule. I’m perfectly capable of managing myself, thanks.”
“I know. You are. I’m sorry.” I swallow, waiting for her to say something. When she doesn’t, I add, “I just care about you. And I want you to take care of yourself, that’s all.”
She clears her throat. “Yeah. I …” She sighs. “It’s okay. And you’re right. I probably should go and relax a bit before I get ready for bed. It’s just …”
Her sentence dangles, unfinished.
“It’s just what?”
The sound of another burst of air travels over the phone. “I miss you. I miss having … people to hang out with. Here, I’m alone once I get home after a long day of work. Sometimes it’s nice. Sometimes I like having the space. But on nights like tonight, I’m restless and wired even though I’m drained, and it’s nice to have someone to at least talk to while I come down.”
At first I don’t know what to say to that, and I’m not sure if her “I miss you” means me specifically, or just that she misses having friends around. Not that it matters. Because she’s talking to me, not Lauren or Gabby or anyone else, so I’m going to assume she means me.
“Yeah. I get that. I have days like that too.”
“See? And even if you have to get up early for a class or you ought to write a paper or whatever, you just can’t do it, and you need a person and to decompress. That’s where I am right now.”
“Then decompress with me. I’ll be whatever you need.”
Her breath hitches. “Careful, Damian. I might just hold you to that.”
Carla grips my arm for the millionth time as we find our seats in the little theatre where Charlie’s performing in Seattle.
“Oh my God!” she whisper-shrieks by my ear. “This is the coolest thing ever!” She’s said that about a million times too. Sometimes in full voice, sometimes in a regular whisper, but mostly in that whisper-shriek she’s perfected. It’s this high pitched almost squeal, but not given full voice.
I’ll take whisper-shrieking over full-on-Carla-shrieking any day, though. Grinning at her, I pat her hand, then pry her fingernails from my skin. “Be sure to tell Charlie how excited you are. When she found out you wanted to come to a show, she scheduled this one and insisted on getting us tickets to fly over for the weekend.”
Carla throws her arms around my neck and gives me a tight squeeze. Chuckling, I pat her on the back.
When she lets me go, the smile that’s been on her face since we boarded the plane a few hours ago remains undimmed. “Have I told you that you’re the awesomest brother in the whole world? And while I’ll always have your back, I’m officially completely on board with you and Charlie getting back together?”
Chuckling, I straighten my shirt and get comfortable in my seat, glancing at Carla out of the corner of my eye. “Thanks. I appreciate the support.”
She wiggles in her seat. “Anytime.” Her hand grips my arm again. “I’m just so excited to be here. And we got to meet her!”
The whisper-shrieking is back, and I chuckle. Charlie had us get here early enough so we could come back to her dressing room and say hi before the show. I’d felt bad, since I know I like to have as few distractions as possible before performing, but I guess Charlie doesn’t have that problem.
Carla was awe-struck, which was funny because it’s not like she hasn’t met Charlie before.
But Charlie’s natural charm took over, and Carla relaxed enough to answer the questions Charlie asked about school, the second half of her senior year, and her plans for next year. Natalie came and shooed us away after only a few minutes, but we’ll be meeting up in Charlie’s dressing room again after the show.
The lights dim, and a hush falls over the crowd, quickly giving way to applause and screams of excitement as Charlie walks on stage in a simple pink dress edged in something sparkly that shimmers under the follow spot. She beams at the audience, holding her mic at her side, blowing kisses to her fans, and waiting for them to calm down enough to hear her speak.
“Thank you so much for coming!” It’s a variation of the same speech she gave in Boise. If I had to guess, I’d bet she says more or less the same thing every show. But she’s as sincere today as she was a few weeks ago.
I’m mesmerized as she performs. A lot of the songs are the same. Ones I dismissed when I heard them on the radio, smirking at Carla when I was in high school and she’d play these same songs nonstop. Because my music was better.
God, I feel like the worst kind of snob.
Because watching Charlie perform is a revelation. She’s everything I was initially attracted to about her dialed up several notches. She’s pretty and charming and funny. She’s enthralling.
All these people dropped whatever plans they had already just to show up here and watch her perform with only a few hours’ notice. Her scheduled tours sell out arenas night after night. She has more number one hits than I even know.
And I smirked and looked down my nose at this.
When Gabby dropped out of school to go on tour with her boyfriend, I thought she’d lost her mind. Sure, I’d acted supportive, especially when Lauren was in earshot. She made me watch one of the videos of them performing together, and I had to admit that I could see the appeal for Gabby of writing and playing something she wrote. Her additions to the songs elevated them, in my opinion, made them more than just … pop songs.
But I didn’t really get it. I didn’t understand what it meant for Charlie to be a performer until I actually watched her perform.
She’s transcendent.
Entranced, I fall deeper and harder for her.
I draw in a shaky breath as I acknowledge that reality to myself. Not like I didn’t know I’ve been in love with her all along. Never stopped.
I half expected Charlie to bring it up, but she never did. And, coward that I am, I have no desire to go there either.
Much as I love her, much as I crave all forms of connection with her—including this, watching her perform—I can’t bring myself to say the words out loud again.
The only thing that’s not clear is whether withholding the admission is more of a punishment for her or me.