Claire stood completely still as she scrutinized herself in the mirror. She looked nice. Professional. The new haircut she’d gotten right before she left Florida was flattering to her face, the face that was so much thinner than it had been two years ago. But, it wasn’t gaunt anymore. She no longer had circles under her eyes. Whereas a short six months or so ago, she’d looked as if she might be on the verge of visiting her maker, she looked a little more alive now. She wasn’t doing any jigs yet. Her face wasn’t flushed with excitement and enthusiasm and life. But, she did look like she was alive, and that was something.
Baby Steps. Isn’t that what Callum had said when she first heard him speak? That’s what she was taking today.
She and Frank had spent the morning rehearsing again. It felt so good to sing. Before Luke’s birth, Claire had been on the cusp of a respectable music career. Upon graduating with a degree in voice, she’d gone on a number of auditions and been successful enough to earn some pretty great music gigs. She regularly performed in upscale clubs and restaurants. She’d even opened for Striker Lewis, a well-known musician from Miami. It wasn’t the big leagues yet, but she’d felt as if she were headed that way. Her one big dream in life had been to have a singing career. Singing was the thing she could really do, ever since she was a little girl when her parents would have dinner parties and say, “Come on, Claire, sing everyone a song.” Her parents’ friends would clap and cheer and Claire, even at age eight, knew this is what she was meant to do. This was where she belonged.
A relatively well-known music producer, who happened to be in Miami when Claire was opening for Striker, heard Claire sing and offered her a music contract. Claire and Jack had been beside themselves with excitement. They’d gone out to celebrate the night Claire signed, certain this was going to be Claire’s big break. She’d spent the next year working on that album, convinced it was going to project her up to the stars. Sadly, she never got much further than the trees.
The album was met with a lukewarm response. She received some respectable reviews but, mostly, the Tuesday it launched was not all that different from any other Tuesday in Claire’s life. The sales were minimal. It was a tremendous disappointment which Claire took to heart.
“There will be other opportunities. Other albums. Concerts where you can perform,” Jack had said, two weeks later, while they were in the kitchen cooking dinner. “Very few people make it on their first try.”
Claire had shrugged and continued to mash the potatoes, adding extra butter and sour cream because, if she wasn’t going to become a famous singer on a world stage, she might as well get fat.
“You’re not a quitter, Claire.”
Claire, though, wasn’t so sure about that. She’d set her hopes so high, she hadn’t even let herself consider the possibility she might fail. She’d thought she had the golden touch.
Jack had hounded Claire to pursue other opportunities, to go on more auditions. For a bit, it seemed as if she might accept a role in the traveling tour of Les Misérables. She’d done a little bit of musical theater in college and Jack believed it was the perfect fit for her.
“We’ll be apart so much this year, though,” she’d whined to him.
“We can survive a year. I’ll fly out to see you whenever I can. It’ll be worth it in the long run.”
Claire had begun to think maybe Jack was right. One year of touring. She’d learn so much. Make so many new contacts. Gain so many new skills. Her spirit began to lighten again.
Then, right before she signed her contract, Claire found out she was pregnant.
She couldn’t believe it. They hadn’t been trying. Though, if she were to be honest with herself, they hadn’t exactly been not trying, either. She and Jack were lazy. Some nights they used protection and some nights…well, they were so consumed with each other, they’d said, “Screw it.”
And now that’s exactly what they were. Screwed. Or at least, Claire’s musical career was.
She’d hated to turn down the role, but she’d had no choice. Jack, sensing her disappointment, did his best to console her.
“Next year. You can do it next year.”
But Claire knew next year would never happen. Even though this baby hadn’t been planned, he was loved. She might not have been pleased the moment she saw that little plus sign pop up, but once the shock wore off, she knew she wanted this baby, this combination of her and Jack.
She wouldn’t be leaving their child so she could tour with a Broadway show. Not next year. Not any year until that baby was grown and out of the house.
Claire’s musical career was officially put on the back burner, despite Jack’s protests. “You can still do local theater,” he’d say. Or, “Why don’t you get a job singing at one of those fancy restaurants downtown?”
She’d smiled and hugged him, appreciating his faith in her, but as the years went by, especially when they added the girls to their family, Claire realized music was no longer her path. Yet, she still longed for some sort of creative channel.
“Play-Doh and popsicle stick art just aren’t cutting it for me,” she’d told Jack, one evening, over a glass of iced tea on their back patio. “I need some other outlet—something I can do around the kids’ schedules.”
The two of them had spent the entire weekend brainstorming ideas. On Sunday morning, an opportunity arrived on their doorstep.
“Hey, look at this,” Jack had said, his hands holding the Sunday paper. The Miami Arts and Times Magazine is looking for freelance writers to interview local musicians and artists.”
Claire had stopped beating the eggs she was preparing for omelets and looked over Jack’s shoulder to read the advertisement.
“I could do that,” she said. “I could totally do that.”
And she was right. She could.
That job had proven to be a godsend. It had allowed her to utilize the creativity burning within her and given Claire some independence in the form of a paycheck. Not that she needed financial independence from Jack, but there was something about knowing she was contributing monetarily to the family that added a little bounce to her step. She felt better about herself and she knew if she felt good, her children would feel good, too.
She’d completed her last article, a story on how local jazz musicians were paying homage to Miles Davis, the morning of the accident. She hadn’t written another one since.
There was a knock at the door right as she applied the last of the lip gloss.
“Coming!” she called out. She knew it would be Alison. They’d become fast friends.
“Wow!” Alison said as Claire threw open the door. “You look hot!”
“You think?” Claire said, looking down at her body. “I don’t look too dressed up, do I? I’m worried I’ll look out of place. I know Callum dresses casually.”
“You’re not dressed up as much as Frank, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“No one is ever dressed up as much as Frank!”
“You look great. It’s the perfect outfit.”
Claire was relieved. She’d tried on no less than five different options. Jeans were too casual. A dress was definitely too formal. She’d finally settled on a pair of black slacks that fit a bit more like skinny jeans, a light-blue chambray shirt, and champagne-toned heels. She thought the short, tan blazer she wore over it all completed the look.
She grabbed her purse, a brown leather hobo one she and Alison had found when they went on a girls’ shopping trip earlier in the week.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
“Nervous?”
“Of course,” Claire said as they walked down the hall.
“You have no reason to be.”
“Whether I do or not, I still am! But that’s okay. Sometimes I think nerves are good. They don’t let us get too complacent.”
“That’s the spirit!”
There was a cab waiting for them by the curb.
“I called in advance,” Alison explained. Wyatt and the guys had all gone over earlier, taking the van. Claire was grateful for the waiting car. Her heels were high and she wasn’t sure she could stand in them for longer than necessary. She really should’ve worn them a bit more before going out in them today.
Oh, well. Live and learn.
Seated in the back of the cab, Claire twirled the wedding band she now wore on a chain around her neck. Alison had asked her about it on their shopping trip, as they took a break to eat BLTs and drink sweet tea.
“I used to be married, but now I’m not.” She’d offered no more in terms of an explanation and though she was certain Alison had wanted to know more, the woman hadn’t followed up with any further digging.
“Here we are!” Alison said enthusiastically, no more than ten minutes later. Claire looked up at the auditorium. Though she’d rehearsed here this morning, it seemed larger than she remembered.
“Come on. Get out,” Alison said as she hopped out of the car. “Or Wyatt will come out here to drag you inside.”
“I’m coming!” Claire said, as she carefully balanced her weight onto her shoes. She didn’t want to break her ankle on the way in.
She walked carefully into the building, behind Alison, who was practically running.
She’s anxious to see Mitch, Claire thought and smiled. Young love was so sweet. So innocent. All you could see ahead of you were your dreams, not the hardships and sadness that would, inevitably, come. She and Jack had been like that once, bright with possibility. She’d missed those days, later in their marriage, even before he died. Their marriage had been wonderful in so many ways, but no relationship can maintain that initial spark and passion. Frank was waiting for her by the back door of the auditorium.
“Ready?” he asked.
“That seems to be the question of the day.”
“You’ll be great.”
Claire nodded in thanks. Everyone had such confidence in her. She hoped she didn’t let them down.
Claire walked backstage and peeked around the corner so she could see the inside of the auditorium. To say it was packed would be an understatement. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen so many people in one location. A professional sporting event, maybe. A rock concert?
But these people weren’t here to see their favorite team play or listen to their favorite band. This was a room full of people who’d come to hear a man best known in the world of inspirational speakers for missing three-quarters of his limbs. Why did that draw a crowd?
Because these people were hurting, too. They weren’t all physically disabled, though Claire could see some of them were. They hadn’t all been in accidents or had serious illnesses. Yet they were hurting nonetheless. They’d lost family members or jobs or friends. They’d made mistakes. They’d drunk too many beers. They’d spent too much time with the wrong people. They’d been abused. They’d abused. They didn’t know how to fit in. They were from every walk of life. Every race. But they were all the same. Every person in this room needed hope. They needed to know how this one man, who’d clearly suffered so much, could have the strength to carry on day by day, and they wanted some of that strength, too.
Claire had been one of those people just a very short time ago. She wasn’t “cured,” by any means and doubted she ever would be. Every day was still a struggle. But Callum had provided her with something no one else had yet been able to give her. Hope. Hope that life could go on, would go on. Hope she’d survive. And the faith that nothing she’d experienced was in vain.
At least, that was the philosophy she was going with these days.
Looking at these people, she knew they all needed that philosophy, too.
Fake it till you make it.
Claire wasn’t exactly faking it, but sometimes she felt like she was putting one foot in front of the other, not exactly sure where she was going, but wherever it was would be better than remaining stagnant. And sad.
“It’s time,” Frank said, heading out onto the stage.
Claire was startled. She didn’t realize she’d been staring at the crowd, lost in thought, for so long. She saw him sit down at the baby grand. He held his fingers above the keys, for the briefest of moments, and then quietly began to play.
The crowd, slowly, upon hearing the soft music, began to settle down. People found their seats. Conversations lessened. The audience began to cast their eyes on the stage.
Claire could feel her palms begin to sweat and she nervously wiped them on her new pants. In a moment, Frank would look her way and nod. He’d expect her to step out, from behind that curtain, and head toward him. He was going to expect her to sing.
Sing? She looked at the crowd, which somehow seemed to have grown even larger in the past minute.
This had been a terrible idea. An awful one. Why had she ever agreed to this? She wanted to throw up. She looked down at her heels and prayed she didn’t tumble off them in a moment of nausea. A train was steaming its way through her ear canal, gaining speed and volume with each passing second.
How did Callum do this on a regular basis?
Callum.
Claire lifted her eyes from the floor and looked across the stage. He was just where he’d said he’d be and his eyes were boring into her. She knew, instantly, he’d been staring at her for a very long time.
She wanted to smile at him. She wanted to give him a “thumbs-up,” but she couldn’t. She wanted to cry. She wanted to leave the auditorium, get in a cab and cry as it drove her home.
But to what home? She no longer had a home. At least, nothing more than mortar and bricks.
She wanted more than mortar and bricks.
This was the first step to building that home.
If she could just take the first step.
“Just by doing that, you’ll be doing more than I can do,” Callum had said.
Callum’s eyes smiled at her. Not his whole face, just his eyes, as if he was reading her mind. Claire and Callum stared silently at each other. Frank’s playing faded into the distance as if there was no one in the entire auditorium but the two of them.
Frank!
Claire’s head jerked back at the pianist. He, too, was staring at her and there was no smile in his eyes. He nodded and she realized he must’ve been nodding for a while.
She glanced back at Callum. This time his mouth was smiling as brightly as his eyes.
And then, just as he’d promised, he winked.
Claire’s heart leapt and then calmed. She took one more deep breath, releasing it slowly as she stepped out onto the stage.
The roaring in her ears ceased as the crowd quieted. She walked across the stage calmly, as if she weren’t teetering on stilts, but rather, gliding barefoot through sand. She smiled at Frank. He smiled back.
Taking her place in the center of the stage, Claire put her mouth close to the microphone. Then, resting her hands delicately on the base, and smiling to the crowd as if she did this every night, she opened her mouth and began to sing.