Chapter 7
Gabe
The school year went by in a blur. I have to go for my final fitting for the tux this weekend for prom. Soul chose for us to wear black and white, for numerous reasons. I got a job working at a country club as a valet. It was a great job, and it had great pay. I turned eighteen a few months after school started, making me eligible for the job. I have been saving my money to give Soul the perfect prom night and also to buy myself a car. Soul had to go toe-to-toe with her parents when she revealed she had a boyfriend. Her parents were not happy, but she reminded them that they said she could have a boyfriend when she turned sixteen. It helped when they found out I am a preacher’s kid in the same denomination. Her parents kept a close eye on her for a while, but when they saw that I wasn’t a distraction for her and she was happy, they finally relaxed some. Well, it was all of that and the fact that her sister went to bat for her, telling them that they couldn’t keep her bottled up.
If they only knew the number of nights I snuck in the back door of their house, up the backstairs, and into Soul’s room, they might have had me arrested. I would pull my bedding out, make my pallet on the floor between her bed and the wall, hold the hand that she would dangle over the side, and talk to her all night. On the nights she had her period and was cramping, I would come baring snacks, get in the bed with her, and rub her back, stomach, and feet while she ate and fell asleep. Of course, there were plenty of nights when we would quietly do it, trying our best to keep quiet so we don’t wake anyone up. If they knew they would have for sure forbid us from seeing each other, but they didn’t know.
It’s rainy and cold today at the valet stand. The rain is keeping most people away from the country club, giving me time to think about the song we will learn tomorrow at choir rehearsal. My father put me over the choir when we took over Lighthouse since I love singing, arranging, and rearranging songs. I want to take an oldie but goodie and modernize it. Mentally, I listen to the drums, piano, saxophone, trumpet, and keyboard as they rise and fall with the fast-paced song. The sound of the door closing behind me pauses the song as a guy walks up with his ticket for his car. There are regulars, but this guy isn’t one of them. I think he was a guest of a regular.
“I’ll be right back with your vehicle, sir,” I tell him, taking the ticket and finding the corresponding keys, heading in the direction of where I parked his car. As soon as I step away, the song comes back online like someone unmuted it. I hurry to the car, unlock it, get in, and start it up, heading back to the valet stand. I park in front under the covering that ensures guests don’t get wet or have to stand in the blazing sun in the summer.
“Nice song,” the man says, startling me.
“I apologize, sir. I didn’t realize I was singing,” I tell him honestly. He hands me a hundred-dollar tip.
“No need for apologies.”
“Thank you, sir,” I tell him for the tip as he climbed into his hundred thousand-plus dollar car and pulled off.
“The answer is NO!” my father bellowed. It’s been a month since the fateful day, so imagine my surprise when I came to work and he was there. He introduced himself as Julian Cross, a music executive for one of the largest labels, Kaleidoscope Records. He explained that he was impressed with my singing and wanted to sign me to a contract. It would be a two-year contract with a hundred-thousand-dollar advance, and I would also get about forty percent of the proceeds. After two years, I have the option to renegotiate or terminate my contract. It seemed like a good deal to me, and even though I was eighteen, I wanted to run this by my parents. The only other thing I want is for Soul to come with me. I want her to have her own contract, too. Not only is she an amazing songwriter, but she is also a dynamic singer. I need her by my side, but with her only being sixteen, she would have to get her parents’ permission.
“Dad, I am eighteen. I do not need your permission,” I tell him.
“You are my only son, my only child. Your path is the pulpit, to take over when I retire,”
“No, Dad, that is your path. Not mine.”
“You have been raised for this all your life, the camp and every position you’ve held in church is all in preparation for you becoming the next pastor. That is your calling!”
“According to who? You?”
“So all of that was in vain?”
“I didn’t ask for any of that! I am grateful to you and Mom, but I didn’t ask to be a pastor.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean is someone should have asked, Dad, and not assumed. The pulpit may have been your calling and your path, but it’s not mine, and it hasn’t been for a while now. If you had taken five minutes to talk to me you would have known that.
“This is unacceptable!” he roars. “And I forbid it. You will finish school, then you will go to seminary school, and when that is done, you WILL take over the church!”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you are no son of mine.”
“Brian,” my mom calls my dad, shocked by the ultimatum.
“Stay out of this, Jenny. He is going to do what is expected of him. His singing is a God-given gift, and by God, that is what he will use it for. If he doesn’t, he’s dead to me. How can I lead my congregation if I can’t lead my own house!”
“Brian, you are saying a bunch of stuff you don’t mean. You are upset. Let’s table the discussion and cool off before we come back to this again tomorrow,” she says, standing between us, her head swinging back and forth between us. We stare hard at each other before we turn on our heels and walk away. I walk out of the front door, heading for Soul. I need to see her, talk to her.
“A music contract? You’re getting signed?” she asks as we sit outside on the gliding outdoor bench.
“I don’t know, Soul. I want you with me. This is our dream, remember? All those nights we would sit by the window and talk about this, and now it might be coming true.”
“I’m only sixteen, Gabe. There is no way my parents will ever let me leave. Plus, I have to graduate.”
“They will provide tutors. Will you come?”
“Yes,” she replies immediately. “But my parents will not let me go. You and I both know it.”
“Then I will wait for you.”
“No, you will not! You need to decide not based on me or your dad or your mom but on you. Whatever you decide, I will support you, but I think you’d be crazy to let this opportunity pass you by,” she says, and I know what she is saying. Leave me behind, don’t wait for me. But how can I leave her? She is a part of me. Our love is my music. Leaving her would be like being in space, suffocating. “You should have Deacon Wells take a look at the contract, I’m sure he would be happy to for the pastor’s son,” she says, talking about the lawyer who was also a member.
“Will you leave the door open for me tonight?” I ask, needing to be with her. I wish she could come to me, but we couldn’t take the risk of her mother, who was an early bird and who didn’t stick to a schedule, finding her room empty.
“I will,” she says with no hesitation. After everyone goes to sleep, she’ll sneak downstairs, unlock the door in the mudroom, and leave the little battery-operated heart light on in her window to let me know the coast is clear. It is a ritual we came up with after almost being caught several times, but tonight, I am willing to take the risk. After all, it’s not every day a person is disowned by their father, so tonight I need her comfort.
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