Chapter 16 #5
Just look at her, Harry thought She was slender, even small, but she dominated the stage. One spotlight, the musicians behind her in shadow, standing before a microphone, holding the public completely in the palm of her hand.
Her voice filled the room, filled every single empty space. It would be impossible to think of anything but her, have anything but her in your head.
Harry looked around, transfixed by the expressions on the faces of the people in the room. Upscale professionals, mostly, the tickets were expensive, after all. The men elegantly dressed, the women in evening gowns and bright shiny jewels.
An adult, sophisticated audience, and yet every face looked the same—transported to another place.
A place of love and hope and loss and grief, where all those emotions were felt deeply, all at the same time.
Unbearably moving, unspeakably beautiful, the carols everyone knew by heart, had heard in elevators and in malls and on TV and at drunken Christmas parties—each song took on a new meaning, as if being heard for the first time.
Christmas as joy and hope, a yearning for peace and goodwill. The old words took on a completely new and deeper meaning. Harry knew they’d never hear those songs again without thinking of tonight, a night where the most beautiful music in the world floated in the air.
And Eve herself—oh God, she just broke your heart up there. She looked like she’d been beamed down from another, better planet, in a shimmering green dress that matched her eyes, her auburn hair slicked back and swept up to showcase that long, pale neck and delicate jawline.
The makeup she never wore offstage painted her face with an old-fashioned glamour, mysteriously deep eyes, high cheekbones set off with the softest of blushes, that mouth…
Harry was sure there wasn’t a man here who wasn’t thinking about that mouth.
She was sex incarnate, but better sex than anyone had ever known, to a different beat.
Her entire body was caught up in the jazzy rhythms, swaying gently, perfectly to the percussion.
She carried every single nuance of every word, small gestures that somehow conveyed passion in peace, love in triumph.
The concert was coming to an end.
She finished O Holy Night and bowed her head at the applause, graceful as a Queen accepting the homage of her adoring subjects.
Wait for it, Harry thought. The last song, her signature song, the song she sang at the end of every concert, whatever the type of music.
It had become her trademark.
She sang it a cappella, because just her voice was enough.
Amazing Grace. It was their song, because she said it was only by amazing grace that she’d been able to find her way to him.
The song moved him, always. He’d heard her sing it hundreds of times and it was always a dagger that pierced his heart, bloodless and painless and deep. The song made him feel keenly all the losses of his life. His mother, Crissy. Above all, Crissy.
He’d almost lost Ellen and he thought of that, daily, hourly. It would be so easy to dwell on the losses, on the pain this life gave us all. To think of the darkness and sorrow, of loved ones gone forever, of the hatred and cruelty there was in the world.
All of that passed through his heart, every time. And every time he suffered.
And then every time, the song and Ellen’s voice reminded him of the incredible grace in the world and he was pulled forward, through the pain and suffering and into peace.
At the end of the song, in the darkness of the room, Ellen shifted a little, unerringly moving her head to where he was. She met his eyes. Somehow she always knew exactly where he was, no matter how dark the room, no matter how many people.
She held his eyes and sang directly to him, straight to his heart, because this was for him.
Through many dangers, toils, and snares,
I have already come;
'tis grace hath brought me safe thus far,
and grace will lead me home.
The last notes fell away like a dream, shimmering in the darkness, and Ellen bowed her head.
The spotlight dimmed, went out and the crowd rose to its feet with a roar, clapping and shouting and whistling.
But Eve was gone. She never came out for an encore because the song moved her too much. It was why it was always the last song. She could sing nothing after it.
The lights came on in the house, showcasing an empty stage and the musicians standing for their bows.
“Wow.” Nicole wiped her eyes. “Seems hard to remember that that magical woman up there is our Ellen.” She laughed. “Our accountant! It’s like having Picasso mow your lawn.”
Mike and Sam weren’t listening. Mike was on his feet, two fingers in his mouth, whistling and stomping and Sam was teaching the little girl on his lap to clap, laughing with her.
This part of his family was safe and happy. Harry slipped away to tend to the other part of his family.
She was backstage, her hair already down. Onstage, formal wear suited her. Her concert dresses were one of a kind, created for her by an up and coming young designer who captured her innate elegance and class.
Eve loved the drama of the gowns, loved the shimmer of silk and satin, the flash of sequins, the glamorous makeup, the elegant upswept hair. But the instant Eve left the stage, Ellen wanted back into her casual clothes, her hair down, the makeup off.
The dressing room was so full of flowers you could hardly turn around, the scent going immediately to his head. Harry’s two dozen pink roses were set on the small counter in front of the mirror, where she could see them.
All the flowers went the next day to the Children’s Hospital, but Eve loved coming backstage and plunging into the riot of colors and scents.
She was standing, trying to reach behind for the zipper.
“Let me.” Harry moved behind her, bent to kiss her shoulder. “A husband’s privilege.” He met her eyes in the mirror. “You were magnificent tonight, my love. And the last song…God.”
“Amazing Grace.” Ellen smiled at him in the mirror.
“It’s our song, isn’t it? And it always will be.
” She turned and caught his hands in hers.
Took a deep breath. “Okay. There will never be a better moment. Since Amazing Grace is our song, I thought we’d call her Grace, because I just know it will be a girl.
Grace Christine, for your sister.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him.
“She’ll be born just in time for your birthday.
So Merry Christmas and happy birthday, my love. ”
And Harry’s heart simply exploded with joy.
Two years later
The woman who stopped in front of the Morrison Building was quietly beautiful, dressed with understated elegance and style. Light blonde hair moved in a shiny spill around her face. She had unusual light brown, almost golden eyes and lovely clear features.
There was nothing flashy about her, though, and it was a building made for flash.
The men and women who worked in the building were busy conquering the world, making a lot of money at it, and it showed.
Suits, haircuts, shoes, bags, briefcases—they were all the very latest, cutting-edge fashion.
Some of them were in advertising and design and wore styles that would be popular in five years’ time.
They looked edgy and interesting, like time travellers from the future.
And busy—they were all busy, rushing in and out of the big steel and glass doors, marching with long strides and determination on their faces, because they were all going places.
Was she going places? She didn’t really know. Probably not. She had no compass, no direction and a lot of her life had been empty, a yawning void she’d never been able to fill.
Everyone’s busyness scared her, just a little, though it must be said that a lot of things scared her.
She shook off the thought. She’d come a long way, in very real and painful terms, to be here today. She couldn’t be scared, wouldn’t allow herself to be.
If it was a mistake, if she was wrong, well then she’d be left exactly as she was before—empty-handed.
She looked down at the sheet of paper in her hand which she’d printed out from her computer research. Nice big letters, all caps, laser print. Times New Roman, 14 font. Nice and clear.
The paper trembled in her hand.
HARRY BOLT
MORRISON BUILDING
1147 BIRCH STREET
So few words, yet so very important. Words that could change her life. Or not. Because maybe he wasn’t who she thought—hoped—he was. Or maybe, if he was, he wouldn’t care.
The trembling in her hands had passed into her arms, until she had to impatiently fold the paper and tuck it into her purse.
She knew the words by heart, anyway. She also knew the rudiments of his life.
Harry Bolt. Partner in RBK Security, a highly successful security business. Former soldier. Married to a famous singer.
And maybe—just maybe—her long-lost brother.