Chapter 29
MADDIE
The next morning, Snorty and I slip quietly into the rehearsal room, taking two seats in the far back.
The normally quiet room is packed. Tonight is the concert, and at the party last night I saw Henry Lemon handing VIP rehearsal passes to everyone who wanted them.
I hadn’t been to Rio and the Wilders concert in years. I’d forgotten Rio’s effect on a crowd. Particularly women. They lean toward the stage, mesmerized by his looks and his voice.
I feel a sting of jealousy. Ridiculous.
But as Rio sings, I’m reminded of that raw sensuality that teased the imagination of my young teenage self.
And it irks me that other women feel it too.
After a few minutes, the exhaustion of the all-nighter hits me hard. I head to the refreshment lounge outside the rehearsal area.
I'm pouring myself a steaming cup of coffee when my phone buzzes.
Mom.
Finally returning my many messages.
“Mom? Did you see the doctor? What did he say?”
She hesitates. “It’s a lot to tell you over the phone,” she says, finally. “How about you come over and I’ll tell you in person.”
“Don’t keep me on the edge like that.”
“Maddie, I really can’t tell you anything more. Will I see you this week?”
“How about as soon as I get back to New York.”
When we disconnect, I take my face in my hands. This weekend was supposed to help my family. Instead, it had become the worst series of disasters imaginable.
Snorty nosedives into my lap with a gentle yip, offering comfort in the only way he knows how.
“Is everything all right, Miss Smith?”
I jerk my head up to see Henry Lemon standing in front of me. His tone is more respectful than last night. He must have sensed I heard bad news.
“Yes,” I say. “Long night. And a lot on my mind.”
Do it now, I tell myself.
“We never really finished the conversation we started last night. You know I teach autistic children,” I begin, rushing to continue before he can object.
He nods for me to continue.
“I’ve developed an innovative program for my low-income autistic students. The students are thriving. But budget cuts threaten to close the school.”
I pause to catch my breath.
“I’m hoping I can send you a document I've written about my program. Then a time to discuss future partnerships and --"
“In other words, you want money," he says, cutting me off.
Blunt man. “Yes. Money to keep this program going. Here, let me show you some photos of the children and their …”
“Send it with your report, Miss Smith. I get proposals by the dozen each day. It might take me some time to read it and get back to you.”
“Take your time,” I say, politely. Then I remember the June deadline.
“Actually, if you can make it a priority that would be best. Knowing how slowly the school system moves, we’ll need nail down logistics by the end of this week.”
Henry Lemon looks at me a long moment. “Will do.”
“Thank you,” I say, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief.
My mother's news hit me hard. So I let Lemon’s response give me hope everything I’m facing will work out.
It must.
Snorty and I go back to the rehearsal and listen to Rio sing.
Once again, I'm struck at how well the crowd responds to Rio and his music. If this was a genuine concert, the audience would be holding their lighters up by now.
Audiences vibing with Rio always bring out his best.
I glance down at my device's screen to check messages.
But then, my eyes freeze when I see a notification that chills me to the core.