Redemption's Road Page 5

  The Tree of Life

  H2O

  It’s a Miracle.

  Each short round included five questions in varying in degrees of difficulty. “Anyone have any questions as to how we play?” I looked to Karmen to confirm Senna understood the game. She nodded back at me.

  “Here we go.”

  ***

  Three hours later, Tank and I’d dropped off the last of our charges along with their vehicles. Black coffee was the refreshment of choice for me to keep the score and my pronunciations correct. Tom and Rev. Mathew had wiped the floor with the other teams, as expected. The group made them solemnly vow to not play as a team again and to give everyone a fighting chance. The pepperoni rolls and brownies had been devoured, but enough beer remained for me to enjoy a few drinks when we got back. Letting Tank drive the van was an easy decision. I rested in the passenger seat with my eyes closed. Lately, I’d been suffering from an exceptional bout of insomnia, even for me, wandering my loft and writing songs with alarming frequency. I rubbed my eyes.

  Tank adjusted the heat. “You going to talk to me about it?”

  I tucked my hands in my leather jacket and yawned. “Not much to talk about.”

  “Bullshit. I’ve been with you too long. Only two other people know you as well as I do. If they were here, both would call you on it too.”

  She was right. I was throwing out a line of crap to avoid talking about what was keeping me up at night. “It’s nothing, Tank. I’m just not sleeping well.”

  “No shit, Sherlock. On a good day, you only sleep three or four hours. I’m betting a catnap at best, not sleeping even a solid hour.”

  “You ought to become a detective with those skills. Don’t give up your day job though.” I was being snarky, and she didn’t deserve it. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry, tell me what’s wrong.”

  I turned my head to the window and watched the darkened scenery pass by. Snow-covered trees and indistinguishable objects lay under a thick blanket of white. Once we made it into Davis, there were streetlights to illuminate the sidewalks and building fronts. A few people rushed around, exiting doors to find their car or apartment. We passed the massage therapy and acupuncture business, reminding me that my elbow was acting up from the amount of playing I’d been doing.

  “I need to call and make an appointment,” I mumbled.

  “I can’t hear you when you turn away from me. A decade or so of standing off stage did a number on my hearing. Speak up.”

  “Just reminding myself to make an acupuncture appointment.”

  Tank waved a group of pedestrians across the street in front of her. “You’ve been playing a ton and likely have tendonitis again. What’s got you rattled? No bullshit this time.”

  I let out a long sigh. Tank would keep dogging me until I either snapped at her or told her what she wanted to know. “The concert in Pittsburgh.”

  Tank nodded. “Thought so. Easy decision, go.”

  Another few minutes and we’d be home. Tank would drop me off and go back to her apartment in the back of the brewpub I owned and that she ran for me. “No matter what you think, it’s not that easy.”

  “Oh, it’s that easy. You get your ass on the interstate and drive north. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy, kind of easy.”

  I flipped her the bird.

  “My, my, Reverend. Good thing you’re a new age pastor, or you’d have to do some penance like sacrificing a pineapple or something. The only thing stopping you, Bek, is you. If Ellie asked me to come, I’d crawl on my hands and knees with a mouthful of saltine crackers, whistling The Star-Spangled Banner. Dammit, it’s a Saturday concert. You schedule one of your lay speakers to do the sermon on Sunday, and you get your ass to Pittsburgh. Be there for your only sister. Get off the cross, Bek, someone needs the wood.”

  Tank pulled up to the giant Jesus and let me out without saying another word. When I shut the door, she left. I looked up to the shadow with outstretched arms and prayed.

  Chapter Five

  IT WAS ONE IN the morning, and I was still pacing around the apartment, strumming my guitar. Everything I tried to write was total crap. After reading my Bible, planning the next month’s activities for the after-school program, and riding twenty miles on my stationary bike, no new music would come to me. The beer was long gone, and I’d switched to chai tea hours ago. Hell, the loft was even clean. Nothing would let my mind rest.

  Even Grandpa’s guitar wasn’t bringing me the peace it normally offered, as I played through a variety of hymns and Regal Crimson songs. My phone pinged with an incoming message. Swiping the screen brought a smile to my face.

  You up?

  My sister wouldn't call just in case, by some miracle, I'd started to go to be before four in the morning. Needing to hear a friendly voice, I called instead of texting back.

  “Hey, little songbird, how are you?”

  “Tired, Bek. So tired.”

  “This is a down night for you, isn’t it?” Her voice didn’t sound right to me.

  “Thankfully, yes. I don’t think I could hit the chorus of Sacred Scream tonight if I tried. I think I’m getting a cold.”

  I was worried; Ellie never got sick. “You want to text instead, rest your voice?”

  “No, please. I need to hear your voice. Tre showed up at my hotel and tried to get past Marlon.”

  The thought of that jackass getting anywhere near my sister after she’d dumped him boiled my blood. “Did you have his ass thrown in jail?”

  “Didn’t have to. He was high as a kite when he hit Marlon. The Police Service of Northern Ireland escorted him away. I imagine a jail cell that is less than accommodating for his six-foot-two frame. Not sure how his ego fits in the cell with him.”

  I had half a mind to give Tank her greatest wish and put her on a plane with orders to become Ellie’s second skin. “Is Marlon okay?”

  “He’s got a monster bruise on his shoulder, but he’s fine. Trust me, Tre got the worst end of it. He looks a lot like a raccoon.”

  “He never laid a hand on you, did he?” I felt my gut clench. We’d had an abusive childhood at the hands of our father and spent most of our life on the sour end of his temper. I stayed at home until turning twenty. The minute my sister turned eighteen, we walked out together and never returned. That was the last time a man ever hit me without me fighting back. I’d be damned if one would abuse my sister without me doing anything about it. She was hesitating too long. Ellie had never directly lied to me, but she’d tap dance more than Shirley Temple to avoid a topic. “EllieAnna Leigh McNally, I’m asking you a direct question. Did Tre ever lay a hand on you in anger?”

  “Yes,” Ellie answered in a voice as soft as a feather.

  My mouth stayed silent while my head exploded. “I’m getting on a plane as soon as I can.”

  “Bek, I’m all right. It only happened once. That’s why I broke up with him.”

  I walked over near my stationary bike and punched my speed bag so hard I was sure the knuckles on my right hand would be bruised and swollen by morning.

  “What was that?”

  I winced at the panic in Ellie’s voice. “Nothing but me putting my fist through Tre’s face.”

  “You punched your bag instead of the wall, I hope.”

  “Lath and plaster will break bones, and I can’t afford to do that again.” I closed my eyes and tried to bring my blood pressure back down. My jaw was so tight, I was sure I was going to crack a molar.

  “I remember when you punched the wall near that jackass that kept trying to put his hand up my skirt. You scared him so bad, he pissed himself. You broke three bones in your hand and could barely play for a month.”

  “Which is why I put the bag in.” Ellie’s laugh lifted my spirits even as my hand throbbed. “I wasn’t going to let anyone treat you like a piece of meat.”

  “Always my hero.”

  “Is Marlon pressing charges?”

  “He is, and I have a restraining order on Tre now. He can’t come within five hundred feet of me. I’m okay, Bek. I promise.”

  I closed my eyes and breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth. What I should do was get my ass to the nearest airport and jump on a plane to Ireland. Maybe Tank would be the next best thing. She is a trained bodyguard. “Ellie, do you want me to send Tank to be with you until Marlon is one hundred percent? You know she’d be more than happy to do it.”

  “No. I’m alright. All that will do is get her hopes up that there's a chance for there to be an us. She wants to be more than my bodyguard, and that’s not what I want.”

  “Have you decided you aren’t bisexual anymore?”

  “Oh no, I’m still very much interested in both men and women. Gender doesn’t matter to me. Tank’s very sweet, just not aggressive enough in bed. I might be small, but I’m not fragile.”

  I shut my eyes and tried not to think about my sister having sex, period. “Say no more.”

  Ellie chuckled. “For someone who’s had as much sex as you’ve had, you can’t stand to even think about what I do in the bedroom. You’d die if you knew the conversations that Naomi and I have.”

  I loved the fact that she and my ex still talked. What they talked about, not so much. “I don’t even want to imagine.” Imagination had nothing on reliving the memories that played through my mind and ignited my body. I’d never lived until the day I touched Naomi, and I’d died with pleasure every time she kissed me. “So, tell me where you’re headed next.”

  Chapter Six

  THE DOOR TO THE brewing room always stuck in the winter. I pulled hard on the handle and winced in pain from the punch I’d thrown the night before. The knuckles were bruised, and the swelling prevented me from making a fist. The aroma of hops and wort hit me the minute I stepped onto the concrete floor among the giant brewing tanks. I’d managed to get two hours of sleep, right after the sun came up, making me feel listless. This morning was brew day, and it was time to make beer.

  Tank moved past me without saying a word. She carried a large bag of malted barley over her shoulder that she threw in the area of the brew tank. Time to perk up and get moving.

  “Morning. What do you want me to start on?”

  She walked back over to retrieve another bag. “You’re the fucking boss, do whatever you want to. I’m setting up for another round of Brimstone. That’s been really popular.”

  From her tone, I could tell she was still pissed at me. “Okay, then the boss says you need to put that down and follow me into the office for a minute.”

  “I’m in the middle of something, boss. Can it wait until later?”

  Her eyes glared at me, and the bite in her voice would only get sharper if I didn’t put a stop to this. “No, it can’t. This won’t take more than a minute, but the longer we wait, the more stewing you’re going to do.”

  I heard her mutter several curse words under her breath, as she grudgingly followed me to our shared office. The coffee smelled heavenly. I picked up my mug and blew into it to remove any dust, before filling my cup and hers. I plopped down in the chair off to the side of the desk. She had no choice but to sit in the office chair. She ran this place, and I wanted no questions about that, regardless of ownership.

  Tank rhythmically tapped her fingers on the desk. “Bek, I don’t have time for this. You know it’s brew day.”

  Sipping my coffee, I wrapped my fingers around the cup and let the warmth soothe the ache in my knuckles. “I’m sorry for being short-tempered last night and apparently inconveniencing you now. Deciding to go to Pittsburgh has to be my decision, not made out of guilt from anyone, including you. There’s very little about me you don’t know. But, Tank, some things truly are more complicated than just showing up. Naomi will be there too, which brings up a lot of things I still can’t deal with.” I sat up a little straighter and put my coffee cup down. “I walked away from Regal Crimson for a reason. Coming here with you to build this place allowed me to put that part of my life behind me. Everything could be steered in a new direction. The one thing you have no right to ever question is my love and devotion to my sister. I stayed in a horrible situation for two years longer than I had to, so I could protect her. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for Ellie, including taking beatings to keep her from being subjected to them. I’ve got the scars to prove it.”

  “Bek, you don’t have to—”

  “Apparently, I do.” I stood and paced to the other side of the small office, running my hand through my black hair. “I know my sister better than anyone. This is the twentieth anniversary of Regal Crimson, and what she wants is more than moral support. I’ve built a quiet life here, where they know me as a minister. They don’t know me as Bek McNally, only Pastor Rhebekka Deklan. There’s a reason this place and The Purple Fiddle get my guitar but not my singing. It’s the one thing that keeps this community from putting two and two together. I let my hair grow back into its natural black, so it’s completely different from the crimson it was during those years.”

  Tank dropped her head. It was time to take a breath and bring it down a notch. “Tank, I like who I am now. Living in the town you grew up in has given me a sense of who I was always meant to be and to become comfortable in my skin. Showing up in Pittsburgh is more than being there for Ellie. I’m sorry for last night, truly, I am. Now if you’ll accept my apology, we can go brew some beer. If not, then we’ll go brew anyway, but expect to throw out the whole batch.” I held out my left hand to bring her to her feet. I waited to see what she’d do. When she reached out her hand to grasp mine, relief washed over me.

  She nodded. “Let’s go brew some beer.”

  We were going to be fine, and we were going to create some killer beer together.

  ***

  Friday night, I plugged in the sound system and adjusted my stool and mic. Tank made sure a pint of Brimstone Stout and a shot of Macallan sat beside me. The crowd was good for February, and much of that had to do with the fresh snow that kept falling.

  Tank put another few logs on the fire, then stepped to the mic to make introductions. “Evening, everyone. Thanks for coming out. Tonight’s cover charge and tips go to the Blackwater Food Bank. I’m happy to announce that we have a local favorite on the musical tap tonight. Please give a warm welcome to our house musician, Rhebekka Deklan.”

  A loud whistle pierced the room. Only one woman could do that. Karmen sat in the front row, with Senna beside her.

  I waved. “Good evening, everyone. Welcome to The Confluence here at Redemption’s Road. Thank you for coming out. The food we’ll be able to purchase from your cover charge and generous donations will go toward feeding those who need a little extra to make ends meet. I’m going to start out tonight with a song that was perfected by one of my absolute favorite guitarists, Stevie Ray Vaughn. Let’s hope you enjoy my interpretation of “Little Wing.”

  For the next seven minutes, I lost myself in every note and finished with a final downstroke on the Strat. Milliseconds later, the room erupted with whistles and applause. I can fully admit I was holding my breath. Most people wanted to be entertained by someone singing and not purely an instrumental offering. Over the years, the crowds had been understanding, and the warm reception tonight settled my nerves. After raising my hand in appreciation for the applause, I led in with an iconic opening from another popular song. Thunderous applause started within moments of the opening riff, dragging the audience along with me on a musical rollercoaster. We rolled through twenty minutes worth of music before we took a break. Karmen made her way to the stage, as I downed my shot.

  “You’re on fire tonight.” Karmen handed me a fresh pint.

  “It feels good to play. The swelling in my hand went down a few days ago, or I’d have been in trouble.”

  Karmen crossed her arms. “That’s why you’re supposed to tape your hands before you work out on the speed bag.”

  I’d told Karmen the story of what happened after she cornered me about my fingers looking like sausages. “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Good crowd tonight. There’s a jackass in the back that keeps saying his five-year-old could play better. He’s ruining the show for a good many of us.”

  This perked me up. “There’s always one. Think I need to shut him up?”

  “Pull out the big guns, sister. I’ll request a classic.”

  I grinned at her knowing exactly what she wanted me to do. A few more people, including Senna, stopped by. My interest was piqued by how closely she stood next to Karmen. My friend might not have been able to see, but to me, it was plain that Senna had a crush on her boss.

  “Hey Senna, how are you this evening?”

  Senna’s eyes were twinkling, and her smile genuine. “Stoked. Great set with some excellent song choices. You can really play.”

  I held my pick in the air and showed my calloused fingers. “Years of practice.”

  She held up her own hands. “I get that, play a little bass myself. Maybe some time we could jam.”

  I loved talking with other musicians, professional and amateur. “That can be arranged. You bring some of that incredible chicken salad by my place, and we’ll bust the plaster.”

  Senna’s face pinked at my compliment. She was personable, if not a bit on the shy side.

  “I can do that. You getting ready to start again?”

  I settled the Strat’s strap on my shoulder. “I am. Karmen told me about the ass in the back, so I’m about to shut his trap for him.”

  She put her hands together as if in a prayer of thanks. “Thank God.”

  Once settled back in my seat, I looked out into the crowd. “Okay everyone, let’s mix this up a little.”

  Karmen cupped her hands around her mouth. “Play a classic.”

  “Ah, a request for a classic. Let’s see, how about this?” I rolled through the first few notes of a popular cover song and watched my audience begin to nod their heads. Minutes later, I played Eric Clapton’s “Layla,” then finished with Stevie Ray Vaughn’s “Pride and Joy.” When I’d struck the final notes, I held my hand in the air and flipped my guitar pick. Senna reached out and grabbed it with a huge smile. “How was that for classic?”