Cherished (8 page)

“One final comment before I introduce Roger,” Rita said. “We keep the conference small because we want to hear your heart and give you special time and attention for the two and a half days we're together. You show up eager to share thoughts and ideas—and of course, your music—and we're able and eager to oblige you. But”— she gave a grin—“we're not as small as we used to be, so there's one important guideline to keep in mind.”

Kelli sat at full attention.

“I know it's tempting to stop one of our faculty or featured artists and ask him or her to listen to your songs, but time doesn't allow them to accommodate everyone, and it easily becomes overwhelming. We're asking you not to do that.”

Stephanie was frowning.

“Thankfully, there's no need,” Rita said. “We've got the Songwriters Showcase tonight and tomorrow night, which you've already signed up for—”

“What showcase?” Stephanie whispered, eyeing them both. “I didn't see where Kelli could sign up for that.”

“—and we've got the ever-popular individual critiques.” Rita lifted a white card in her hand. “If you submitted song demos for review, you should have received in your registration packet a note card with an appointment time. That's when you will receive a professional critique of the songs you submitted.” She moved away from the podium. “Some of you have asked if it's too late to submit now. I'm afraid so. The deadline was one month ago, to give our team time to listen to and evaluate the songs.”

“I can't believe this,” Stephanie mumbled. She ducked her head past Kelli and hit Cyd on the arm. “Can you believe this? We missed out on all the good stuff. Kelli's songs can't be evaluated.”

Kelli stared ahead. Much as she hated to admit it, a touch of excitement had eased into her heart about this weekend. But she should've known better. This was their answer, their confirmation that the door was shut where her music was concerned. She couldn't have submitted songs even if they'd allowed late submissions. She didn't have a demo.

“Well, as I said,” Kelli offered, “I'm glad we get to spend time with each other this weekend.”

Cyd patted her leg. “And you'll still learn lots. You never know when you might be moved to delve into music again.”

“There y'all go again,” Stephanie said. “Low expectations.”

Cyd made a face. “You're the one who said we missed out on all the good stuff.”

“I was making an observation, not
camping
there. While you two were calling it a day, I was sending up a prayer for God to move this mountain.”

Cyd raised a wary eyebrow. “When did you become Ms. Mighty Woman of God?”

“H
EY
, L
OGAN
.” S
TEPHANIE HAD A TEASING LILT IN HER
voice as she called across the table. “Monica's performing in a few. You gonna dance? That'd be a real treat for the ladies.”

Logan gave a smile that was calculating. “Remember, Stephanie. Once this weekend is over, I'll be seeing you week after week at church. Plenty of time to plot my revenge. You started all this.”

Kelli chuckled. Somehow Logan the bachelor had landed at a table full of women, and they'd been giving him a hard time— naming people who'd be perfect for him or claiming him for themselves. He wasn't necessarily Kelli's type, but there was no question he was good-looking. She was dying to ask his ethnicity. Was he part Latino?

“I'll cut a rug with him,” said a woman who'd introduced herself as Hattie Cooper, “but I want it to be a slow number.” She looked twice his age, but she'd already told Logan he was a “handsome fella.”

“I think we should hold an auction,” said the woman beside her. “A Dance with Logan. We could put some charity back in the black.”

The table roared with laughter.

“Are you blushing over there?” Cyd asked. “I don't think I've ever seen you blush.”

Logan looked elsewhere, trying his best to pay them no mind, but his face was the shade of tomatoes.

“Okay, Logan, we'll leave you alone,” Miss Hattie said. “But one question first, and I'm serious. What's with the women at your church? Are they mostly old like me or married? Not a lot of singles?”

“Miss Hattie,” Stephanie said, “there are at least two hundred single women at our church who'd marry him next Saturday if he asked.”

Miss Hattie slugged Logan on the arm. “Well, son, why haven't you picked one?”

“Whoa! You've got some muscle,” Logan said with a laugh. “Miss Hattie, I'm only thirty-one. And to be honest, I'm not really interested in marriage right now. My time is filled with the same thing most everyone else here's time is filled with—music. I guess you could say that's what I'm married to.” He smiled. “But maybe one day, way down the road.”

“All right, young man,” she said, giving him the eye. “But don't forget to give me your e-mail so I can connect you with my granddaughter.”

Kelli snickered when she caught Logan peeking at Stephanie, mouthing,
All your fault
. Seconds later her phone vibrated. She'd thought it funny that so many of them had set their phones on the table, tweeting or updating their Facebook statuses. She brought her phone close to see who was calling.

Miles. She'd avoided his calls all day while they were traveling and checking in, but she couldn't delay much longer. She answered as she ducked out of the ballroom. “Hi.”

“She lives.”

“I'm sorry. It's been a busy day.”

“Been on the job hunt?”

“Um . . .” Could she call it that? “Yeah. Taking different paths, trying to see which doors will open.”

Several people had gathered outside the ballroom. Kelli moved farther away so he wouldn't ask where she was. “How'd your presentation go?”

“Way better than I expected. You were right. Preparation was key. I studied the material backward and forward and was able to answer all their questions. The team left excited about the kind of software we could develop for mobile access and management. And of course, my immediate supervisor was glad I made him look good.”

“I had no doubt you'd knock it out of the park. You need to do something special to celebrate.”

“I would, if you were here. As it is, my ‘celebration' consists of a fund-raising dinner my parents are hosting for renovations of the children's museum. And by the way, I can't wait for them to meet you. I know they'll love you.”

“I look forward to meeting them,” she said, though she wondered what they'd think of her. From what she had gleaned, Miles's people were old money—or at least “older” than anything she'd ever glimpsed—and big into community prestige.

“I'd better get going,” he said. “What are you doing tonight? Anything special?”

Kelli saw the lights dim in the ballroom. She hated being secretive, but there was no way she could explain the conference without delving into aspects of her life she'd left untapped thus far with him. Maybe one day. But not right now. “Spending some time with my sisters-in-law. Kind of a girls' night out.”

“Have fun,” he said. “I'll talk to you later this weekend.”

As Kelli worked her way back to the table, a familiar up-tempo beat fired up. Rita's voice boomed above the chart-topping song. “She needs no introduction here, does she?”

“No! Woo!” sounded from the crowd as people rose to their feet. Kelli stood between Cyd and Stephanie, her eyes on the stage.

“The incomparable, the electric, the young woman who'll set your heart on fire for God—Monica Styles!”

The special effects lighting went wild and Monica's voice filled the air before anyone could see her, moving many in the crowd to their tiptoes. A laser spotlight flashed various spots around the room, then landed on Monica as she took the stage. She had an infectious exuberance, bouncing with her dancers across the stage with lively moves that got the rest of them going.

Kelli rocked side to side and sang along, shaking her head as Stephanie mimicked Monica's raise-the-roof dance. Stephanie looked back at Logan and gestured for him to join in, but he stuck with a cool head bop, like Cyd.

“Hallelujah!” Monica said, the song fading beneath her voice. “Are y'all having a good time?”

Hoots and calls sounded all around. A concert vibe had replaced the conference vibe in the space of four minutes. Probably wasn't hard to do in a music-loving crowd.

“I'm so glad to be here tonight,” Monica declared. “This conference blessed me in ways I couldn't have imagined, and I know it'll bless you too. Right now I'm excited to share one of my favorites from the album I'm working on . . . I'm hoping it becomes a favorite of yours too.”

The music started pumping.

“And I've got a special surprise for you,” she said above the beat. “My good friend is featured on this song. I think you may know him. His first album is still garnering lots of attention, and he's making a surprise appearance with me here tonight!” She stepped aside and extended her hand. “Show your love for Alien!”

The crowd roared as loud as it had for Monica. Kelli was clueless. She looked at Stephanie, thinking she would know who he was, but Stephanie shrugged.

Alien made his entrance onstage, rhyming on top of the music, easing into choreographed moves with Monica. Kelli loved the beat, nodded her head—then froze.

She took a couple of steps forward.
I must be seeing things. That can't be Brian
.

She'd already had one shock this week where he was concerned. When Cedric told her he'd seen Brian at Living Word, she'd thought he was joking. He had to call Lindell to prove it, which only meant it was true but she still couldn't believe it. When Cedric said Brian wanted her to call him, she thought
Brian
had to be joking. The thought made her skin crawl.

Like seeing him right now.

Brian, a Christian rapper? He was one of the few kids in high school who knew exactly what he wanted to be, a scientist. She couldn't count the number of times they'd visited the St. Louis Science Center together—his idea of Saturday fun. How had he ever gotten onto this path?

“Give Him your all,” he said above the music.

“Give Him your all,” the crowd answered back.

“Kelli, you okay?” Cyd touched her shoulder. “You look . . . weird.”

Kelli kept staring forward, her ears filling with Brian's vocals.

“It's not about you, it's all about Him . . .”

He's got to be kidding
.

“Kelli, what is it?” Cyd asked.

“That's Brian Howard. My old boyfriend.”

“What?” Cyd turned. “Steph, Kelli knows him. He's her old boyfriend.”

Stephanie moved closer. “The one Lindell and Cedric saw at church?”

Kelli nodded.

“They didn't say he was a rapper!”

Cyd looked at her sister. “Maybe because he wasn't rapping at church? I'm just guessing. How would they know if Brian didn't tell them?”

Applause rang out around them. Brian left the stage, and a slower song began, one Kelli recognized as one of Monica's popular worship songs. But she couldn't worship at the moment. She was still frozen in place, frozen inside.

Cyd and Stephanie gazed alternately between the stage and Kelli. “Why don't we go, Kelli?” Cyd finally asked.

Stephanie took her hand and pulled her. “Come on. You and Cyd were so big on sister time. Let's get a head start right now.” She glanced at the stage. “We'll get a fresh start tomorrow, and hopefully Mr. Alien will have moved on to another planet.”

Kelli followed them out, with the sick feeling that she and Brian were on a collision course. She'd run into him sooner or later, whether here or back in St. Louis . . . and she hadn't the slightest idea how she would handle it.

seven

H
EATHER LAY IN BED, MIND RACING, OR MAYBE BOUNCING
like a pinball, careening from one good thing to the next, or maybe skipping, as in a field of flowers with blue sky, not a cloud in sight, or maybe . . . Maybe her mind was just spinning from too much wine. She shook her head hard to clear it, but it still felt like a jumble—a good jumble. All of her thoughts right now—for once—were good.

She moved her leg closer to Ace's to play footsie. He'd drifted off more than a half hour ago, but she wanted him to wake up, keep her company. They'd had a few moments of conversation over dinner in the suite—prime rib, red potatoes, bottle of red wine—but it all seemed to be building to one thing, the bedroom. Now she was wide awake and wanted to really talk, get to know him better, find out more about his background, how he got in the business.

She turned to look at the clock—11:48—and sighed. First session would start tomorrow morning at eight, and she wanted to be her best self. Better try to get to sleep, just close her eyes and—