Amazing Love

“Any others?” Luke’s tone left no doubt about what was expected.

Pockets were emptied and four flip phones ended up single file on top of an amplifier. Her Blackberry was set on vibrate but, unwilling to risk being discovered, Claire reached into her purse and silently depressed the “off” key.

“This is as good a time as any to spell out expectations.” Luke lowered his lean frame to the stage floor, folded long legs beneath him and motioned for the guys to do the same. They sat cross-legged in a circle like silent scouts around a campfire.

“Well? Speak up,” Luke snapped, then waited for a response. The boys cast one another unsure glances.

“Shouldn’t you tell us your expectations, sir,” Zach asked, as he nervously rolled a drumstick between his palms.

Luke shook his head. “Let’s get this straight. This isn’t about me or Praise Productions. It’s about the Harvest Sons. If you don’t know what you want, how can we move you to the next level?” Luke waited through several seconds of silence. “Talk to me,” he insisted. “Just share what’s on your minds.”

“The sound is pretty good in here,” Zach said, glancing at the high ceiling, “but I have to hold back. My dream is to rock an outdoor stadium before I’m in my thirties like you and too old to enjoy it.”

Teenage heads nodded agreement and Luke grimaced, “Gee, thanks.”

“You know what I mean.” Zach studied his drumstick, clearly chagrined by his tactless admission.

“Yes, I’m afraid I do,” Luke grumbled, but winked at the others to let Zach see no offense was taken.

Chad spoke up. “Since I was seven I’ve been at the keyboard ten hours a week, twenty in the summer. I can mimic any style, but I wanna be known for a sound of my own. I want the Sons to play more than cover tunes and jazzed up hymns.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” Luke nodded at Chad, then turned. “How about you, Eric?”

“The only good thing our dad ever did was name me after Eric Clapton. He’s a triple inductee into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.” Eric’s eyes lit as he warmed to the subject of his rock hero. “I learned most of what I know by playing along with his CDs. I’d love to have a reputation like Clapton’s one day,” Eric admitted. “But only on the guitar,” he quickly added. “I’d never be stupid like he was with coke and heroin. Musicians who blow their careers over drugs are so lame.”

Luke brushed his palm across his short-cropped hair, before dropping his hand back into his lap.

“You’d be surprised how easy it is to fall into that trap, Eric.”

Claire caught the slightly defensive note in his voice.

“Are you saying what he did was okay?” Chad asked.

“Absolutely not,” Luke insisted. “But you should have some compassion for what drove Clapton down the road he chose.”

“Nobody deserves compassion for making such stupid choices,” Eric insisted. “His drug abuse will label him for the rest of his life.”

There was an uncomfortable silence for a few moments as Luke seemed to think about the judgmental comment.

“Good point, Eric. All a man really has to call his own is his reputation, and once that’s damaged it’s just about impossible to make repairs.”

Then he moved on. “And what do you want from this experience, Brian?”

The young bass player slumped, exhaled a pent-up breath and fiddled with the plastic guitar pick between his fingers.

“Brian wants to make it in the business so he can get away from our old man,” Eric offered on behalf of his kid brother.

“Forever,” Brian added, not looking up.

Claire noted the way Luke’s gaze darted back and forth between the two brothers, taking in that piece of news. She squirmed in her dark corner of the room, uncomfortable, feeling she was eavesdropping on group therapy. Luke was making a sincere, albeit gruff effort to get to know his protégés. Even grudgingly, she had to admire that in the man.

“Believe it or not, guys, I understand. At your age I felt all those things. Thanks for being honest with me.” Luke’s voice was hushed, almost reverent. She had to lean forward and listen closely.

“Now that I know why you’re here we can start plotting some serious progress. If you knuckle down and really work hard for me, what we accomplish in the next two days will blow your minds. But I warn you, I can’t abide slackers. I have to prove myself to your church council, and you guys have to prove yourselves to me. Got that?”

Heads bobbed agreement as he glanced around the circle.

“I never make a promise I can’t keep. So, listen up. When you work with me you’ll stretch your skills and your minds and I promise we’ll produce music that will open doors for you in this business. But when we’re working together you’ve got to give me your undivided attention, and I’ll do the same for you. No exceptions. You got that, too?”

They nodded understanding.

Luke extended his arm into the center of the circle, palm down and asked, “Are we a team?”

Hands stacked on hands as they shared that very male ritual of the pregame huddle followed by high fives.

“Hey, Miss Texas, you got anything to eat back there?”

When Luke called out his question young heads turned her way. Startled to realize he’d known she was there all along, Claire jumped to her feet, grabbed the bag of fast food and hurried down front.

“Thanks, Miss Claire!”

The youngsters took the bag, fished out burritos and napkins and tossed the sack and remaining contents to Luke. He pulled several bills from his wallet and sent them to the soft drink machines in the basement kitchen with stern instructions to hurry back.

“Still sore at me?” His brows arched expectantly over green eyes, his mouth quirked with a hint of humor.

“Why would you ask that?” She played the wide-eyed dumb blonde, and hated herself for it.

“Oh, maybe because I yanked your chain a few times, but just to see if you were a good sport.”

“And?” She waited, for some strange reason hoping she’d overcome the prima donna, first impression she may have given him.

“And you reacted like a professional.”

She could tell he wanted to say more.

“But?” She stuffed her hands in her jacket pockets and waited for the rest.

“But even pros make mistakes. That’s a popular piece of music that everybody will recognize, but it’s all wrong for your voice. If you wanna give your best performance you’ll let me coach you.” He threw down the gauntlet, something he appeared to do frequently.

“Oh, that’s not necessary.” She brushed off his suggestion.

“Trust me. It is.”

“Speaking of trust,” she changed the subject, “I understand why Freeway trusts you. I was there this morning when you rescued him on the bridge. That was a brave thing you did.”

“Bravery had nothin’ to do with it.” He brushed away the compliment like a pesky fly. “I just couldn’t help myself. It makes me so mad to see an animal or a kid mistreated.”

Squeaking sneakers and the muffled voices of four teens signaled they were about to have company. Luke looked down and focused on the meal. He rustled inside the white paper sack and withdrew a taco. He peeled back the wrapper and prepared to take a large bite.