An Invincible Summer (Wyndham Beach #1)(35)
“That would be such a fun surprise for them.”
“Mrs. Bryant, I was hoping to get a moment to talk to you . . .” He skillfully led her a few steps away, his arm around her as if to shelter her.
Maggie couldn’t hear what he was saying, but she knew instinctively he would be speaking to her about Jessie, offering words of comfort even though Maggie knew he’d canceled a show to come home for her funeral.
“You’ve raised a remarkable boy, Em,” Maggie said quietly.
“He is that,” Emma whispered.
A moment later, someone shouted, “Chris! It’s time, man.”
Chris raised a hand behind Liddy’s back to acknowledge he’d heard but finished whatever it was he was saying before giving her one more hug. When Liddy turned back to Maggie and Emma, her eyes were brimming, but she was smiling.
“Some kid,” she said simply.
“And now that kid’s going to work.” Chris touched Emma on the shoulder. “Mom, I got you all earplugs.”
“Earplugs? Pshaw,” Emma said dismissively. “I was going to concerts long before you were born.”
“Maybe, but that was back in the day, before speakers and electric guitars, right?” he teased, nodding at someone behind Maggie.
She turned to find two large, burly men, tattooed sleeves from their wrists to their shoulders, wearing black Tshirts with DEAN SECURITY in big white letters on front and back.
“Ladies,” Chris was saying, “this is Turk, and this is Brando. They’re your guides for tonight.” He looked over Maggie’s head and said, “This is my mom and her two friends. Guard them with your lives, guys.”
He turned back to Emma. “Have fun. See you after the show.”
Liddy looked from one of the guards to the other, then back again. “Brando, huh?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded solemnly.
“Well, I do see a slight resemblance.” Liddy rubbed her hands in anticipation. “Okay, let’s go, fellas. We’ve got a show to watch.”
Chris had offered them special box seats from which to watch the show, but they’d declined because they wanted “the whole concert experience.” So instead of comfy box seats, Maggie, Liddy, and Emma found themselves dead center in the first row on the floor, “spitting distance,” as Liddy had said, from the stage. When the band appeared to take their places, the entire arena erupted in screams and shouts, and Maggie began to second-guess Emma’s blithe dismissal of earplugs. The level of noise was unlike anything she’d ever heard. When she slapped her hands over her ears, Turk—or Brando, she wasn’t sure who was who—offered her a small box.
“Plugs,” he said, pointing to his ears. “Won’t block out everything, but they will make it tolerable.”
“What?” She’d leaned forward to ask, then said, “Never mind.” She took the box and popped it open to reveal two small tan-color knobs, which she proceeded to slide into her ears. The effect was immediate. The noise level dropped dramatically, but she could still hear. She tapped her friends on the arm and pointed to her ears, then to the guard who’d offered the earplugs to her. Emma and Liddy nodded, Turk (or Brando) handed over the tiny boxes, and everyone was smiling just as the band began to play.
As promised, Chris followed the set list he’d sent Emma. If members of the audience sitting around them were amused by the fact that the three older ladies in the front row knew the chorus of every song DEAN played, they gave no sign, even when the arm waving began and the ladies began to get into the spirit of the music, dancing and singing along. When the lights in the arena went low and the audience held up their lit phones, Maggie looked at Liddy and Emma, shrugged, and pulled out her phone as well. Laughing, Liddy and Emma followed suit. When objects began to fly past them to land on the stage, Maggie pulled a small box of Junior Mints from her bag and tossed them directly at Chris, who caught the box on his chest with one hand, then doubled over with laughter before tucking it into the pocket of his jeans.
At the midway point of the show, he gestured for the crowd to settle down. When he began to speak, the arena went as close to silent as it ever would.
“If you’ve been to our shows before, you know I like to take a little breather and share a little personal story with you all. Tonight, I have my most special girl with me. The woman who stood behind me—always—who took my part when I know how hard it was sometimes for her to do that.”
Boy, was it ever, Maggie thought, recalling how Emma and her husband had fought over Chris’s rejection of a career at the bank, how Harry’d dismissed Chris’s love of music and his instinctive ability to play any instrument he picked up. The arguments had left Emma raw and gutted.
Chris stepped to the edge of the stage, microphone in hand, looking down to the first row with much love in his eyes. “Guys, say hello to my mom, the ageless, beautiful Emma Dean.”
Applause was swiftly followed by chants of Em-ma, Em-ma, which made Emma cover her face as she burst into tears. Chris nimbly jumped down from the stage and put his arms around his mother. After a few words meant only for her, he rubbed her back for a second before he hoisted himself back to the stage, signaled the band, and launched into the second half of the set list.
After the show ended, Maggie, Emma, and Liddy were ushered back to the crowded dressing room, where bandmates, roadies, several important-looking men in suits, and various women congregated.