A New Hope (Thunder Point #8)(23)

“Is the condo all right?” she asked, suddenly concerned.

“It’s not necessary,” he said. “Thank you. But we have room for them in town. My parents and brother will be fine in Grace’s loft and my sister and her family will be very comfortable in my apartment. They’ll be close to the beach and this house. But I promise I won’t let them overrun you or tire you out.”

“I’m such a burden,” Winnie said. “I hate being a burden!”

“You’re no trouble at all, Winnie. I don’t want you to worry. It’s a real pleasure having you here. We’re living in your house, after all.”

Winnie turned her eyes to Grace. She smiled. “I think you did all right for yourself here, Grace. This boy is just what we need.”

It was still early when Winnie was settled in bed. Since there was no staff or nursing help, she had her cell phone handy and could call Grace’s cell phone if she needed water, or to get up to use the facilities, anything that required assistance. Winnie thanked Troy a hundred times. And Mikhail retired to a room that boasted a very fine flat-screen with a satellite connection and access to all sorts of entertainment.

The house fell quiet before nine and Grace crawled into bed, content that she’d done a good job. She placed her cell phone beside the bed so she could hear if her mother called. Then her fiancé crawled in beside her. Naked.

“Winnie thinks you’re a nice boy,” Grace said, laughter in her voice.

He pulled her close. “That’s good. Let her think that. That will make life easier on you than if she knows the truth.”

“That you’re just a dirty bad boy?”

“Excellent,” he said, affecting a Russian accent. “We toast that!”

* * *

Matt’s curiosity was piqued. He’d never heard the name Mick Cantrell, but that didn’t mean anything. He wasn’t into music to that degree. Now, if you asked him the name of the head of the Arizona State University Research Farm, he had that. Or even the name of the PhD in Australia studying and publishing on biological farming. And of course he probably knew every Oregon botany PhD publishing in the state. And he was up to speed on environmental policy, growing sustainable food in the US and many other subjects.

He was not up-to-date on rock stars.

He researched Mick Cantrell and found a website and many hits on Google. It appeared he was a minor star. He had a lot of pictures posted on his website and Facebook page, a few showing him on stage with a huge audience, but on his events schedule there weren’t too many listings. His bio made him sound like Bruce Springsteen—he played to thousands, had several CDs, wrote songs for major stars... Matt had heard of the stars but not the songs. But what had Ginger said? He did sell some songs but they never made the charts.

It appeared his gigs were mostly around the Pacific Northwest and he happened to be playing in a Portland nightclub in a week. On a Saturday night.

“What are you up to this weekend?” Matt asked Ginger during one of their phone conversations.

“I’m going to be busy with the shop,” she said. “Grace’s mother has arrived, there’s a fever in the air as they try to pull together a wedding in just over a week. Troy’s family will descend on the town and everyone will be busy. I’m going to do as much as I can to free Grace.”

“I bet she’s so grateful you stumbled into her life,” Matt said.

“That makes two of us. I love her flower shop. What will you do this weekend?”

“Me?” he asked. “Oh. There’s stuff to do. I’m needed on the farm.”

Six

Ginger had to string together a series of lies in order to have the weekend she planned, a weekend that could bring disastrous results. But she had to do it, had to. There were things she had to know.

She was driving to Portland where she would stay one night with her parents. She planned to have an early dinner with them on Saturday night then, she told them, she was going to meet a couple of girlfriends she hadn’t seen in a very long time. She said she probably wouldn’t be late. She cringed to see how happy her parents were to hear this! She looked better, said she felt better and now she was putting her life back together with old friends. Her mother’s eyes got teary and her chin quivered.

Ginger wasn’t meeting girlfriends. The idea actually appealed and she made a mental note to pursue that in the not-too-distant future. She’d get in touch with those few friends who had nothing to do with Mick or with the baby. She might have to reach all the way back to high school or maybe even junior high, but it was a worthy notion.

But on Saturday night she dressed to go to Roy’s Theater. It was part club, part dance hall, part theater. For big acts they could open the whole place up and seat more than a thousand. For popular dance bands, they could accommodate a couple hundred and a large dance floor. And for entertainers somewhere in between, especially those with a strong local grassroots following like tonight’s act, it could be as many as three hundred in their nightclub.

Mick was performing. Roy’s had always been one of his favorite venues. He was bringing a backup band and singers. Ginger knew that was not a traveling band. It was made up of friends he jammed with and he’d give them a couple hundred bucks each. That meant his set list would be deep, including songs he was known for twenty years ago. And of course his own songs, which were only appreciated by his die-hard fans. His most popular performances were the classic artists—James Taylor, Eric Clapton, Gordon Lightfoot, Bruce Springsteen, Harry Nilsson. He even had a Josh Groban piece with a guitar accompaniment that she had heard on the radio from time to time. It was actually cleverly done.