Angela Morrison - Sing Me to Sleep

Derek’s headlight cuts into the night. He flips a U-turn, catches me, passes me. I sigh in defeat and turn on Jeannette’s crackling old radio to keep the ghosts at bay, getting more and more uptight about this whole situation. What am I doing? Amabile? Who am I kidding? I’m not even Canadian. I need to run back to my own kind with my head down and my tail between my legs. Crap. He’s gone again.

It’s getting darker. What if he’s nowhere around when I get to the turn. What if I don’t see any signs that say London? What if I slam on the brakes and flip my poor, rattling, ugly old car around. Head for home. Now. Jeannette stutters. I agree and ease up the gas to give her a break.

Shoot. He’s back. No escape. That lone headlight bearing down on me has to be him. Mind reader. The guy’s got some sort of powers. He’s certainly got control of me. Yes, Derek. Whatever you want, Derek. Please, Derek. Keep me in the dark—that’s fine with me. I’ll just sigh and let you kiss me again. He’s too perfect to withstand. It’s so not fair.

And now he’s Evel Knievel on his motorbike. I’ve got to sabotage that thing. What if he got high and went out on it?

Self-destructs . Scott saw it as soon as he laid eyes on Derek. Stupid Scott. If Derek dares to self-destruct on me, Scott won’t have to carry through with his dumb macho caveman threats. I will kill Derek myself.

chapter 22

CHAMBERS

Derek slows down when we get near London. He puts on his flashers and rides smack in front of me like a police escort for a pop star. I so don’t miss the exit. And he’s right there as we wind through the city to the church where they practice.

He parks his bike beside me. I get out. “I’m never following you again.”

“What?”

“Every time you disappeared, I was sure I’d find your crumpled body in the middle of the road. Don’t do that to me.” I stalk away, push through the door into the church before he can make excuses.

He introduces me to all the directors. There’s two from his choir and two from the AYS. I smile and shake their hands, thank them for letting me sing with them tonight.

She’s here. His ex. I recognize her from Derek’s profile. He took her pictures with him down, but she’s still all over his wall. Great. She’s even tinier than she looks in her picture. She’s standing in a spot in the center of the choir next to an empty space that’s obviously Derek’s. She moves—quietly finds a new spot. Our eyes meet, and she smiles.

Crap. She is a nice girl.

My face heats up, and I look back at the tall conductor with a wispy beard that I’m supposed to be talking to.

“Why don’t you try the solo on this first piece?” He hands me the sheet music.

Derek’s name is in the corner next to Arranged by.

“Derek wrote the solo for one singer—”

“Back when I could still hit the high notes.”

“We split it alto/soprano—which line do you feel comfortable with?” The guy waits for me to answer.

I don’t. Derek butts in with, “She can sing it all.”

“Derek.” There he goes again. I flip through the music, sight-reading in my head and checking the lows and highs. He’s right. As usual. I can. “I’ll try it.”

Derek maneuvers me through the choir to our places. “Don’t be nervous.”

“You are the only thing that makes me nervous. Singing calms me.”

“Then we better get started before you bite my head off.”

One of the AYS directors leads the warm-ups. No back rubs—guess that’s a girl choir thing. Derek tries to stick with me on the high notes, gets screechy, and gives up. On the low scale, I can go way past the lowest note in this solo. Derek is impressed.

“I sing tenor at school.”

He laughs.

We both have to drop out when it drops to bass range. I notice Blake is a bass. Figures.

Now tall guy with the wispy beard takes the wand. “All right, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome. It’s good to be back with you. We’re going to get right to work on Derek’s arrangement. He’s found us a soloist who can sing the impossible range he wrote. Everyone say hello to Beth.” He pauses while people turn and nod to me. I half raise my hand and wave a couple fingers. “She’s joining us this season. Please make her feel welcome.”

Wow. Done deal. I look sideways at Derek. He’s so avoiding me. He’s supposed to keep his eyes glued to the director, so am I for that matter. Still. No excuse. He must know I’m fuming. I open my music, hold it so I can watch the director, too, and smash my foot down hard on Derek’s toes.

He winces.

Now I can sing.

I fall in with the altos. This is their first run-through of the piece, and already the sound is amazing. The basses are really good, mellow and rich. Their low vibrations ground it. Derek’s pure voice beside me leads the tenors. The altos are all getting the part—not just me and my perfect pitch. And the sopranos don’t balk at the harmonic descant Derek throws at them on the second page.

The first verse and chorus is SATB. Then an instrumental interlude with piano and strings, and I come in. It’s not perfect, my first shot at that solo, but it’s pretty good. At the end of the piece, several of the girls turn around, lightly clap. Not haughty. Friendly. And Derek’s ex is smiling at me again. It’s nice. These girls are nice. It’s all overwhelming, Canadian nice.

Derek’s hand on my back and brief, “Way to go,” is knee-melting nice.

Derek tries the tenor solo in the next piece. He muffs it a couple times but makes it through. Another girl sings the soprano on that one. It’s short but poignant, and she sings it well.

All of them, the girls especially, have a real beauty to the tone of their voices. Nobody is weak. And the blending is flawless. No one tries to stick out. I can’t say it isn’t a total rush to meld my voice with that group. It would be amazing to sing with them all the time. I can’t believe Derek talked them into me. He obviously has everyone here wrapped as tightly around his baby finger as I am.

How does he do it? Why do they let him? Maybe they know. Whatever it is that he won’t tell me. Everyone here could know every little nasty, sordid detail. Maybe I should get chummy with all these nice girls. Especially Derek’s ex-nice girl.

After practice, Derek introduces me to some of them. His ex included. She really is nice. “We’ll see you Tuesday, then.” No hint of anger at me in her voice whatsoever. “Practice starts at 6:30.”

“I’m not sure—”

“She’ll be there.” Derek decides for me again. “Save her a seat, okay?”

She gives him a dazzling, perky smile. “Sure, Derek. I’ll look after her.”

One of the AYS directors hands me a heavy binder of sheet music. “We’ll be doing the first ten on Tuesday.” Ten? Whoa. “Know your part, okay? Derek says you’re happy to sing alto.”

I nod.

“Great. We had to retire a couple of our best last year.” She makes it sound like her singers are racehorses not girls. You can compete in the youth choir category until you are twenty-two. Then retirement? I hope not.

I can’t make it Tuesday. I have to go to my choir. The words are there, ready to escape my lips, but I just nod.

We leave Derek’s bike and drive Jeannette to a nearby Tim Hortons. I’m starving. I get soup and a big sandwich on a croissant. Derek polishes off four pink-frosted, candy-sprinkled donuts.

“That’s not a very manly choice.”

“You’re so sexist.” He picks up his last donut and bites into it. “Pink? I thought you’d get it. In honor of Meadow. She’ll get to be the soloist again.”

“Poor Terri.”