Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
We walked out together and said our goodbyes in the parking lot.
We were in the middle of our second set, pleasantly surprised that most of the audience had stayed. I did a double take when I looked into the crowd and spotted George standing against the wall. He’d made it out to the show—I couldn’t believe my eyes. I’d assumed all his questions at the end of our lesson were just him making conversation. I didn’t think he’d actually head over here.
“Thanks for coming out,” Ellis said into the microphone. “We’ve got Anthony on the drums, Perry on the keyboard, our vocalist, Nolan, on the guitar, and I’m Ellis, on the bass.”
The audience clapped, George rather enthusiastically.
Ellis said, “Hey…Perry is on the market. Let’s give him a round of applause.” Perry mugged for the audience, getting quite a few laughs. Ellis had stopped announcing I was single, and that was when I knew this thing between us had become more than casual. And that felt intense. But I pushed aside the niggling worries and tried basking in the moment.
When my gaze met his, Ellis’s smile was dazzling. I loved seeing him back in his element.
“But Anthony is married,” Ellis added. “Sorry.”
“You got that right,” Maris yelled from the front row, where she’d been perched most of the set with her friend. Anthony blew her a kiss.
“You’re listening to In a Funk, and this is our final song.”
I stepped forward to quickly whisper in Ellis’s ear, which produced a shiver, but he covered it with a cough.
Ellis looked out into the audience. “This one is for George.”
George’s lips parted in surprise before a huge smile split his lips.
I glanced over at Perry, who looked confused. “One of my piano students.”
“Cool!” he replied, then began the count that led into the song.
Once we’d finished the show, I headed over to George. “You came! Come have a drink with us.”
“I can’t believe I’m still awake,” he said, making me chuckle.
“After a while, you get used to it.”
“Maybe at your age,” he countered.
I introduced him to the band, and then we all ordered beers that went down cold and smooth. We shot the shit for a while longer before heading back to the stage to start breaking down our stuff.
“That was awesome,” Ellis said. “George is just as you described.”
George, who’d stayed too, was asking questions about some of the equipment as he watched us from a chair I’d pulled closer to the stage for him. He was in his eighties, after all, and though he wasn’t exactly frail, I knew he had some health issues.
Soon enough, he stood and said his goodbyes.
“Thanks for coming,” I said, and Ellis stepped forward to show his appreciation as well.
“One more off my bucket list.” George waved on his way out.
Something told me it would be a good idea to at least watch him walk to his car, so I stepped outside to make sure he made it safely. His car was parked on the next block, and he moved gingerly to get there. Once he got to his vehicle, he placed his hand on the hood of the car and stooped over, seemingly breathing hard.
I sprang into action, jogging to him. “Are you okay?”
His head lifted in surprise. “Yes, I’m just tired.”
“Are you sure that’s all it is?”
“Yes…no. My chest feels funny.”
“I don’t think we should mess around. How about I drive you somewhere?” Except I didn’t have a car. “If you hand me your keys, I can get you home.”
“Only if you’re sure,” he replied, rummaging around in his pocket for them.
“I’m sure.”
I unlocked the door, helped him into the passenger seat, then went around to the driver’s side. I typed a quick text to Ellis to let him know what was happening.
I’m driving George home. He’s not feeling well.
Do you want me to tag along?
It’s okay, thanks. I’ll keep you posted.
When I got in the car and started the engine, George was gripping his chest and panting hard. “I think I need to get you to the emergency room.”
“I don’t like hospitals.”
“I’ll be there with you. Better safe than sorry.”
Instead of waiting for a response, I started driving toward the University of Michigan Medical Center. I pulled in front of the double doors and helped him into the lobby. “Chest pains,” I told the triage nurse, and they took him back immediately.
I went out to park his car, then joined him inside to help with his medical and insurance information.
“George, can I call someone for you? Your daughter?”
“I don’t know her number off the top of my head.”
“Want me to look in your cell?”
“We found emergency contact information in his chart,” the nurse said. “I can give you the number.”
“Thanks.” I stepped outside the room to call her and felt guilty that the hour was late and I was waking her. Still, she would want to know, and as expected, she said she was on her way.