One Last Thing Before I Go

rest of the orchestra takes up their instruments. Silver smiles up at him, grateful that the onerous silence has been broken. Danny leans into the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, that’s Drew Silver, I’m Danny Baptiste, and we are the Bent Daisies!” The crowd breaks into surprised, scattered applause. The band’s intro to “Rest in Pieces” reaches the clattering pause, which was McReedy’s cue, but McReedy isn’t here. Baptiste looks at him, and nods encouragingly. Silver looks at Casey, brings the mike up to his mouth, takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. And then, he sings. He doesn’t possess McReedy’s resonance or pitch, and his voice sounds more nasal than usual thanks to the swelling from Rich’s punch, but he can carry a tune well enough, and having sung backup on the album, his voice sounds at home in the song.
    He doesn’t open his eyes again until the guitar solo, and when he does, he discovers he is surrounded by bodies, dancing and clapping all around him on the dance floor. He looks out to see Casey, still standing there in between the now-empty tables, smiling at him through her tears, as she moves lightly to the beat. And then the guitar break is over and he’s singing again. The crowd gathers around him, clapping to the beat. They are having a moment, all of them, the kind you can’t plan or orchestrate: him, Casey, and this crowd, all connected by the right song at the right time. Every cell in him remembers this feeling. By the time he hits the repeating refrain, he is spinning in circles, disappearing into the music in a way he hasn’t for so long.
    And someday soon, I’ll rest in peace. But till that day does come, I’ll rest in pieces.
    And a hundred voices sing it along with him, lifting him up, and he hears Danny’s voice harmonizing, joining his own, just like old times, and Casey, mascara running in streaks down her face, is singing along like she used to when she was a little girl and he would play the song in the car for her, and the entire ballroom is throbbing. And it would be nice to think that the music has come back for him, to reclaim him, and that everything will be different. But he knows the music will end, it always does, and cold, songless reality will reassert itself. Right now, though, as the buzzing in his ears reaches a fever pitch, he feels more love than he knows what to do with, and there’s nothing to do but close his eyes and let it wash over him for as long as the music will play.

CHAPTER 45
    “T hat was really something, Dad.”
    “Thanks.”
    “What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing, just . . . you called me Dad.”
    “What should I call you?”
    “Dad’s good.”
    “Well then.”
    “It’s just you don’t always.”
    “Really? Huh. I never noticed.”
    “Well, I like it.”
    “I can’t believe you stole the show at a bat mitzvah party!”
    “Yeah, well—”
    “That you crashed!”
    “I didn’t steal the show. I was just a momentary glitch.”
    “Are you kidding me? The way they all took pictures with you afterwards? You were the highlight of the party!”
    “And I’m the only thing they didn’t pay for.”
    “You looked good out there. I never really saw you perform before.”
    “I was never out front like that. I was always tucked safely behind my kit.”
    “Well, it suited you. You should think about a comeback.”
    “Nah.”
    “Why not?”
    “It’s a young man’s game.”
    “You’re not that old.”
    “I’m not that young.”
    “I heard all of those things you said to me—well, to everyone else, too—but anyway. Thank you.”
    “You’re welcome.”
    “Are you really proud of me?”
    “Are you kidding me? You’re the greatest proof that my life hasn’t been a complete waste of oxygen.”
    “So, if your life isn’t a waste, why not have that operation?”
    “It’s not that simple.”
    “You keep saying that, but I’m calling bullshit. You either want to live or you want to die.”
    “I want to be a better man.”
    “Well, you’re not going to get any better once you’re dead.”
    “You make a good point.”
    “I’m going to make a better one now.”
    “OK.”
    “You left us, Dad. Mom and me. I know you only meant to divorce Mom, but you divorced me, too.”
    “I know.”
    “And I forgave you then. Just like I’m forgiving you now. Do you know why?”
    “Why?”
    “Lack of options. Mom found herself another husband. I don’t get another father. And I need one. I mean, look at