“Well, don’t worry. Every one of these cards will see the light of day.” I internally cringe as I realize I’m the one who will now be reading each request. Worse, I know every word will stick in my brain until the unforeseeable future. I back up to the doorway before he can read the apprehension on my face. “I’m going to set up in the band room, unless you had somewhere else you wanted me to sit?”
Ralph snorts and spreads his octopus arms. “And get an OSHA violation for dreadful working conditions? No, I wouldn’t do that to you. At least not until you get as jaded as the rest of us.”
Again that pressure hits my chest, like I should say or do something. But I’m helpless. I’m a temporary Texan in a temporary job with a temporary faith. If this building of believers can’t find the right words to take away his unhappiness, then I certainly can’t. “I’ll be back when I’m finished.”
“Sounds good.”
I hear his door shut again when I’m ten steps away and within arm’s reach of the elevator. Juggling the box to one side, I reach out to press the down button when a hand beats me to it. Next thing I know, the box is taken away.
“I’ve got it.”
“Thanks.” I turn toward my knight and swear the guitar pick heats up in my pocket, as if some life force is surging from its owner. “You again?”
Cameron’s smile is as warm as it was yesterday. “I do work here from time to time.” He peeks into the box of prayer cards. “I guess you have your first assignment.”
“Yep. Sorter extraordinaire.” The elevator opens, and it dawns on me that he might be using the band room. “I was going to set up in your practice space, but I don’t have to.”
“No, please do. I’d love the company.”
“What about the rest of the band? Won’t they mind?”
“Brent and I are the only ones on staff. Nate takes classes at UNT, and Brian and Darrel have succumbed to full-time respectable jobs.” He smiles at me over the box, and I watch the elevator doors trap me inside. “Looks like it’s just you and me.”
Suddenly, I feel the need to grab an empty prayer card myself. I’m starting to believe it’s going to take divine intervention to keep me away from a guy like Cameron.
six
We’ve recycled every bit of small talk I can think of by the time we reach the band room. I’ve learned that Cameron’s last name is Lee, that he’s kid number three of four, turning twenty-nine at the end of February—almost exactly six months younger than me—and lives in a small three-bedroom apartment with two other bandmates, eight minutes’ drive from the church.
He sets the box down and stretches his hand to the top of the doorframe. “Don’t tell anyone about my hiding spot.” He swivels his head like James Bond in a takedown. “Margie threatened my life if I kept forgetting my key, so desperate measures had to be taken.” He slides the key into the lock while I watch him with a goofy smile on my face. The same goofy smile that got my heart pummeled only months ago. My grin immediately fades.
Cameron turns the key and opens the door. “You can have the desk. I’m going to be working on a song and tend to pace when I get stuck.”
“You write music, too?” Is there anything this guy doesn’t do? He’s cute, kind, acts like a gentleman, is a musician for crying out loud, and he has a great sense of humor. I’m so busy getting annoyed at his perfection that I nearly miss the tension that comes with that question.
“I did write music.” Cameron is no longer smiling. He shoves the key back to its hiding place as if it wronged him in some way. “Now I stare at a blank sheet for two hours.”
I want to ask why, but everything in his body language keeps my mouth tightly closed. We all deal with sore subjects. This is his, and I’m not about to stand here and press on the bruise.
Instead, I peruse the space in a way I couldn’t the last time the door was open. A wave of relief slams into me. The room is not only clean and free of clutter, but whoever decorated the area must be part engineer. Every piece feels as if it’s been measured to be the perfect distance from the adjacent wall.
Cameron walks to the side of the room designated as a seating area with a full couch, two big club chairs, and a love seat. Framed pictures of the band and their album cover the wall, each impeccably spaced at what looks to be three inches. Turns out Cameron is as photogenic as he is talented.
“That one was taken in Arlington.” He points to an eleven-by-fourteen frame of him hunched over his guitar, his sweat-soaked hair draped over his forehead and fingers contorted in a way that doesn’t seem real. In this picture, Cameron looks like a full-on rock star. “There were twelve bands at a free concert, and we got to be on the same stage as For King & Country and Mercy Me. It’s still the pinnacle of my music career.”
“How long ago was that?” My shoulder brushes his, and tingles tiptoe down my arm and into my fingertips. I should move away, but I don’t. It feels good to feel this way again, even if it’s equivalent to lining up in front of a firing squad.
“September.” His voice is laden with disappointment. “I was sure that concert would be the launch we needed, but apart from a two-month spike in iTunes downloads, nothing’s come from the exposure.”
“Music is a hard business to break into.” I flinch when I realize my insensitivity. “Sorry. You don’t need me to tell you as much.”
His smile returns, and it’s so welcome I nearly sigh in relief. It feels wrong to see Cameron sad. He’s too . . . I don’t know, just too delightful to be anything but happy.
“It’s all about God’s timing. I know this, but it’s hard to be patient.”
And there it is. The reminder I need to get refocused and forget whatever crazy thought I had about me and Cameron sitting in a tree. “Speaking of timing, I should probably do some real work. Or at least look like I am.”
“Right, I can see how they may expect as much on your first day.” He winks and returns to the hallway to retrieve my box of prayer cards.
I slide four music binders into a stack on top of the desk and set them carefully on the floor. All that’s left on the surface is a laptop, a set of keys, and a baseball cap.
“I’ll take those.” Cameron puts the box on the corner and fills his arms with the rest of the items.
“You’re a Rangers fan?”
“Since I was old enough to throw a ball. Mom and Dad took us to every opening game. They still do.” He plops the hat upside down on the coffee table and tosses his keys inside. He’s gentler with his laptop. “You ever been?”
“To a Rangers game? No. But I went to a Braves game once.” I was ten and Stepdad #2 was trying to bond. It’s the only good memory I have of him. “It was fun. Especially since I got to eat all the cotton candy I wanted.”
He grabs a guitar from among the three on the far side of the room. “A girl who eats sugar. I didn’t know those existed anymore.”
“I am rare.”
Cameron pauses and stares with a look I feel all the way down to my toes. “That you are.”
I want to ask him how he could possibly know that when we’ve had only two small interactions, but at the same time I somehow feel a similar assuredness. That beyond the music, there’s something inside that makes him unique. Special.