Sisterly Love is a serialized novel. To savor the full narrative experience, start at the beginning and work through the chapters in order. You can find chapters on the Home page or in the Archive.
CHAPTER 32
Summer adjusted the camcorder on her shoulder as she followed Jem and Rose to the registration area.
“Make sure you get everything,” Rose called, casting a backward glance at her sister. “I want a complete memory of this.”
Summer gave Rose the thumbs up then zoomed in on the sign behind the registration desk, framing the word MUSIC before pulling back to a wide shot of the banner, which read: ITHCUS MUSIC FESTIVAL 2014.
Earlier, when Alan drove into Lexington to “take care of some business,” and Rose and Sofia joined the worshippers at the communion service, Summer took the opportunity to shoot some footage of Ithcus Farm: the clusters of tents in varying sizes; a cacophony of children in the playground; row upon row of portable bathrooms; and the smattering of sheep and cattle grazing on the outskirts of the one hundred and eleven acre property. She explained to Rose that the coverage would help set the scene and establish a tone for the short movie she was making.
“A slice of life you’ll never forget,” Summer beamed.
The line that had been inching forward came to a halt. Summer put the camera on the tripod and swung it around to the performance arena nearby. She panned slowly across the enormous Main Stage then segued to the five smaller stages, scattered in its wake: The Deep End, The Edge, The Galleria, and the two indie stages. Summer captured the cluster in a slow sweep then pulled out to a wide shot before cutting back to Jem and Rose, who had reached the registration desk.
Jem was scanning the playlists, which were taped to the desk. Summer took the camera in close. Through the lapel microphones she had fitted on them, Summer could hear Jem explaining to Rose that he was looking for performance clashes on the six stages.
“The talent scouts only watch Main Stage,” he told Rose. “But we’re safe, because we’re sandwiched between two of the headlining acts.”
Jem ran his index finger down the list of bands: Seventh Day Slumber, Impending Doom, Holy Ghost, The 77s, The Almost, Seraphym. Summer hovered on Seraphym, then pulled out as Jem pointed at the name directly beneath Seraphym, which read, Brand New Day. Next to it was the performance time: 6:00 P.M.
“In the unlikely event that the punters absolutely hate us,” Jem continued, “they’ll sit out our performance, because they won’t want to risk missing the big names by switching to one of the other stages.”
Rose’s expression was intent.
“There are no second chances in this business,” Jem told her. “It’s a party for the punters and a battleground for us.”
Rose shot a glance at the camera. She broke into a grin and lowered her chin, furtive, seductive. The camera liked Rose.
At five o’clock, Summer made her way toward the arena. Her press pass enabled her to take up a position in a cordoned-off area that gave a clean view of the stage. She practiced zooming in on the act currently performing on Main Stage. It occurred to her that she had had little exposure to contemporary Christian music beyond the tapes of songs Rose had sent over the years, and she did not know what to expect. But by the third act, she admitted surprise at the high standard of talent in this sub-genre.
All of a sudden, she heard the emcee announcing Seraphym. Through the camera’s lens, she scrutinized Seraphym’s leather-clad front man as he strutted across the stage. His guitar swung freely about his upper body and he blew kisses to the audience. Summer panned the arena. It was packed to capacity. The crowd was hyped. She understood now why Jem was both delighted and anxious about their placement in the lineup. Brand New Day would have to find a way to leverage the hype with a strong set; if they failed, it would be a disaster. Summer slowly panned over the bobbing heads and waving hands, back to the stage and to Seraphym.
“Have you missed me?” the front man demanded, opening his arms beseechingly.
“Mi-Chael! Mi-Chael! Mi-Chael!” the crowd chorused.
“I can’t hear you?”
“Mi-Chael! Mi-Chael! Mi-Chael!”
“That’s more like it...”
“We Love You! We Love You!”
“I love you more.”
Cheering, screaming…
“This one’s for you,” he said.
The crowd erupted, drowning out the first bars of the song.
Polite applause accompanied Brand New Day to the stage. Summer sensed inquisitiveness. She zoomed in on Rose who was paused in the wings, waiting for the audience’s enthusiasm for Seraphym to wane before making her entrance. She stepped out, waving, the crowd responded—it was not yet her audience, but an audience nevertheless curious about this newcomer. She brought the microphone to her lips.
“Thank you,” she said, her tone low, controlled. “It’s so good to be here and thank you Lord Jesus for giving us Seraphym!”
“You clever thing!” Summer muttered, as the audience burst into applause.
Jem adjusted his Pensa low over his hips. He tugged at the tartan strap. Then he began to rock to an imaginary beat—it was not hard for Summer to imagine Jem pandering to the boy-crazed fans of the 1960s. Rose concluded her introduction then nodded at Halfie, barely visible behind his drum kit. Halfie deployed all of his five feet zero inches, reaching into the air then bringing the percussion mallet down on the high hat. Jem struck the opening guitar riff and the Pensa began to sing. Rose brought her hands together in a prayer-like gesture then closed her eyes. Her lips kissed the microphone, gravelly and wispy she crooned the ballad. Summer could see the stage presence that Jem had described on the flight over. In the chorus, Rose picked up her pace, striding like a prophet across the enormous stage, sleek in her black leather pants, lace-up boots and flowing crimson blouse. The sight of her sister performing aroused something primal in Summer.
You’re a natural Rose O’Flynn, Summer said to herself—because she did not want the camera to record her sentimental expression of sibling love.
Jem had accurately predicted enthusiasm, not adoration, for their first number and Rose, as agreed, segued without delay into their second and final song, leveraging and maintaining the mood. Halfie again struck the high hat and Jem picked the opening bars. The audience instantly responded to the melody and its climax, expertly controlled by the rhythmic groans of the Pensa. Rose raised her arms over her head and began to clap; the audience followed, obeying her. The guitar solo gave way to percussion, and Rose stepped into the microphone cupping her hands around the stand. Summer pulled her eye away from the lens to briefly observe the audience; she couldn’t be sure, but it seemed to her that Rose had captured the punters. With a surge of excitement, she bent back into the camera, slowly moving it into a closeup and framing Rose. Suddenly she felt something brush against her thigh. She pulled away from the camera to find Alan at her side. She searched his eyes to see if he had deliberately touched her. Alan held her stare; his expression was cold.
“Isn’t she brilliant?” said Summer, challenging Alan.
Alan looked over at the stage. He considered Rose with folded arms.
“It’s too bad she didn’t get the blond gene,” he said, winking at Summer.
+
Rose pumped the brakes. The SUV jerked into the curb near the drop-off area at Louisville International.
“Married?” said Rose.
“Yes!” Summer replied, defensively. “I’m getting married.”
Rose assessed her sister as a mother sums up an inappropriately dressed teenager.
“Well, I’m happy for you,” she said at last.
“I wish I believed you,” Summer said.
Rose rubbed her palms up and down the steering wheel as if polishing the leather.
“I’ll be honest with you, Summer. I’ve always hoped you’d grow out of this phase.”
“Phase? What happened to ‘You’re my sister and I love you and I’ll support you no matter what’?”
“I do love you, and there’s nothing I want more for you than your happiness.”
“That’s good, Rose, because I’m happy.”
“I don’t think you are,” said Rose, turning to Summer. “I think you tell yourself you’re happy because you’ve backed yourself into a corner fighting other people’s battles; it’s what you do, it’s what you’ve always done, and it’s led you into the gay world.”
Summer opened her mouth to speak but Rose pressed on.
“But you’ve gone too far this time, thinking you have to be like them. You’re not like them. You’re one of the lucky ones: slim, blond, beautiful; you blend in, you don’t have to be gay. Alan can’t get over it; why you could choose this lifestyle; this way of living that has brought you nothing but unhappiness.”
“Are you serious?” said Summer.
Rose’s voice pitched. “You tell me! None of your relationships have worked out, your girlfriends have had problems with their families or trouble committing... you have to admit it, you haven’t been happy in love.”
“Neither have you, Rose. You’ve been living a lie. Sending photos of a perfect life when all the while your husband was abusing you—”
“I never lied in my letters!”
“You never told the truth either.”
Rose was silent.
Summer spoke slowly, “I have to tell you, this hasn’t been a happy visit. My niece hates me and—”
“Sofia does not hate you. I’ve apologized for her behavior—”
“You mean her attitude toward gays?”
“Yes. And I blame her father for that. Sal used to say about you: ‘I’m fine with gays but it’s God and the Bible that are against homosexuality’. And I can see how that must have confused her. But I never said anything bad about you to Sofia.”
“Did you say anything good about me? What did you say to defend me when Salvatore was annihilating my character?”
Up ahead the traffic attendant blew on the whistle then waved at Rose. Summer unclipped her seatbelt and pushed open the door. She paused then laid a hand on her sister’s arm.
“Let’s not do this,” she said. “I’m about to get on a plane and I don’t know when I’ll see you again. I don’t want us to part this way. What I really want is for my sister to be at my wedding. You’re the only family I’ve got.”
“Ma’am!” called the attendant, approaching their SUV.
Summer climbed out of the car and lifted her bags onto on the sidewalk then stooped back in.
“What do you say?” she said.
“Here’s the truth,” said Rose. “I’m for marriage as a bond between a man and a woman. I love you and I want you to be happy. But I don’t think gays have the right to redefine that holy union.”
“Is that what you think or is that what Alan tells you?”
Rose gave Summer a tired look.
“I have a chance at a life with Alan,” she said, letting down her guard. “And so does Sofia. She’s in a good school and she’ll go to college too; I could never have paid for that.”
“How do you know? You have a unique talent, and an incredible coach in Jem and... for God’s sake, Rose! Brand New Day just won best new band. What makes you think you can’t do it?”
Rose looked down at her hands. “I have to put my family first. I can’t have it all.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m a mother with responsibilities,” said Rose. “I don’t expect you to understand, but the truth is I can’t just up and go touring around the world... that’s a life for a younger woman.”
Summer sensed a fragility in Rose. Inside, she felt panic. It was as though the glue that had bound them as sisters all these years was breaking down, corrupting like a data file whose structure has collapsed. Summer spoke carefully.
“Rose, look in the mirror. You’re not old, you’re just beginning to bloom.”
Rose gave her a look that Summer interpreted as gratitude. She seized the moment.
“Don’t buy into that story about motherhood,” Summer warned.
Rose looked perplexed.
“This freedom you think you have with Alan. It’s a lie, designed to make you deny your existence. Don’t let him force us apart,” she pleaded.
Up ahead the traffic attendant’s whistle blew. Rose jumped.
“I’m going to have to move on,” she said.
Summer saw a wall go up. Reluctantly, she followed her sister’s stare to the exit sign—which seemed to be beckoning. Slowly she reversed out of the car and stepped back onto the sidewalk, holding open the door.
“Come to my wedding,” she begged.
“I’ll have to discuss it with Alan,” said Rose, her expression now blank.
Summer remained on the sidewalk until Rose’s SUV disappeared from view. A bus pulled up and its occupants spilled out laughing excitedly; they seemed to be deliberately tormenting Summer, cruelly piercing the icy nothingness that now possessed her. They kept coming and Summer held up a hand as though in self-defense then, blindly, she tugged at the retractable handle on her suitcase and retreated into the terminal.