Grave Refrain: A Love/Ghost Story by Sarah M. Glover Page A

extra bonus of convincing her he wasn’t deranged. Back on stage, Simon, Christian, and some weary looking staff from the Skellar were busy packing up the rest of the equipment. Simon, his face drawn as tight as a wire, shook his head in silent disgust and took great pains to avoid even glancing in Andrew’s direction, but Andrew could feel the heap of curses being psychically hurled in his direction. Christian, on the other hand, ignored everyone completely and stared at his phone as though it had just bit him. Apparently Zoey had texted him immediately after the show and called off drinks. Andrew couldn’t blame her; he had tried to attack a patron. Who’d want to party with that?
    Given the emotional rollercoaster of the night, Andrew couldn’t envision how things could get much worse, but they did. As the exhausted trio were finally ready to leave, having issued their last apologies to the still fuming club manager, Neil St. John stepped up to the empty stage causing Andrew to nearly drop his guitar case on his foot.
    “Shit,” muttered Simon, reaching into his Mao jacket for a cigarette despite the fact that smoking was verboten in the club.
    Andrew wished he would offer him one, but Simon didn’t seem in any mood to share. Neil’s face was, as always, unreadable, but the tone of his voice was both biting and truthful. “Great show.”
    “About what happened—” Andrew began.
    “I don’t want to know. All I want to hear is that you plan to play those shows in Sacramento next week, minus the theatrics.”
    “Sacramento?” Andrew had entirely forgotten about the dates Neil had arranged for them. No, no they couldn’t possibly go now—it was out of the question.
    Neil crossed his arms over his leather jacket, and every inch of him, from the distress of his jeans to the appropriate black T-shirt, seemed controlled. Only a slight twitch at the side of his mouth gave any indication of his mounting frustration.
    “But—we can’t, you don’t understand, I just saw…” But Andrew couldn’t finish the sentence. How could he? Between the glares being leveled at him from all sides and his own guilt, there was no way he could explain without coming across as even more unbalanced than he already appeared. Neil waited for him to finish.
    “Fair enough,” Andrew surrendered as he bit his lip and shook his head. “And no, no theatrics.”
    Whether Neil was surprised by Andrew’s response, he didn’t say. What he did do surprised all present. He placed his hand on Andrew’s shoulder. “Tonight was the best you’ve done. I keep thinking it can’t get any better. I’m still trying to figure out how you put such age into it. It shouldn’t work, but it does. It’s poetic, as much as I loathe that word. It’s poetic without trying—there’s no trying, in fact. It’s effortless.”
    The words descended over them, better than any applause. Simon cleared his throat. “Thank you.”
    Neil stepped back and nodded, heading for the door with a final wave goodnight.
    “If I set me drums on fire maybe he’ll take us on, you think?” Simon mused when they later loaded their equipment into the truck.
    “Maybe,” Andrew replied, but only gave it half his mind as he stared down the vacant street.

    On Tuesday morning as The Lost Boys were driving to Sacramento, Emily parked her aged Citroën under the boughs of a magnolia tree on a secluded corner of Asbury Heights. The contents of her life were crammed behind her, tied to her roof, or shoved in Margot’s car, which was parked across the street.
    The days leading up to moving were filled with the grunt labor of packing and managed to keep her spirits from sinking any lower. There was a saving grace in moving forward fast enough to leave your emotions behind, but when she stepped out and breathed in the perfume of the flowers, she felt her heart yearn again, and she hated it. She turned her face from the sun and took a deep breath. Life would go on, yes. She