"Why would he be mad at you?" Beth gave Alex a hard look. "It was my decision, not yours." She thought about it for a moment. "And don't tell him. I'll let him know soon enough."

"Don't worry. I'm not saying a word." Alex promised. "This is between you and Josh."

"Thanks." Beth inhaled the sweet scent of rose petals. "I'll tell him about it when he comes home for Christmas, after he sees the furniture."

21.

May 20, 1977 Isaac threw his Torah and skullcap onto the bed. He'd had enough. He and his grandfather had done nothing but argue since Levi Ruben returned to the flower shop last month.

Grandfather could have his antiquated way of doing business. It was his problem if he didn't appreciate that Isaac had doubled the profits in the past two years. Isaac would bide his time until he could work out his personal plans. Then, he would be out of here for good.

He had applied to Columbia University, and when the acceptance letter came-and it would come because he had scored in the top ten percentile on his national exams-he would use his inheritance money to finance an education.

Isaac had been grateful to learn this spring about the trust fund his parents had left. Without it, he wouldn't have the chance to break free. Certainly not the opportunity to attend college. He might not have known his parents, but he would have a better life because of them.

Columbia was a prestigious school, attracting the best students from all walks of life. There, he would meet others like himself. People his age, who understood the value of science and modern medicine. People who didn't rely on old-fashioned religion to heal their bodies or numb their minds. Ironically, his grandfather's health had improved because of advances in science. But the old man still clung to his ritual belief system.

Grandfather saw the world as black and white. Like a skullcap lying on a chenille bedspread.

Isaac understood the nuances of gray, of compromise. That there was much more to life than a dirty flower shop on an out-of-touch corner on Long Island. He hated to think about leaving Mama Ruth. But she had chosen her life's sentence with Grandfather. Isaac Benjamin Ruben-or whoever he was-had done his time.

22.

Present Day Boss, I hate to bother you." Josh's bunk curtain shook, and he heard Danny's muffled whisper. "But we have a problem."

Josh glanced at his watch. A quarter past four in the morning. The bus motor droned. They must have stopped at a truck stop for refueling.

"Boss."

"Yeah, man." Josh's words came out little more than a grunt.

"I'm sorry to wake you, but I need your help with something."

Josh ran his fingers through his hair, unsnapped the bunk drape, and slid it open. "What is it?"

Danny's voice croaked. "My credit card won't work. It was denied. I thought you might know what to do. Sorry to bother you."

So much for sleep. Josh grabbed his street clothes. "I'll be right there. Give me a minute."

"Sure thing." Danny straightened up, turned, and walked toward the front of the bus, closing the galley door behind him.

A few minutes later, Josh stepped outside the bus. The bright lights of a truck stop on a frosty morning never failed to amaze him. It was a scene he had experienced many times, and it represented his way of life, even more than screaming crowds, hotel restaurants, and endless interstates. It was the world that turned while others slept.

Big, eighteen-wheel rigs in fueling bays. The smell of coffee and fried eggs. Pure Americana that most Americans had never experienced, or even knew existed. Air brakes squealed. Tired voices yelled hellos, good-byes, and last-minute instructions. There was a common respect among those on the road that went beyond CB radio conversations about speed traps and weigh stations. No matter what time or what mood he was in, Josh always took a moment to enjoy this scene. To soak it in.

Danny met him outside the bus. "I'm sorry to put you through this. I didn't know what else to do."

"It's not your fault. Did they tell you why the card was rejected?"

"Over the limit."

Josh pondered that thought. "I'm not sure how that could happen. Bradford pays the bills every month. Let's go check it out."

Danny followed him into the truck stop. They took a place in line behind a burly truck driver.

"Let me look at the card while we're waiting,"

His driver handed him a thin piece of plastic. Josh turned it over in his hands, hoping to find an answer to their problem. Nothing seemed out of order.

The man in front of them walked away, and Josh stepped to the counter.

"May I help you?" A sleepy looking clerk asked.

"Yes. We are fueling on . . ."

"Bay five," Danny said.

"Yes. We're fueling on bay five, and it seems my credit card doesn't work. Would you mind trying it again?"

"Sure." She grabbed the card and swiped it through the machine. The clerk drilled her fingers on the counter and looked around the room while the machine gurgled, popped, and finally regurgitated an answer.

"Sorry, sir." She gave Josh a passing look. "It doesn't work."

"Okay, let me use my personal card." Josh pulled his wallet from the pocket of his jeans. "Do you take Visa?"

"Yes, sir." The clerk exchanged the cards and initiated the authorization process another time. The machine churtled through the same irritating motions, and then spit out its response.

"Sir, this card doesn't work either. It's telling me it's also over the limit."

Josh ran his hand through his hair. How could that be? He had just paid the balance on the account. Beth and he charged very little on their personal credit cards. In fact, they always paid everything off in full each month in order to avoid finance charges.

"Are your computers working okay?" Josh asked.

"Yes, sir. Working fine this morning," the clerk said. "What would you like to do now?" She sighed, pointing to the line of people standing behind him.

"I'll pay with cash," he told her. "Will two hundred dollars get us through the next leg of the trip?" He asked Danny.

His driver nodded.

Josh pulled out the last two bills in his wallet. "Please, set us up for two hundred on bay five. Sorry for your trouble."

The cashier took the bills, held them up to the light, and flipped the switch that activated the fuel pump. "Thank you, sir. Here's your receipt. Have a nice day."

Danny mumbled something to her before following Josh into the predawn morning.

"Thanks, boss. They must have a problem with their machines."

"Appears so," Josh said. "But I'll call my accountant's office when they open this morning to make sure the problem is not on our end."

I'd better call Beth too.

"Bethany, do you have any idea why our business credit card would be maxed out?"

"I don't, but I can check with Bob Bradford."

"No need. I have a call into him already."

"How about our personal Visa?" Josh asked.

"Ummmm. No, I can't think of anything." The furniture company was supposed to wait until delivery day to run the charge. Surely they hadn't- "Is everything okay there?" he asked.

"Just fine."

"All right, talk to you later." Josh hung up.

The sinking feeling in the pit of Beth's stomach told her she had made a big mistake.

Josh stepped out of the dressing room and turned left. His steps were much lighter now that he had spoken with Bob Bradford a second time. Bradford had duly chastised the credit card company, and they had offered their apologies. The tour account had never been over the limit, and there should be no more problems for the rest of the tour.

He followed the signs on the wall that pointed toward the catering area. Like most of the venues he had worked during the past seven or eight months, a network of corridors ran underneath the building like a giant, underground spiderweb. Yards of whitewashed concrete block walls, broken only by ominous, dark green metal doors, stretched in all directions.

Mint green and beige-speckled tile floors, and artificially chilled air, gave the place a clinical feel. These same halls would be stifling after the show, when sweaty musicians and crew members rushed through them with instrument cases and production cargo in tow.

Snippets of conversation from earlier in the day ran through Josh's head, and anxiety increased the pace of his steps. Beth had been short with him when he called to let her know that everything was okay with the business account. Ryan had almost bitten his head off when he tried to talk about the lacking merchandise sales. Perhaps the camaraderie of the crew meal would bring some needed relaxation.

Josh heard music in the distance. A few feet ahead, it surrounded him. He had stepped into a musical garden retreat in the midst of a manmade jungle. Sweet strains of "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God" wafted through the corridor, causing him to redirect his steps and leading him to a door at the end of an extraneous hallway.

Josh peeked through the small, vertical window in the door. He could see the familiar shape of a grand piano, inside what was likely a rehearsal room. It was impossible from his vantage point to see who cajoled such unearthly music from the earthly elements of wood, wire, and ivory.

It was, most likely, the keyboardist for one of the main acts on the tour. Josh hadn't met everyone yet. This was only the second day of the Christmas tour. The pianist's touch was light, but the style, although unfamiliar, was reminiscent of old-style Gospel piano.

Perhaps this was a local musician, or even a tuner, who had wandered into the hall to practice. No matter, Josh wanted to express his awe and appreciation for such talent, which had obviously been honed through hours of dedicated practice.

He urged the door open, the locking mechanism releasing with a slight click, and entered the rehearsal room. The pianist, whose face was still hidden behind the lid of the behemoth instrument, never stopped playing. Josh hesitated, wanting to listen to the music for a while longer before introducing himself. But to stay for more than a few moments without making his presence known would be eavesdropping.

"Hello," Josh called out.

The music stopped, and Josh stepped around the side of the piano, his right hand extended to greet the stranger.

"Hey, boss."

"Danny?"

The big man blushed.

"I didn't know you played piano."

Danny ran his hands gently over the tops of the ivory keys, caressing them like a familiar lover.

"I knock around on it a bit."

"Man, you weren't just knocking around. That was some incredible playing."

"Thanks," Danny said. He appeared to be at a loss for words and started to get up.

"Sit." Josh motioned for his driver to return to his seat on the cushioned bench. "Please."

Danny acquiesced.

"I would love to hear more."

"Really?"

"Yes." Josh looked around for a folding chair. Finding one, he pulled it closer. "Please, continue."

Danny stared at him for a few seconds, shook his head, and then turned again to the instrument. He picked up where he had left off.

The music carried Josh away to a time and a place he hadn't been for a while, transporting him to an old, country church in Alabama, listening to his mother play. This song reminded him of the invitation she often played at the end of his daddy's service.

A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing; our helper he amid the flood of mortal ills prevailing.

At the end of the song, Danny turned to him, met his eyes briefly, and then directed his gaze to the floor.

"Why have you been hiding your talent from me?" Josh asked. "I had no idea."

"I didn't think it mattered. You know, I'm not as good as Shane." Josh's keyboard player Shane was one of the best in the business.

"Not as good? Man, you're great."

"Thanks."

Josh stared at the man he had never seen before. "Play something else."