Meant To Be Hers. Joan Kilby

van and went to the backseat to bring Tyler out. The little boy’s head flopped on her shoulder, his eyes shut and his small fingers curled into a fist. She walked carefully up the steps with him in her arms. “This is going to ruin his night’s sleep but we’ll have a quiet dinner hour.”

      Dingo transferred his guitar case to his other hand and clapped Finn on the shoulder. “Beer?”

      “Sure.” He followed his friend into the kitchen. “Uh, sorry about earlier at the café.”

      “No, that was my bad,” Dingo said. “I was so stoked to see you that I completely forgot about Irene for a moment.” He grabbed a couple of bottles of craft brew from the fridge and handed one to Finn. “Are you okay? Marla and I were worried.”

      “I’m fine.” Finn said. “It’s good to see you again. Been too long as usual.” In leaving town he’d also lost the tight friendship he’d shared with Dingo. They kept in touch and Dingo had visited him in LA a couple of times but it wasn’t the same. Dingo didn’t even know about Finn’s “problem.”

      “Marla would have come after you but we could see you were with someone,” Dingo said.

      Finn twisted off the cap on his beer. “Irene’s niece, Carly.”

      “Ah, I thought she looked familiar.” He winked at Finn. “Hot.”

      Finn shook his head. “Don’t even go there.”

      Dingo got out a large pot and filled it with water. Then he pulled a package of pasta from the cupboard and a container from the fridge. “Chicken cacciatore leftovers. Hope that’s okay.”

      “Better than okay. Marla’s a great cook.” Finn tossed his beer cap in the bin. “Anything I can do?”

      Dingo squinted at him over the neck of the bottle. “You could fill in with the band next Saturday night at the bar.”

      Finn laughed uneasily. “I meant, like set the table.”

      “I’m serious,” Dingo said. “We’re short a lead singer. Rudy had to pull out because he took a job on night shift. We’ve got gigs lined up.”

      Finn walked over to the sliding doors that opened onto wooden decking and the backyard with a toddler pool and sandpit. “I’ll probably have left town by then.”

      Dingo dumped the penne into the pot of boiling water. He went quiet a moment, stirring with a wooden spoon. “I was actually hoping you would join the band for a while. We landed a gig as a warm-up act at the RockAround in Seattle.”

      Finn turned around, eyebrows raised. “Congratulations, that’s awesome. You’re hitting the big time.”

      Dingo didn’t smile. “It’s taken us a lot of years to get this far. We’re lucky to have the opportunity but we’ll blow it without a good lead.”

      “Can’t Rudy hang in there?” Finn said. “This could be the start of better times.”

      “They’ve got a baby on the way and his wife has preeclampsia,” Dingo explained. “She’s confined to bed and can’t work. No one is more bummed than he is.”

      Finn felt like the biggest jerk on the planet but there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t get anywhere near a stage without feeling anxious. A gig at the RockAround would probably bring on a full-blown panic attack. That wouldn’t do Dingo and his band any good at all.

      “Sixties rock isn’t my shtick anyway,” he said. “It wouldn’t work out.”

      “You love sixties music and you know it.” Dingo pointed the spoon at him. “Not only do you rock the keyboard, you’ve got a voice, man. A once-in-a-generation voice.”

      Finn went to the cupboard and took down bowls. Dingo had worked hard for years with his band, playing high school reunions, weddings, any venue they could get. They were good. They deserved the opportunity to be heard on a bigger stage.

      “Don’t say no before you’ve had a chance to think about it,” Dingo said. “Do me that much of a favor, please.”

      No amount of thinking would make a difference. Even with the best will in the world he wasn’t capable of getting on a stage and singing in front of hundreds of people. The last time he’d tried to perform he’d frozen in front of a packed house at a bar in West Hollywood.

      “The truth is,” Finn said, “I have performance anxiety.”

      Dingo laughed knowingly. “Give me a break.”

      Finn rolled his eyes. “Not that kind.”

      “You mean singing, playing? Are you kidding me?” Dingo frowned, his head tilted. “Mate, I had no idea. We’ve jammed together.”

      “Yeah, but I don’t play in public,” Finn said. “Not even in a café.”

      People didn’t get it. They heard him play among friends and didn’t understand that it wasn’t the same as performing in public. Even if he could rehearse with Dingo’s band he would still choke up on the big stage. He couldn’t risk messing up Dingo’s big chance.

      “Wow.” Dingo scratched his beard scruff. “Have you, I don’t know, seen anyone about this?”

      “Years ago.” Finn shrugged. “Didn’t do any good.”