Quin's audioblog

[Editor's note: This scene occurs somewhere near the middle of the book. Quin Kelly and Phillip Davis have both suffered semi-serious injuries when a light tree fell on them backstage during intermission at a Praise Caravan concert. Here they're on the bus the next day. Quin, who may have ended up with a skull fracture, has finally agreed with everyone else that he should not perform that night.]

Quin tried not to cry once his decision was made, but his emotions were too close to the surface to prevent it entirely. It took his brothers half an hour to convince him that the show should not go on at the expense of his health. Then they told him how much love the fans were sending via e-mail — I'd granted Quentin temporary reading privileges to Quin's in-box — and he started up again. The snuffling made his headache so much worse that his eyes continued to water even after his sobbing had stopped. Exhausted again, he fell asleep with the other two standing sentry at either end of the couch.

Quin woke puffy-eyed but calmer a couple hours later. He accepted water and ginger ale, but his stomach was still too iffy to consider food. He asked me whether I had yet blogged the announcement that he wouldn't be singing that night.

"I did, yes," I told him. "People were wondering. They've been spamming the boards with questions and debate. I wanted to put a stop to the speculation before it got out of hand."

He sighed. "I feel like I'm letting everyone down, Kielle. I hate it. Phillip's going on tonight, isn't he? I should, too."

"No one thinks you're letting them down. And Phillip's injury is very different from yours. Everybody, the fans included, wants you to rest and feel better. They care what happens to you."

"That's so nice. Our fans are so nice." His eyes threatened to fill again.

"Look," I said, voicing an idea I'd had while he slept, "do you want to do a blog post of your own to tell them how much you appreciate their concern?"

He brightened but sobered again just as quickly. "I'd like to, but I'm just not up to squinting at a screen right now," he said sadly.

"I was thinking of an audioblog. You just talk into the phone for a minute and the sound file posts straight to the web site. No squinting necessary."

He smiled his first real smile since the accident. "You're a genius, Kielle."

"This is true. I have proof," I replied, glad to see his spirits rise a little. "Let me know when you've decided what to say and I'll hook you up."

Ten minutes later, I dialed the login code on my cell phone and handed it over. Quin took it and began to speak, his voice rough with fatigue and pain.

"Hi, everybody. This is Quin Kelly, and this is the only way I'm going to get to talk to you all today. You've probably heard by now that I won't be performing with my brothers at tonight's concert. I'm sorry about that, I truly am, but I just can't. I feel . . . well, I feel about as awful as I ever have, and that's a fact.

"I've got a headache you wouldn't believe. Despite what you may have heard about the hardness of my skull, that post thingy gave me a king-sized concussion. I've also got about a dozen stitches that my hair will cover (unless it decides to start receding like Quentin's). My stomach's upset and I feel wimbly, so the last thing I need, unfortunately, is lights, excitement and noise.

"Ach, the noise! Just thinking about it makes my head hurt worse. I don't just mean the crowd and the band, either. I don't know if you know this" — he lowered his voice conspiratorially — "but my brothers are loud! Especially Quill when he goes for those high notes. Loud! I just can't handle that today.

"So anyway, I just wanted to take a minute to thank you all for the love and prayers you're sending my way. They mean a lot. An awful lot." He quavered for a second but steadied himself.

"Oh, and if you see my brothers tonight, give them an extra hug, will you? They've been wearing themselves out fussing over me, so they deserve it. Kielle too.

"I plan to be back at work tomorrow, Lord willing — and if these folks will let me. I hope to see you soon. Thanks again. Bye now."

Quin pressed the save and post keys I'd shown him and handed the phone back.

"Do you think that was all right? Maybe I should redo it," he said doubtfully.

"It's just fine, sweetie," I assured him. The short speech was Quin in a nutshell, through and through. Even on one of the worst days of his life, he retained his sense of humor and his appreciation and concern for others. I predicted that his simple, heartfelt entry would become one of the most downloaded files on the web site. I was right.