Open Arms

Chapter Twenty Two

"What the fuck are we gonna do?"

No one seemed to have a straight answer. Cliff's attention took only to the window, observing the inhabitants of a neighboring tree. There were only two birds, both of them a muddy shade of brown. Malcolm sat at the small dining table to the side of the occupied living room, not saying a word. He kept busy by drinking from a cup of water, every few minutes turning to the sink to fill it up. Angus was on the couch with a foot crossed over his knee, biting his fingernails. Phil, who had proposed the question, paced the room looking from man to man and getting discouraged when none would return his gaze. A tray carrying small tea sandwiches was placed on the coffee table by a very small woman in a red sundress. 

"Thought you might like some lunch," she said straightening up. She wiped her hands on her dress. "Please, help yourselves."

"Thanks, Isa," Phil said addressing her. She smiled at him and walked back to the kitchen, bringing her little finger to her eye when no one could see her. Phil looked down at the carpet then up at Angus whose fingernails were surely too short to be eaten so. "You'd be better off with a sandwich, Ang," he noted, nodding at the tray. "You're gettin' smaller every day."

"Well fuck me for not havin' an appetite," he mumbled grabbing a sandwich. After inspecting the lettuce sticking out the side, he merely held it in his hand which rested on his leg. Keeping Phil out of his sight, he looked toward the dimly lit hallway where a small woman was crouched, reading a book. Isa had given it to her to keep her busy, after soon understanding that talking was not her most desired activity. Hannah took to the book like a pauper to a meal, and was already quite a few pages in. Angus couldn't see the cover but judged from the size that it was one of those old books people read to pass the time. Hannah was right at home.

Malcolm pushed his chair in rather loudly drawing everyone's attention more than Phil's question, set his empty glass down in the sink and made for the kitchen. What he wanted from there was anyone's guess, perhaps a little peace and quiet. Despite the presence of four rowdy men, it was lacking in chatter. 

It was still too quiet.

"I'm not doin' anything without Malcolm's consideration," Phil stated watching the man depart. "If he wants to quit an' leave he can, if he wants to have this meeting...I'd love to know his thoughts."

"You'll have to pry them out of him," Cliff spoke up, eyes still trained to the window. "Nothing I say to him sticks, he just looks at me." No one answered to this. "I don't blame him."

"We could at least discuss what our next move is," Phil said coldly. "We can't stay in this house forever, an' it's not easy switchin' careers in the middle of things. Wh-what are we supposed to do, jus', jus' up an' find other jobs, do we split up an' find other bands, do we get another singer, what?"

His eyes immediately landed on Angus, Malcolm's right hand man. If Malcolm was keeping silent, perhaps his brother could part the waters for them. But Angus had kept his eyes on Hannah, refusing to look anyone in the eye. Should Angus say the wrong thing and send them all into a factory for minimum wage, they might never forgive him. Should they continue on the road to music they might run the risk of slaughtering their success from starting over in new bands. Anything Angus decided to do would change their lives forever, and he could easily make the wrong choice. He wasn't a god after all, just a human.

He thought maybe if he stared at Hannah long enough she'd notice and return his look. She certainly thought more of him than just a human, but she knew as well as anyone he wasn't perfect. The difference was that she would support him. Not everybody would be happy with the end result, if it meant splitting up or quitting music altogether. Someone would always be unhappy. Someone would always try to put the blame on someone else.