After a late lunch following the trips to the museum and the monument, the Outliers gathered in the studio for a last rehearsal. The visitors each suspected what the others had learned at the monument, but none of them violated the conditions they had accepted. Before they started to play, Sam opened a box he had carried to the barn from Turing House. He began tossing folded black cloth to each of the Outliers. The kids all shook the cloth out to find T-shirts. On the upper half of the front of the black shirts was a silk-screened image of a curve in bright yellow representing the normal distribution, the bell curve, filled with ones and zeros in pale gray. Toward the outside edges of the bell, two dashed vertical lines represented two standard deviations from the curve's mean, separating the 95 percent from the 2.5 percent at each extreme — the extreme areas in rainbow colors. Above the curve on the far left and the far right were musical notes screened in bright rainbow hues. Below the curve was the band's name, The Outliers. The backs of the T-shirts were screened with what looked like a tour schedule for the year. Only one date was listed, the date of the concert on Sunday at the Backyard Blues Bash in Goldendale, Washington.
No one spoke until Ray said with a smile, "This is all right! I'll wear it."
Sam told them that Jerry had a banner to put on the stage behind them with the same image and a skin with the logo for the drum kit. The kids had been forming an identity as a band, and the logo helped complete the identity. They knew they would probably never perform together again, but they were determined to have fun and to give a decent performance. Only Marshall thought that the four principal musicians in the group might have a chance to play together again.
Ahmed Mathew asked, "How do we get the banner up and the instruments set up, and what about the sound system?"
"Some friends from Portland will set us up. They're bringing a larger drum kit for JT, and they'll set the monitors and get us plugged into the sound system. One of the guys will run the sound board for us."
Vince remarked, "You mean we'll have roadies? How many people are coming to hear us?"
JT replied, "Well, we know at least nine from our families — plus Jeff." The others didn't find that answer satisfactory. He continued, "We're opening tomorrow afternoon, so I think maybe a couple of hundred.
They played through the songs they would do tomorrow with increasing assurance. They were looser now and less worried about screwing up. The instrumental and vocal parts were now balanced, and the three background vocalists were more relaxed about what to do with their bodies during the songs. Three hours later they wrapped up and cased the instruments for transportation to the venue tomorrow.
Back at Turing House, Sam saw OD in deep conversation with a young man and woman he had seen at Caltech, graduate students in particle physics, he thought. While the kids went to their rooms to clean up for dinner and Marshall and JT left for their houses to do the same, Sam wandered over to OD and his visitors. Jerry, Vi, and Vee were working in the kitchen.
"We wanted to check with you before we released anything." Pointing to a thick pile of paper, the woman asked, "Do you think this is the signal?"
Lucas slowly nodded his head. "The program suggests that you have identified a consistent signal. I think you've detected something very Higgs-like." The two grad students beamed.
Before the students left, the young man said excitedly, "Thanks, Dr. Jansen. Look for the paper in a few months." For years afterward, Sam would remember hearing confirmation from his father of one of the great discoveries of modern particle physics.
The whole crowd, kids and adults, had a last communal dinner, mainly prepared by Vi with help from Vee. In past years this dinner had been loud and joyful; this year the mood was subdued, and the talk was muted. Everyone around the table knew that this dinner was the beginning of the end of the summer visit, which had differed from any of those in the past.
The whole tenor of this summer's visit was underlain by the violence that had touched the families at the beginning of their stay in Goldendale. The adults were still looking over their shoulders more than occasionally, and, although Lucas liked him, he wondered why Jeff had hung around so long.
North, Jason, and Jonathan had commented to each other on how rushed the activities had seemed and wondered if their visitors had been shortchanged. The visiting kids were just now getting comfortable and weren't ready to end their stays. Then, unlike with other summer visits, a slight pall remained from Armin's death. Marshall seemed recovered from the loss, but his parents were unconvinced, and Jason was concerned that JT, Sam and Marshall hadn't cleared the air very much together about the death.
#
"No, no, no," Marshall carped. "None of them is right for him."
"You're just opposed to the whole idea," JT quietly rejoined.
"And you just want this harebrained scheme to succeed so badly that you'll ignore the obvious."
"What's obviously wrong with this one?"
"Look at the background of his picture. It had to be taken ten years ago, and 'John Smith' — really?"
"Shit, you're right. You really don't think any of them are worth meeting?"
"Most of them are looking for a hookup."
The three male cousins were in Sam's room at Turing House after everyone else was in bed. The only illumination came from the iMac computer monitor. The tall windows were slanted open into the barely cooling Saturday night.
JT and Marshall noticed that Sam wasn't participating in the conversation. Marshall inclined his head in question toward Sam, and JT shrugged, silently mouthing Markie's name. Marshall frowned, thinking that the melodrama was getting old. Finally, he told Sam, "Piss or get off the pot."
"What?" Sam asked.
"Make a move, dummy."
Sam was confused and looked it. Marshall continued, "If you want to be more than friends with Markie, you're going to have to risk telling her."
"I already have. She said she wasn't interested in having a boyfriend."
JT said, "You need to press the issue."
"Sure. I want to take a chance on really pissing her off."
Marshall weighed in. "Girls change their minds sometimes. I can tell she really likes you by the way she looks at you."
Sam seemed to want to say more, to articulate a neat solution to his problem of human love and sex and of human friendship and sex, but he couldn't find the answer. Marshall felt as if he were falling into the void of Sam's struggle. He thought Sam's problem not a great one, but he sensed Sam's ache and its kinship with his own uncertainty about how he would manage love and sex. He reached out and placed his hand on Sam's shoulder in acknowledgment that no simple solution was available to either of them.
JT kept up the pressure. "You'll be sorry if you don't make your feelings clear to her."
Sam was irritated at JT now, and he was rarely upset with JT. "How do you know what I should do? You're not in a relationship."
"How do you know?"
That remark along with JT's accompanying smile silenced both Sam and Marshall. "Back to JG."
After looking through the replies to their ad, which ranged from raunch to philosophy, Marshall finally said, "I still don't like any of them, but if I had to choose, I'd take David Masters. He's seems the right age, and he's a retired university professor."
"I don't know. He seems boring," said Marshall.
"JG's boring. Look, this guy has traveled, and he has the same taste in films and reading as JG." JT was trying to support Marshall's choice.
Sam finally agreed. "Okay. Let's write back and set up a meeting."
"Where should we set up the meeting?" The boys hadn't given a location much thought.
Marshall replied, "Portland would be a pain. How would we get JG there? If we do it out here, I suppose we'll have to set it up at Ayutla."
The cousins set about crafting an invitation to Dr. Masters, trying, on behalf of their grandfather, to be warm without being effusive. The message suggested a meeting for lunch at Ayutla on Wednesday of the next week. JT said, "That way it won't seem like a date — more of a check-each-other-out meeting."
Before they hit the send button, Marshall almost whined, "This is the worst idea I've ever let you talk me into. I've got to get some sleep or I won't be able to play for shit tomorrow."
#
Vince was surprised that the grass-covered field stretching toward the wooden stage structure was spacious. He had imagined a much smaller area. The field was bounded by the parking area and bathrooms, shower buildings, and a small concession shack. All very rustic, he thought. Through the windshield he could see roadies working on the stage and assumed they belonged to one of the professional bands. He was about to ask Sam when their equipment would be set up, when he saw a huge banner with The Outlier logo unfurled at the back of the stage.
The Outliers piled out of Jeff's van after he parked in the lot. Jeff was wearing a light jacket even in the heat of the midday. Marshall had seen a glimpse of the agent's vest and sidearm when they were boarding the van but didn't say anything to the others. The rest of the family would arrive closer to the performance time. People who were camping and attending the festival were up and about. Smells from cooking lunches floated across the field.
Ray sensed that Jeff's mind was concentrated as he scanned the perimeter of the field and finally said, "Shouldn't you guys be doing a sound check onstage or something?"
Sam and Marshall led the band toward the stage. A group of kids throwing a Frisbee in the center of the field glanced at the band and, seeing their T-shirts and the banner onstage, smiled and waved at them. Marshall walked over to chat with the kids as Sam moved in a loose collective with the rest of the band toward the stage. After playing in the Frisbee game for a few minutes and talking with the kids, Marshall wandered toward the stage in a peregrination.
When Sam and The Outliers minus Marshall reached the stage, one of the two roadies walked over and hugged Sam. The fellow was a very large man, thick but not fat and tall with long hair tied back; he was wearing black jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt that revealed colorful tattoos on both arms. Sam called Jamie over and introduced her to Marcus, telling her that Marcus was a hell of a bass player and session musician. Jamie began peppering Marcus with questions about his take on performing, and Sam walked back to the others including the newly arrived Marshall. Ray asked, "Who's paying these guys?"
Sam told him that he, Marshall, and JT were, but not much and that mostly they helped out because Jim had treated Marcus's son when he developed bone cancer. "Marcus will also run the sound board for us." He took everyone except Jamie, who was still talking with Marcus, to the side of the stage where Marcus had set up the sound board, which had a bunch of sliders and knobs and even more LEDs. "Digby," Sam said, indicating the other roadie, "will be out in front relaying suggestions for adjustments to Marcus by radio."
They were forty minutes out from the show, and the kids with whom Marshall had played Frisbee walked over to stand in front of the stage. Families were beginning to leave their campers or tents and wander onto the field. The Outliers gathered behind the stage, and the cousins tried to keep everyone loose.
Marcus had brought bottled water for them, and JT reminded them to hit the head if they needed to. "No peeing onstage, please." Vince and Mathew left for the bathrooms, and when they had returned, Marshall told them to go with the flow and reminded them not to be afraid of mistakes. Finally, twenty minutes before the start, Sam said, "Let's go out front and talk with people for a few minutes before we begin. When you talk to them, tell them, 'I'm in the band,' and just BS with them." Digby was finishing tuning Sam's and Marshall's Rics to open F.
When the band came around the stage structure, Sam was surprised to see a couple of hundred people on the field, some sitting on blankets but most milling around and talking. Sam spotted his fathers about midway back in the crowd on the left side of the field. Jeff was beside them and had taken off his jacket to reveal the Glock and his vest that had Homeland Security in big yellow letters imprinted on its back. His badge hung from his neck on a chain. A quick scan of the crowd revealed four sheriff's deputies wandering through the crowd. Sam found himself disquieted that Jeff was being so open about why he was here. The rest of the family – the Js, Annie and North, Jim, Vee, and Vi — were in the middle of the crowd, and Sam pushed any concerns to the back of his mind.
Five minutes before the gig was to start, the festival organizer walked to a microphone and began the introduction. "Welcome to the last day of the Back Yard Blues Bash. We're trying something a little different this afternoon. We're happy to have a group of young players with us who are going to play a couple of songs for you and especially for the younger folks in the crowd before we finish up with our traditional lineup." He reviewed the main acts for the rest of the day and finished. "Please give a kind welcome to Portland's The Outliers."
A few of the younger members of the audience gathered close to the front of the stage whooped and applauded enthusiastically while the remainder of the audience clapped politely. The Outliers took their places on the stage with the three guitar players across the front, the backup singers stage left. Sam, Marshall, and Jamie had picked up their instruments, and JT was seated behind the drum kit. The Outliers looked one last time out at the audience. Marshall looked to JT and nodded. JT clacked his sticks together four times in that most traditional rock and roll lead-in, just as they had rehearsed. Sam's Ric began a slow introductory phrase, and the kids in front of the stage crowded in as the adults on the field turned to look. The sound was that good. The speakers for the crowd were on either side and in front of the stage. Marcus and Digby had set up three JBL VXR915M stage monitor speakers, one each in front of the three guitarists, so that the musicians on stage could hear almost what the audience heard. After a minute and a half lead guitar solo, Jamie joined on bass for a minute, until finally at a pause they all stomped on the compressor pedals and the twelve-string Ric joined with an F chord that rang as if from a shimmering organ. They kept the tempo slow. The bluesy variation they were doing depended on phrasing and running the last word of every phrase to a minor chord.
I come home in the morning light
My mother says "When you gonna live your life right?"
Oh, mother dear, we're not the fortunate ones
And boys, they want to have fun
Oh, boys just want to have fun
As the song rolled, they gradually increased the tempo, and the kids at the front of the stage began to dance and sing along. Most of the adults in the crowd were listening in silence, open-mouthed. Marshall and Sam were playing mainly to the kids in the audience, finding individuals with whom to lock eyes.
The phone rings in the middle of the night
My father yells, "What you gonna do with your life?"
Oh, father dear, you know you're still number one,
But boys, they want to have fun,
Oh, boys just want to have some fun …
That's all they really want …
Some fun …
When the working day is done
Oh, boys they want to have fun
Oh, boys just want to have fun
When he sang the line about father being number one, Sam found OD's eyes and then noticed that Jeff had moved closer to the stage, leaving a deputy by his fathers. After the chorus, Marshall and Sam stopped playing and Jamie and JT did a nice riff. Sam saw that, as the two looked at each other while playing, something, maybe just deep friendship or maybe more, was apparent. A number of adults who had been hanging back wondering what they were hearing moved toward the stage to listen to the bass and the drums. Marshall noticed a number of the bassists he recognized from other bands nodding approvingly.
They moved the tempo up, and by the end of the song, any bluesy vibe had disappeared and they were rocking. The kids in the crowd, especially at the front of the stage screamed and hooted as they danced. Even some of the adults were applauding The Outliers. Marshall spoke over the waning applause. "One more for you. This one is by one of my heroes, Brett Anderson, and it's for another of my heroes, my Uncle Lucas." This one was an unapologetic rocker, and Sam was playing and singing for OD.
come unto me my winter son
we could lie on the rails
and when the morning comes
we'll be miles away, miles away
slipping away while the city sleeps
running away from this cruel disease
miles away, miles away
modern boys, modern boys
hand in hand
sick of the fear
chasing away all the hungry years
we're the modern boys
come unto me my sickly thing
we could lie on the rails
but to really win
we'll just drive away, drive away
yes the world calls my international
so let the decades die
let the parties fall
and we'll be miles away, miles away
As the group finished the stanza, Sam caught OD's eye and saw something on his father's face he had rarely before seen: the look the man had when a longstanding puzzle yielded itself to the ministrations of his mind. Sam wondered if OD finally understood his son's fear.
'cos we'll be living like
modern boys, modern boys
hand in hand
sick of the fear
chasing away all the hungry years
we're the modern boys, modern boys
into the night, under the stars
jumping the lights in the silent cars
he's on your left
i'm on your right
it's so easy in the concrete night
As the screaming from the kids in the audience began toward the end of the song, Sam happily closed his eyes. Suddenly, he felt as if someone had punched him on his right shoulder. For the few moments that his brain was capable of thinking, he wondered if someone in the crowd had thrown something. Then, as he fell, his vision darkened as the music stopped and all sound became muffled, turning to nothing.