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were done, he drove them to Stan's address, which turned out to be a pretty nice house on the outskirts of Golden, in a subdivision that allowed some room between the homes. The garage was large and attached, and the door was standing open as Sam pulled the Vette into the driveway.
    The loud exhaust caught the attention of the band, and they call came out to see the car. Sam and Indie shook hands all around, and Chris said, “Cool, you brought the wife!”
    Sam started to speak, but Indie beat him to it. “Not yet, I'm not,” she said with a grin, and Sam stared at her. “I'm just the housekeeper, but he throws in fringe benefits now and then, like getting to come hear you guys play. I hope it's okay?”
    “It's fine, Honey,” Candy said. “We're musicians, we love an audience! Come on, we've got some folding chairs in the garage!”
    They all went inside, and Sam and Indie got chairs and parked themselves just inside the door. “Best spot,” he said to Indie, “the empty garage acts like a band shell and reflects all the music right to us.”
    “I take it you've done this before?” she asked.
    He grinned. “I was in a garage band before they called them garage bands. Back then, we just called 'em rock groups.”
    They sat back and Janice came out of the house with bottles of Coke for them, and then the band all took their places. Chris stepped up to the front microphone. “Since Barry's gone awol, I'm doing the vocals, just to keep us in practice,” he said. “I'm not as good as he is, but I'm what we've got at the moment.”
    They launched into a rendition of one of their songs, then, and Sam and Indie rocked their chairs and slapped their thighs in time to the music. One song followed another, and Indie commented to Sam that Chris wasn't all that bad, himself.
    “Ah,” Sam said, “I've heard better, and not just from Barry.”
    The band took a break after about an hour, and they all sat around talking.
    “So,” Chris asked, “what do you think? I mean, I know it's not right, with Barry not here, but I think the music is pretty good.”
    Sam nodded. “It is, it really is. Reminds me of my own days with the band in college. We did a lot of metal, back then, not so much of the pop stuff as you guys are doing, but I always wanted to soften things up a bit.”
    “Hey, that's right, you used to sing,” Chris said. “Wanna hit the mike for a few?”
    Sam laughed. “No, thanks, I don't know any of your songs. When I sing nowadays, it's usually the stuff I wrote, so nobody knows if I mess up besides me.”
    “Do you play? Guitar or anything?”
    Sam nodded. “I play a little guitar, yeah. Not as well as you, though, just more of an acoustic style, I guess.”
    Chris got up and went further back into the garage, and came back with a nice Yamaha acoustic guitar. “Here ya go,” he said, “show us what you got?”
    Sam waved it off. “No, no, really,” he said, but the band and Indie all joined in to encourage him. He tried to laugh it off, but they wouldn't let it go, so finally he said, “Okay, fine, then, one song.”
    He took the guitar and moved to sit on a stool near the mike, while Chris plugged a cord into the base of the instrument and turned a couple of dials on the amp.
    “All yours,' Chris said. “Make it moan, man!”
    Sam strummed the guitar's strings a few times, felt out the frets and then began to play softly. “This is something I wrote about ten years ago,” he said, and then began to sing softly into the microphone. (Click to listen)
    She walked along the riverside, the fall leaves blowin' by,
    And stopped beside a small cascade, a flower caught her eye,
    And as the petals fall, she whispers that old rhyme,
    He loves me, loves me not, which one wins this time?
     
    And who would believe,
    That a daisy, after all,
    Could heal a broken heart,
    By letting petals fall,
     
    She walked along the riverside, and silently she cried,
    If just one petal had remained, her hopes might not