His words stop me cold. So cold, I shiver, and Patty tucks me in tighter against him.
“Is that what you think?”
“I don’t know. All I do know is that Winona Williams was savvy enough to build a career most people only dream of, but I’ve never seen someone on stage who looked happier than she did watching you.”
Tears prick my eyes, and I try to blink them away before they can fall on Patty’s chest. The possibility that my mom is happy—that she meant what she said about only seeing what she gained … can it be real? Did she really choose whatshewanted? Is shehappy for me? Proud of me, even if my path is different from hers?
It seems too good to be true. “But how is that possible, Patty? How could someone who’s been on that stage ever be happy with anything else?”
Patty exhales in a huff that stirs the hair on my head, making it tickle my face. “You think fame is that great?”
“It’s not about the fame; it’s about the connection. I feel connected to the world in a way I never did before.”
“I think that says more about you than it does about your mom,” Patty says.
I push halfheartedly away from him. “I’m going back to my nightmare.”
“No, you’re not,” he says, pulling me back. I settle back against him quickly, glad he knew I wasn’t serious. But also, I’m kind of serious.
“I think for a long time, you’ve carefully controlled the level of connection you have with other people. For years, your fans have gotten exactly what you were willing to give them and nothing more. On stage now, you control how much you let them in. Your own family you keep at arm’s length, and I bet if you evaluate how you act with the Janes, you’ll find that you’ve kept at least a couple of secrets from them.”
A reminder of the longing I felt—the loneliness I felt—after my show in Sugar Maple stirs in my soul. My friends were all in the backstage tent, laughing with their husbands, fiancé, and boyfriend, respectively.
And I was standing alone on an empty stage, looking at an equally empty field where, only an hour earlier, half of Sugar Maple had watched me perform.
It was such a vulnerable, amazing feeling to be up there. But hearing my friends and their significant others mademefeelother. Like the odd woman out. Like the one girl who no longer fits in.
And if I’m being honest with myself, I started pulling away the second Jane and Tripp got married. I’ve kept pulling away, hiding more and more of my emotions and feelings from them, keeping back bits of myself because I was afraid. I am afraid.
What am I so afraid of?
Is it that I’ll love someone enough to leave the world behind if they ask? Or is it that no one will ever lovemeenough?
In choosing my dad, did my mom not choose me?
I loved going on tour with her. It made me feel energized. Alive.
Special.
I loved when she brought me out on stage—not Nora or, later, June, butmebecause I was the only one who loved it—and I sang the final song before the encore with her. It was the happiest I ever saw her, and it was about the happiest I ever felt.
And then, one day, it was done. The rest of the tour was canceled. We were all headin’ home to Augusta, and Dad was checking into a “hospital.” And even though I loved performing with Momma more than anything, it was just …done.
I knew I would do anything to get back on that stage. Even if it meant holding people at arm’s length.
And look where I am.
I laugh in disbelief. “You’re exactly right.”
“Don’t act so surprised that I know you, Queenie.” He doesn’t sound smug so much as certain.
It makes my heart ache and swell at the same time. “How can you know me better than anyone?”
“Because our souls are made of the same stuff: chords and rests, verse and refrain, song and silence?—”
“Melody and harmony,” I whisper.
I feel his head nod against mine as my words hang like a final note in the air. The slow, steady beating of his heart answers the questioning drum of mine. Soon, our breathing falls into a matching pattern that makes me smile and close my eyes.
