Emily nodded, blinking hard. “She really has.”
They sat for a while, letting the sound wash over them. The kettle corn aroma tangled with the briny air, and every fewseconds, a shriek of laughter or a smattering of applause would roll up from the picnic tables where caterers were reloading the food.
Bryony appeared, moving at double speed. “We’re ahead of schedule. If the wind holds, we’ll open the gates for the early birds at four.” She pointed at the VIP section, where the mayor and a handful of donors clustered around the memorabilia trunks, debating the provenance of a salt-stained telescope.
Bryony leaned in. “Roman wants a quick run-through with Emily and Daniel on the stage for the intro, then he’ll let Chantelle lead off the set. Remember, this is just the soft opener. We’ll go bigger and better for night two tomorrow.” She glanced at the two of them, eyebrow raised. “You good with that?”
Emily managed a nod. Daniel said, “We’ll be there.”
Bryony flashed a thumbs-up, then strode off to settle an argument about the placement of the beverage coolers.
When it was time, Emily and Daniel made their way onto the stage, slipping behind where a pair of crew members adjusted a bank of LED spotlights. Roman met them at the foot of the ramp, smiling the smile of a man who had seen every permutation of nerves and self-doubt and was always, somehow, the cure.
“You’re going to introduce the event,” he said, matter-of-fact. “Just say what you want. The town’s already on your side.”
Emily blinked, then laughed. “I haven’t even written anything.”
Roman shrugged. “The best stuff is always spontaneous.”
Chantelle joined them, guitar in hand. Roman looked at her, then at Emily, and there was a flicker of pride, maybe even a little awe, in his eyes.
He said, “Ready to make history, kid?”
Chantelle gave him a look that was pure Morey—steady, unblinking, equal parts challenge and invitation. “Are you?”
Roman laughed, then led them all up the ramp.
Emily took her place at the mic, Daniel at her side. She looked out at the sea of faces—some familiar, some strangers.
She swallowed, heart thrumming in her throat, and said, “Thank you all for coming. It means more than I can say.” She glanced at Daniel, who gave her a nod. “When we started this, it was just a dream. To see all of you here—” her voice cracked, but she let it, “—it makes it real. You’ve turned this place into something alive again.”
The small crowd applauded, warm and immediate. Emily stepped back, letting Daniel say his piece, and then it was time.
Roman introduced Chantelle, his voice clear as church bells. She stepped to the mic, tuned her guitar, and scanned the audience. For a half-second, her eyes found Emily’s. She smiled—a small, private thing—and then started to play.
The song was a cover song, a melody full of longing and brightness, the words simple but so true it made Emily’s hands shake. The crowd hushed, the sound carrying all the way to the water and back. Chantelle’s voice was different than before. Not louder, but certain. Each note was placed, deliberate, as if she’d weighed it and found it worthy. By the time she finished the first chorus, half the lawn was sniffling, and the other half was already on their feet.
When she hit the last chord, there was a silence so total Emily could hear the cry of a gull overhead, the sigh of the wind through the pines. Then the applause came, a wave that hit so hard it made Emily dizzy.
Emily wondered,What will she pick to sing for the big concert?Chantelle had kept it a close secret.
Chantelle bowed, then nodded to Roman and played a last few notes, who took up the harmony and built it into something so layered and alive it felt like the air might split open. The rest of the band joined in—one of Roman’s friends on upright bass,a fiddler who looked barely old enough to drive—and together they made a sound that seemed to anchor the lighthouse to the very center of the world. Then, the music turned, and Chantelle’s cover song merged into the opening chords of one of Roman’s most popular tunes.
She glanced at Daniel. He was smiling, wide and shameless, and he wiped his eyes without embarrassment. At the end of the set, the crowd surged forward, not in a crush but in a slow, swelling movement, as if everyone wanted to get just a little closer.
Roman found Emily and Daniel at the edge of the crowd. “You did good,” he said, voice hoarse from singing. “You really did. Tomorrow’s going to be epic.” He hugged them both, then disappeared into the swirl of fans and townspeople.
As the sky pinked toward evening, Emily lingered to watch as the volunteers began pulling out, to watch the last rays of light catch in the clean glass of the lantern room. The old beacon was dark for now—the power hadn’t yet been restored—but in the dusk, the tower glowed, reflecting the joy and noise below like a prism.
Chantelle drifted over, still clutching her guitar, her cheeks flushed with effort and the afterglow. She collapsed onto the steps beside her mother, head on Emily’s shoulder, and for a long moment, neither of them said anything.
Then, without preamble, Chantelle said, “Can we have big parties like this again? Like, even after the concert?”
Emily let herself laugh. “Anytime you want.”
They sat in the fading light. In the background, the Magic Elves were already policing trash, ready to make the grounds gleam again by morning.
Emily didn’t need to plan or fix or worry. She just held her daughter, felt the future shifting into shape around them, and letherself relax. Out past the lawn, past the last of the parked cars and the blue of the bay, the world waited for them.
