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We wander around the park, exhausted and elated. Today is our third day, and we’ve done it all. I’ve packed in more than is reasonable, and Eli has held my hand, right beside me, the whole time.
We head into a restaurant that has a sign out front advertising karaoke. “Seems fitting,” Eli offers as he pulls the door open and steps aside for me to enter before him.
We order bar food and look at the song list. I studiously avoid the vodka and Red Bull that happened the last time we did karaoke.
“You have to know what I’m singing,” I say, sliding off my chair and heading to the mic at the stage.
“Of course, I do.”
The bartender rolls his eyes as I make my selection. “If I’ve heard it once, I’ve heard it a thousand times.”
“Then today is one thousand one. Lucky you.” No one is harshing my Dolly glow today, especially not a man who gets to live in this kind of beauty.
“Brighton Ranger singing ‘Jolene’,” he announces, apropos of nothing. There can’t be twenty people in the whole place. It’s completely unnecessary.
The first strums of the song sound, and I close my eyes and own the music. Or it owns me. I take everything I have and pour it into the lyrics. It’s not complex musically, but doing Dolly justice, in her Queendom no less, without simply imitating her is a delicate balance.
I’m pleased with the sound, and even the barman gives me a nod and a wink when I walk off stage.
I get back to the table, giddy and satisfied.
Eli grabs my hand, kissing my knuckles as canned music pipes through the place. No one is ready to sing so soon again, and that’s okay with me.
We head to the venue after we eat, taking a slow route and watching the sun set over the mountains. They call where we live the Hill Country, but in comparison… well, there is none. I can’t get over the vistas and views.
My mouth falls open when I see we’re front row. “How did you manage to score these tickets?” Front freaking row.
“Well, I had to sell Strait and Sola to afford it.” My head whips around to his deadpan answer.
“I didn’t love them that much anyway.” It’s a lie. He damn well knows how attached I am to both. And to Luna. And to him. “Good riddance if it got us these.” I point to the seats.
The lights drop and…
…it’s her. It’s Dolly.
Live and in person. Donned in rhinestones that are blinding with the spotlights that we’re close enough to feel their heat.
She’s dazzling. Fucking mesmerizing.
I sing like no one can hear me and dance like no one is watching. And quite frankly, I have no cares in this world. I’m with her. And I’m with him.
Life couldn’t get better… until I hear, “Brighton Ranger, are you here tonight?”
I look around wildly as if there are two Brighton Rangers in this world.
“I’m looking for Brighton Ranger.”
I’m not hallucinating. Dolly Parton—theDolly Parton—has called my name.
Twice.
I jump and wave, all pretense of being a mature adult nowhere to be seen as the crowd roars behind me.
“Come up here, Sugar.”
Dolly called me Sugar. I’m dead. I’ve died and heaven is Dollywood.
I point to myself and swivel my head, looking around.
