Chapter 26

Raegan

Mama and Cheyenne have been practicing harmonies in the back bedroom of the bus with Adele while we've been winding our way up Highway 101. They've been going over Mama's song set to get my niece up to speed on everything she needs to know in the coming days. But as the day rolls to night and darkness descends over the road, a prickly unease begins to weave its way through my ribs. The honesty and vulnerability we experienced at the Redwoods has lingered on the bus, shifting the atmosphere to one of warmth and levity, and yet I can't seem to fight this internal chill.

Hattie's shriek in response to whatever movie she's watching with headphones nearly has me coming out of my seat, which in turn alarms the man driving beside me. Apparently I wasn't the only one lost in thought. He reaches across the gap between our seats and stills my fidgeting hands.

"I think I need to give my mom the chapters to read tonight," I blurt, as if I can't get it out fast enough.

"What?" Micah whips his head in my direction. "What brought that on?"

"I don't know, I just feel..."

"You just feel what?" he presses.

"Uncomfortable." Convicted, I mentally correct myself.

I can easily visualize the crisp white computer paper I slid underneath Micah's pillow earlier today and try to imagine what it will feel like to hand those first three chapters over to my mother.

"Where do you think that discomfort is coming from?"

"I'm not sure." Or perhaps I don't want to be sure.

"Where are the chapters now?"

"Under your pillow."

Again his eyebrows shoot up. "Is that because you want me to go down as your accomplice?" When I feel the blood drain from my face, he grips my shoulder and shakes me. "That was a joke, Sunshine. A bad one, obviously. Sorry." He glances my way again. "Why are they there?"

"I thought you might want to read them." Though he'd given me his blessing to reference his mother during our fishing excursion, I wanted his eyes on it. On all of it.

He reaches for my hand again. "I do, very much. Thank you. I've been waiting for a chance to redeem myself after falling asleep that night in Kansas mid-chapter."

I smile, though I'm certain he can tell it's a preoccupied one.

He gives my hand a squeeze. "Would it help to talk through your plan?"

There's no doubt in my mind that it would, and so I do.

Using coded words that can't be easily interpreted by Hattie, in case her movie finishes early, I tell Micah what I've been contemplating since the moment we left the Redwoods. I tell him my idea to read Mama the sample chapters in her room tonight as soon as Cheyenne exits. I tell him that I don't want to wait until after the festival and that I'll let Mama decide what should happen next.

When I finish, Micah's expression is unreadable.

"What are you thinking?" I ask.

"That you're panicking."

"Maybe a little, but aren't you the one who says we should lean in to the uncomfortable feelings when they come? Well, that's what I'm trying to do. I'm trying to do the right thing."

I rub at the inside of my wrist, and without warning, Micah rotates my arm to inspect it under the light of the rising moon. He scowls disapprovingly before bringing my irritated skin to his lips. A shiver runs through me at his sweetness.

"At some point, we need to brainstorm new ways for your body to manage stress."

As wonderful as a cure for my stress hives would be, the we in that sentence is definitely the most appealing part. He tips his head to the icy water bottle he retrieved from the freezer at our last pit stop. It's one of his tricks for staying alert during the longer evening stretches of driving. If he feels sleepy, he places the frozen bottle between the back of the headrest and the nape of his neck.

"Use it," he urges. "You need it more than I do."

I lay it across the irritated skin, thankful for the instant relief and the distraction it offers from my obsession of watching Mama's door.

"Did you pray about this decision, Raegan?" he asks in a low tenor.

I don't have to wonder what he means by this decision.

"I'm too afraid to," I practically whisper.

His voice gentles. "If the timing is right tonight, then God will give you the opportunity and the words."

Despite his diplomacy, I hear what he's not saying. Probably because it's the same fear I've been wrestling with for hours. "You think I missed my window to tell her before the festival, don't you?"

In true Micah fashion, he takes his time in answering. "I don't think that's a question I should answer for you. But at this point, I do think you need to evaluate the motives at play for why you'd be doing it tonight." He sighs. "I know you want to do the right thing, but I think you need to ask God what that is."

As hard as it is to hear, I know he's right. I also know he's likely been right all along. "How much longer do we have on the road until we stop for the night?"

We'd passed the California-Oregon border only a few hours after leaving the Redwoods, and Micah's goal for the night is to make it just over the halfway point so we can get an early start in the morning and pull into the festival by noon tomorrow.

"Maybe an hour or so more. We're getting closer to my neck of the woods now."

I wish our itinerary could have included his stomping grounds. But there's a comfort in knowing we'll be close. "How far from your home are we now?"

"From here? Probably eight hours. From the outdoor amphitheater we're headed to—five, max."

I peer out the darkened windows, wishing it was still light enough for me to make out the Pacific on the other side of the cliff.

Micah returns both hands to the steering wheel. "I've been thinking about something, too. Since the Redwoods."

The change in his tone puts me on alert. "About what?"

"I'm going to let the search go."

"What? But why?"

"Because I can't stop thinking about what Luella told me in Kansas—how my mom disappeared for an entire month. It could literally be anyone, Raegan. I can't let this secret consume my life."

"Okay," I say, trying to understand this drastic shift in plans. "So what if you turn it over to someone else, then? A private investigator? If you need help with the financial side of—"

"No." The word is a full stop. "I want to let it go. I felt peace today in that forest, and so much gratitude for what I do have. I think that needs to be enough."

In the quiet that follows, I resolve to meet him in this new place as long as he, too, is making this decision for the right reasons. "And have you prayed about this?"

"I have. And I have peace." He brings my wrist to his lips once more, and the sweetness of his kiss awakens every sleepy cell in my body. "Thank you for asking."

The commotion in the lounge behind us has me straining against my seatbelt to see Cheyenne cradling her guitar as my oldest sister holds the bedroom door open for her before shutting it behind them both. God, please give me the words.

Bolstered by Micah's hushed assurances that he'll keep them plenty distracted for me to have the alone time I need with Mama, I unclick my seatbelt and gingerly step over the center console, passing Hattie's rapid texting session on the sofa before I reach Adele and my niece near the bunks. The winding motion of the bus, combined with the mounting pressure of the moment ahead, does little to combat the rising nausea inside me. I can only hope sitting with Mama will ease it.

"Everything go well?" I ask my niece.

"Great! We even went over her duet she's doing on day two with Keith Urban. She sang his part and I did hers, it was so much fun. I still can't believe I get to sing at Watershed with her on Friday night," Cheyenne whisper-yells. "When Nonnie was describing her memory of singing on that stage with Lynn on their last tour, I was seriously getting goosebumps. I really hope I don't pass out from nerves. I wanted to keep practicing, but Nonnie said if we didn't stop for the night, she was going to require toothpicks to hold her eyelids open."

Cheyenne hugs me before passing through the lounge to put her guitar away.

"Mama's exhausted," Adele confirms, edging by me in the tight space to slide her bunk curtain open. She pulls out a fresh pair of satin pj's. "The day was more emotionally taxing than I realized. Sleep will be good for her."

"But Mama never goes to bed this early."

Adele furrows her brow. "This was hardly a typical day, Raegan. Honestly, it would be good for us to tuck in early tonight. The next few days will be packed. The energy of twenty thousand people in one space will be draining, to say the least."

"I'm sure that's true," I say, eyeing Micah's bunk where the chapters are hidden. "I'll just give her a hug good night, then."

Only as I'm about to push toward her door, I realize the headboard of Adele's bunk shares a wall with Mama's bedroom. Adele cannot go to bed right now. Every sensical thought in my head begins to unravel.

"Oh, I think Micah was hoping to talk to you." The words tumble out of my mouth despite the fact that I don't have the necessary logic to support them. "The jump seat's open now." I smile.

Suspicion masks her face. "What would Micah want to talk to me about?"

"Not sure." I panic-laugh, knowing that unlike me, Micah could pull this off with Oscar-worthy talent. "You never quite know with him."

Her frown deepens, and she lowers her voice. "Does this have to do with the two of you?" She peers at me in question. "I like him, Raegan, I do. Far more than I ever liked Tav. But the two of you getting involved right now would be detrimental to—"

"Whoa, what? No." I'm so caught off-guard by her assumption I can barely form words. "I can assure you Micah won't be talking to you about our relationship status."

"Then allow me to talk to you about it. Despite what you may believe about yourself, you are a terrible secret-keeper. It's been obvious that something's going on between the two of you since the first hour of this road trip." She rests her hand on my arm. "I can see how much he cares for you, but the last thing our family needs right now is to be targeted in yet another media frenzy. We agreed you would keep your broken engagement to Tav on the down-low, and I need it to stay that way a little longer. Luella Farrow's youngest daughter showing up at a three-day country music festival filled with twenty thousand die-hard fans, hanging all over Lynn Davenport's son, won't go unnoticed. That is clickbait material. For the next few days, our family will be watched by everyone with a social media page, not to mention all the media that's been invited to cover the event." She pats my shoulder twice and smiles. "He shouldn't be too hard for you to avoid at the venue, seeing as I'm going to need you to act as my liaison during rehearsals. It's going to be all hands on deck." She gives me a conspiratorial look. "Which also means you'll need to keep a close eye on Hattie, too."

She must think my dumbstruck expression is the equivalent of being one hundred percent on board with this plan, because she straightens and adds, "As far as Micah goes, if the two of you are still interested in each other after a few months off the road, I'd be happy to discuss what a future could look like between the two of you then."

When she turns and moseys down the hall into the restroom, I'm left reeling, yet I only have a moment to shake off my befuddlement before I lose this opportunity. I slip the manuscript from under Micah's pillow and rotate toward Mama's door. I slip inside the small but well-furnished bedroom and close the door behind me. Due to the blackout curtains, I can't see her, but I can hear her deep, rhythmic breathing. I fumble around her mattress to her bedside. She doesn't stir.

But with an impending book contract and unsanctioned tell-all on the horizon, I push myself out of compassionate daughter mode and into confession mode.

I rub her back until her breathing hitches.

"Mama?" I whisper. "It's me. Raegan."

"Hey, sugar," she answers, groggily. She rotates slightly and places a hand on mine. "I'm sorry I didn't say good night." She yawns. "You're sweet to check on me."

My heart pounds. "Mama, I ... I was hoping to talk to you about something important."

"Are you okay?" Her grip on me tightens. "Is this about Micah?"

"No, it's not about Micah." It's about you, I want to cry. It's about our family. And I'm so, so sorry I didn't tell you sooner.

"I'm afraid my mind is mush tonight, sweetheart. Is it something that can wait until tomorrow?"

I think of the reading time required for three chapters, and the explanation I'll need to share with her on how I came to learn about the fraudulent book in the first place. And I think about the time it will take to list all the reasons why I'm certain Peter is the author behind it and how I was inspired to write something of my own to cushion the blow.

But more than all of that, I think about Micah's caution to check my motives and rely on God for the words and the timing. Why did I wait so long?

As I hold the comforting hand of my sleepy mama, tears gather in the corner of my eyes and leak down my cheeks in the darkened room. And instead of God providing me the words to speak, I'm overwhelmed by one thought: this isn't the way.

My desperate need for relief at the eleventh hour can't come at the expense of someone else's peace—certainly not my mama's.

I'm too late.

"Sure." A repentant tear drips off my chin onto her blanket. "It can wait until after the festival."