Chapter 27

Micah

There were many oohs and awws from Cheyenne and Hattie as we drove up the Pacific coastline early this morning, and then again after we turned off at Aberdeen and passed through Seattle on I-90, but the drastic scenery changes of the Columbia River Gorge in central Washington, with its yawning canyons and mammoth bluffs dotted with wind turbines and a river that cuts between it all, had them up on their feet. Everyone crowded around the windows in the front lounge to gawk and remark at the epic view. Everyone except for Raegan. She's been beside me all morning, and yet she's so lost inside her own head I'm not even sure a meteor strike could get her attention at this point.

"It kind of reminds me of the Grand Canyon," Hattie observes with awe.

"Just wait till you get on the grounds," Luella says. "They may have updated the sound system and plastered those mega screens to the side of the stage since I was last here thirty years ago, but God's creation will never need an upgrade. It's perfection."

When I pull through the main gate and show the first security guard Luella's pass, he radios our clearance to several other guards, and soon we're being ushered through a series of private gates and into a reserved parking area between the back of the main stage and a canyon with a killer view of the Columbia River. There are temporary trailers set up in a horseshoe with names of each headlining band on the doors—the one nearest us is reserved for Luella Farrow herself.

Cheyenne slaps her cheeks and squeals. "Nonnie, can you even believe it? You're headlining at Watershed! You're the coolest grandmother in the whole wide world!"

"Guess that makes you the coolest granddaughter since you're singing with me, baby girl."

The whole bus seems to buzz with her joy, sans one, whose head is tipped against her window, eyes staring out but not seeing. I sensed Raegan was struggling last night, but when her reaction to my glowing review of her first three chapters at our coffee stop this morning was little more than mild indifference, I knew she was spiraling out. Regardless of the situation surrounding this memoir, what she's written is a treasure. I have no doubt her mother will be honored by the words she's penned. I know mine would have been. Her tone is respectful, honest, vulnerable, and completely captivating. It made me want more. She made me want more.

As soon as we're all unloaded and standing outside Old Goldie behind the massive stage of the amphitheater, Adele wastes no time in securing her family manager hat. She spends the first five minutes reciting the order of events from whatever app she's typed them on, and then she dictates every person's role in those events. I can't help but notice how often Raegan's name is read, while Hattie's name is mentioned only once. I have a feeling, given the way Adele eyes Raegan when she says it, that there's been a side conversation in regard to the middle sister that has ended up on Raegan's plate. When Adele finally turns to lead her parade across the lot to meet up with their first contact, I clasp Raegan's arm and drag her around to Old Goldie's shaded side.

"Micah," Raegan hisses, which as far as I'm concerned is a huge step up from comatose. "What on earth are you—"

"I'm worried about you."

She looks beyond me toward the bluffs as several runaway curls blow around her face in the ever-constant wind of the Gorge. They've fallen out of whatever twisty knot she's secured on her head today, and I find the look completely irresistible. Then again, I find pretty much all of Raegan's looks irresistible. "I'm fine."

I stare harder.

"Okay, I'm not fine, but what does that matter? Either way, I have to figure out how to live with myself for the next two days and then who knows how much longer after that."

At the sound of her rapid breathing, I gentle my voice and demonstrate what I need her to stop and do. "Take a breath, Raegan."

"I don't have time to take a breath," she snaps. "Did you not hear Adele's list of to-dos for me? This, right here, is my actual life. The road trip has been a dream, a piece of fiction in which I get to borrow the life I always wanted under false pretenses. But at least for now, I'm back on duty."

And something about the way she says it pricks an awareness in me that wasn't there until now. "You hate this."

Even through the thin armor she's put up, I see her flinch at my words. "This is my job."

"No, this is your family. Those are two separate entities."

"Well, very soon I may not have either one." The uncertainty in her voice melds to something on the verge of hysterics, and soon her words are rushing out in one long stream of consciousness. "Adele will never forgive me when I tell her the truth, Micah. How could I have been so stupid to have convinced myself that I could take this on alone? You were right, I should have come out with it right away and not—"

"Stop." I push in close, until her back is touching the wall of the bus and my palms are on either side of her head. I need her to see me. "Look at me, Raegan. Look at me." She's trembling all over now, and I wish we were inside this bus and not exposed to the world, but I do my best to shield her with my body from anyone milling about this part of the grounds. "You love your family—through all their quirks and faults and idiosyncrasies, you love them. I see that in you as clearly as I see the amber flecks in your green eyes right now. I don't know how they'll respond when you tell them the truth, and it would be reckless of me to speculate, but I do know that you would do anything to keep your family from harm. I've had a front-row seat to that since the day we met." Her body stills, and I bend to speak directly in her ear. "But what I don't see ... is you accepting the same gift of compassion for yourself that you offer everyone else."

The way she presses her lips together as if to fight off a sob undoes me, and I'm seconds away from demanding she let me take her place as Adele's lackey when Adele herself rounds the bumper of the bus.

"There you—oh."

I barely register the sleeve of Adele's linen blazer before I've flattened my body against Raegan's and pressed my mouth to hers, blocking her current state from her older sister's view. There's not a doubt in my mind which scenario Raegan would rather be caught in.

Adele clears her throat, and I push off the bus and straighten as if just realizing we have company, which gives Raegan the opportunity she needs to turn and wipe any remaining tears from her cheeks.

When I don't offer the oldest Farrow sister an apology for what she interrupted, it seems to throw her off balance for a minute.

"I'm pretty sure we discussed this last night, Raegan." Adele speaks to her sister's back. "Please fill Micah in."

Raegan rotates, but before she can verbalize a response, I get to it first. "Fill me in on what?"

Adele looks more than a little uncomfortable, and I'm more than okay with that. "It would be best if you two didn't show any displays of affection this weekend, given the interesting dynamics of your personal histories. There are too many eyes and ears around. We don't need any misunderstandings."

I look between the two sisters and then loop my arm around Raegan's waist. She doesn't hesitate to lean in to me. "No worries, there are no misunderstandings here."

I know I'm ruffling feathers, but the idea that Adele thinks she has this much power over her sister's love life is ludicrous.

"Unfortunately, Micah, that's not the way it works in our world," she replies curtly, to which I'm about to remind her that I'm not in her world and that maybe her sister shouldn't be either if she's going to continue to treat her like a glorified errand runner. But before I can start, she tosses each of us a neon-green rubber bracelet. We break apart to catch them.

"Those are your VIP access passes for your seats and backstage. They also allow you back to the private lot and into the artists' tent. Security won't let you through without it, so don't take them off."

Raegan, the peacekeeper, slips hers on and twists to face me. "How about I text you and we can meet up later?"

I study her for a moment, noting the rosy color in her cheeks has returned, as well as her steadied breaths and focused gaze. I acquiesce with a reluctant nod. "Sounds good."

When the two are several paces away, I call out to them and ask Adele if she can give us just one more minute since I have a feeling time with Raegan will be scarce until the festival starts tomorrow.

Raegan walks toward me and mouths, What are you doing?

"I want to read your book," I say without preamble.

Her eyes widen, then narrow into slits. "I thought you said you read it last night—"

"Not that one." I shake my head. "I have an entire day where I won't be sitting behind a steering wheel, and I'm in one of the most beautiful places on earth. I'd like to grab a chair and sit in the shade by the river and read a brilliant piece of fiction until the concert starts."

"Micah, I don't even—"

"Can you access the file from your phone?"

This stops whatever excuse she was about to give me. She nods.

"Will you send it to me? Please?"

She twists back to check on her impatient sister. "Only if you promise to be honest with me."

"Do you know me at all?"

She rolls her eyes, and the smile she offers is enough to ease the pinch in my chest from earlier. "Fine, I'll send it to you."

As she jogs to catch up with Adele, I watch her slip her phone from the pocket of her floral shorts. Exactly thirty seconds later, I'm holding a digital piece of Raegan's heart in my hands. If I can't be with her for the next twenty-four hours, this has to be the next best thing.

Turns out, I was right about two things. The first: Adele kept Raegan working at such a breakneck pace that apart from our texting and a brief walk of the grounds last night before we all turned in, I've barely seen her. The second: The Sisters of Birch Grove surpassed even my most optimistic expectations. It's exquisite. Even as misting tents went up and sound checks blared and thousands upon thousands of boot-and-hat-wearing country-music lovers entered the main gates and danced in the grass as the opening bands came out to rev up the crowds, I couldn't pull myself away from reading. Raegan's story about a family's struggle to reclaim their connection after a life-altering event sent them spinning in different directions is as provoking as it is profound.

I search for her face in the VIP section of the amphitheater as the sixth band of the day finally exits the stage. It's nearly sunset, which means the temperature will be dropping soon and the arid breeze will feel nearly as cool as the river. I see Hattie first. She waves at me with an exuberance that has me matching her infectious grin. I make my way over to her, noting the empty seat between us.

"Can you believe this?" Hattie yells, twisting from our VIP seats near the front of the stage to the impossibly huge crowd stretched out above us. "It's unreal, right?"

As I follow her gaze, the massive bowl of people sitting and standing as far as the eye can see under a rapidly changing horizon is more than my feeble mind can comprehend. It's no wonder Luella wanted to come back here or why some of the biggest stage names have called it their favorite venue, returning tens of times. I get it now. Impressive is an understatement.

She holds up her phone, capturing a video I have no doubt she will be sending to her kids.

"Did you see the amusement park rides on the back side of the grounds?"

"The what?" I yell.

"Amusement rides." She makes a circle gesture with her fingers and then pulls out her phone to show me the pictures she took of the rides she sent to her kids. "I used to love thrill rides, but Raegan loves the Ferris wheel. She used to ride that thing over and over while Mama performed at state fairs."

Warmth blooms in my chest at the thought of young Raegan. "Where is she now?"

"Adele asked her to sit with Cheyenne while Mama does her backstage meet-and-greets with fans." Hattie shrugs. "She trusts few people in our industry. There are some real creepers."

The statement bothers me—as much for the truth of it as for the questions it stirs. Questions I've vowed to put to rest, I remind myself. Hattie fills our wait time by pointing out every industry professional she knows—on stage and off, providing nuggets of backstory on each of the headliners and those up-and-coming on the country-music scene. And a small part of me can't help but feel vindicated that Tav Zuckerman's band didn't make the cut for such a festival this year.

As soon as the lights change, the roar of the crowd becomes deafening. And when Luella is announced and she struts on to the stage, I can't help but gawk at her outfit.

"It's great, right?" Hattie squeals in my ear. "I picked it out for her!"

"It's..." I laugh, unsure if I even have the vocabulary for what it is. "It's so her."

Luella's silver jumpsuit looks like she fell into a cave of diamonds and got to keep whatever she could glue to herself. Every time she shimmies across the stage in her white cowgirl boots or monologues about something or other to her fans, the crowd stands and cheers. I've seen Luella perform on YouTube clips taken by fans, I've seen her give acceptance speeches at award shows, and I've watched her sing with her daughters on multiple occasions now, but I've never seen her like this. This is Luella the Music Legend. In between old fan favorites, she's funny and charismatic and entertaining as all get-out, and I have a sudden flashback of my mother's early journals. Of those first entries where she describes Luella's natural charm that won friends over quickly—a trait that couldn't be more opposite of my mother's personality. She was always slow to trust and open up, but once she did, she hung on tight. It's no stretch of the imagination to visualize how Raegan's mother and mine would have made a good match in music and as friends. Yet ultimately, I can't imagine my mother's journey continuing on the way Luella's did. My mother lived the life she wanted—a quiet life in Chickee's house, teaching children music, serving at her church, working in her garden, loving on her husband and her two sons.

A hand grasps mine, and soon I'm staring into the eyes I've been dreaming about seeing again since we last parted ways. Raegan's curls are soft around her face, and her makeup is fresh. And I swear my heart bucks in my chest at her beauty. She says something, but it's impossible to hear over the acoustics. She tries again, lifting up on her tiptoes this time as the fabric of her long, indigo sundress swishes against my calves.

"I missed you."

Her voice has been the narrative in my head all day, telling me a story I didn't want to put down until after the final page was turned. But these words, these words I hear differently. I don't care about the setting or the crowd or whatever displays of affection Adele warned against. I care about Raegan. More and more with every minute we share.

I reach for her face and tilt her chin to mine and say the same to her without the use of any words at all.

When Luella introduces Cheyenne a moment later and invites her on stage with the rest of her band, the three of us lose our minds, along with the sold-out festival all around us. While Cheyenne sways beside her grandma and fingerpicks the intro to "Crossing Bridges," Luella dedicates the song to my mother and to the early years that shaped her—the good and the painful. She talks about choices and mistakes and heartache and redemption. And when she looks at her granddaughter, she talks about legacy.

Raegan and I reach for each other's hands at the same time and hold on throughout the entire tribute. The horizon behind the stage explodes into a vivid display of neon orange and pink, and as their harmonies layer and swell, I truly hope my mother can hear this from heaven.

The standing ovation goes on for so long, the sound and energy of it is like nothing I've ever experienced. I don't know how many minutes pass before Raegan tugs my hand and indicates for Hattie and me to follow her out of our row, but we do. Not even sixty seconds after we exit out the side gate and flash our wristbands to step inside the large, air-conditioned VIP tent filled with industry professionals and headliners does the applause in the amphitheater finally die.

"You've done that a time or two before," I tease.

She shrugs. "I've learned to read my mama's signals to the band. When she's getting close to walking off stage, she always moves her palm to rest over her heart. She and Cheyenne will join us here afterward for the interviews."

I scan the tent, my gaze catching briefly on the back of a man in a flashy aqua shirt telling jokes I can't hear at one of the opening bands I saw this afternoon. His guffaw sounds showy and forced, and even from here, I wish I could mute him.

There are gobs of refreshments provided, all lining the perimeter of the tent. Fresh fruit on ice, meats and cheeses, cookies and candy, and an assortment of individually packaged snacks. I note several familiar faces, thanks to Hattie pointing them out to me earlier.

In less than five minutes, Luella and Cheyenne join us in the tent, and instantly, Hattie and Raegan are all over their niece, hugging and congratulating her.

"You were incredible out there," I tell Luella as a woman in an apron asks if we'd like anything from the bar. We both order ice waters.

As Luella answers my questions about what it was like to be on that stage in comparison to other venues, a grating timbre assaults us from behind.

"Been a long time since I've seen you sing a duet, Luella. Brings back memories, although I can't say they're especially good ones."

The man behind us looks to be around Luella's age. He screams of old money and smells of imported cologne. His thick brown hair is styled in a way I'd bet is a lot to keep up at his age, as is the way his tanned skin is pulled taut everywhere but the creases around his eyes. Yet not even the best antiaging treatments can erase the reddish undertones in his neck and cheeks likely caused by the same hard liquor he's nursing now.

Despite our proximity, he doesn't seem to notice me ... yet I can't seem to look away from him.

"Wish I could say it's a pleasure to run into you here, Troy," Luella says flatly. "But we both know that's not true."

The name I've read dozens of times over in the pages of my mother's journals surfaces, along with twenty years of her memories. Troy Rigger.

"Ah, come now. I just wanted to compliment your beautiful granddaughter for a job well done tonight. As far as music partners go, you've certainly upgraded since your last one." His eyes trail to Cheyenne and linger on her backside in a way that makes me want to rip that drink from his hand and shove him to the ground. "Although I suppose I shouldn't complain too much." A smirk alights his face. "Not every woman in my past played as hard to get as you did. Although, I suppose second best is better than nothing."

Every nerve ending in my body feels raw at what he could be alluding to.

Though she stands at least six inches shorter than him, Luella steps in close and drops her voice to an unfamiliar register. "If I so much as see you breathe in the same direction as my granddaughter this weekend, I will personally see to it that you lose what little standing you have left in this industry."

"Grudges are so unbecoming in a woman your age, Luella." He takes a slow sip of his drink. "Don't you think it's time the two of us called a truce?"

Luella opens her mouth to retort just as Adele taps her mother on the shoulder to inform her the interviewer is ready to roll. I don't miss the way Adele refuses to make eye contact with Troy Rigger or the way he slips out of the tent without so much as a backward glance.

And I certainly don't miss the way dread pools in my gut at the knowing sense that the answers I seek might be closer than I realized.