Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
What she doesn’t understand is that musicians are like hurricanes. They blow into your life with all this energy and passion, make you believe in possibilities you thought were dead, then leave devastation in their wake when they move on to the next city. I learned that lesson with Jason, and I’m not fucking interested in repeating it.
“You should invite him over for dinner,” Lily says, because apparently we’re not done with this conversation.
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you made that face when you talked about him. The same face you make when you hear a really good song.”
Christ. Even my ten-year-old can read me like sheet music.
I finish my coffee and rinse the cup in the sink, using the mundane task to avoid meeting Lily’s gaze. “We should get you ready for your performance.”
She sighs dramatically but doesn’t push further, which means she’ll probably ambush me with more questions later when I’m less prepared. Smart kids know when to retreat and regroup.
Twenty minutes later, we’re walking into the community center. The young band warms up, a few of the kids missing very important notes. My insides seize at the screech, but remember what it’s like learning a new instrument.
I smile at Mrs. O, who has the same look of terror on her face that I felt a moment ago. I don’t know how she does it–teaching young kids all summer–without losing her hearing or sense of calm. It’s hard not to lose your patience when something you think is easy, is hard for someone else.
Lily runs off to sit with her friends. Her early stress about performing is long gone. I make my way over to Mrs. O and greet her with a small hug. “Good morning.”
“Morning. Lily’s ready,” she says matter-of-factly. She doesn’t ask, she just knows. Probably the same way she knew when she taught me.
“She is.” I look at my daughter and smile. “Any chance she can go first? I have a laundry list of things at the bar to take care of.”
“Of course. We’ll get started in a minute.”
Instead of sitting, I stand off to the side so I can duck out after Lily sings her song. My mom arrives, taking the seat closest to where I’m standing.
“Why aren’t you sitting?” Mom asks.
“Gotta get to work,” I tell her.
She nods in understanding. This is the busiest time of the year for The Songbird. Everyone flocks to Nashville during the summer. It’s when they have time off from their real jobs or have sitters for their kids. I’ve considered extending the hours, especially during the songwriting session, but the execs that come in seem to like the way I have things set up.
Mrs. O quiets down the “house band” and stands in front of all us parents and students. She reminds everyone that this is the first of many performances over the summer and tell us that some students aren't ready.
“Up first, Lily Hayes.”
Everyone claps, but I’m the loudest. Lily sends daggers my way and I think of it as pay back for her little quips she made to me this morning, which reminds me that I need to have a long talk with Jovie. The last thing she needs to do is discuss my reaction to guitar players with my daughter.
Lily belts out her song, acappella no less, without missing a beat or faltering on the tune. She sings her heart out and earns a standing ovation. This time, I whistle loudly and then clap until my hands hurt. Lily has way more talent than I ever had at ten.
She rushes over to me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “I did it!”
“You did, now no more fear,” I say, rubbing my hand down her back. Lily looks at me, her smile beaming from ear to ear.
“Next time, I’ll play the guitar and sing.”
“That’ll be perfect.” I kiss the tip of her nose and tell her not to wait up for me, but she will and my mom will let her. There are battles I’ll fight, but this isn’t one of them.
The drive to The Songbird takes longer than usual because I’m deliberately taking side streets, avoiding the main routes. Not because I’m dreading work, but because I’m not ready to face the space where Darian played last night. Where his voice filled every corner and made me remember what it’s like when music gets under your skin.
I park behind the venue and sit in my car for a moment, staring at the building that’s housed my second home for three years. This place is my sanctuary, the one space where I control everything and nothing surprises me. Last night changed something about that dynamic, and I don’t like it.
“You’re early.” Jovie’s voice startles me, and I turn to find her emerging from the storage room with a box of napkins balanced against her hip. “Figured you might be.”