Instead of giving her an answer, my stomach cramped and a sweat broke out, and though I’m not exactly thankful for this, it at least saved me from the question I’m not sure I have ananswer to. How do I feel right now? That I’ll need someone to stand off stage with a puke bucket and mouthwash.
A knock comes and the door starts to open, letting in a stripe of fluorescent light.
“Kendal, I promise I’ll be up in a minute.”
“She knows. Is it okay if I hide in here with you?” Though it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, I’d know George’s voice anywhere.
“Shouldn’t you be out watching Wes?” I croak. My mouth has gone dry. I was expecting to see George in the safety of a group setting post-show, feeling on top of the world, not like this when it feels like it would take a light breeze to knock me over.
“I think he’ll forgive me. I also think if he knew you were back here huddled in a corner, he’d delay everything to make sure you’re okay.” I can see her more clearly now, dressed in a satin floral maxi dress, brown hair braided down her back. She lifts her arm and presses the back of her hand against my forehead. “I don’t think you have a fever, but you seem a bit clammy.”
“I think it’s food poisoning.”
Her eyes narrow, not disbelieving but more to inspect my state. She moves her hand from my head to my back, rubbing slow soothing circles. “It’s your stomach?”
“It kind of came out of nowhere. I was doing this interview about the show and how I was feeling and then my body tensed up and I thought I was about to throw up,” I explain.
“Do you think it could just be nerves?”
“I’ve never felt like this before any show.”
“But this is different from all your other shows, isn’t it?”
The first time I performed at Dave’s bar, I had nothing to lose. I remember telling myself,So what if I suck? It’s not like it matters what these people think. For years, I was young and invisible. I had people I trusted beside me. After everything went wrong with Wes and I stopped working with Lydia, I startedtaking on projects I didn’t have a strong connection to. When I performed them, I didn’t care as much about what others thought. If they hated the performance or the songs it’s not like I was baring my soul to them. I was just a marionette who was happy to have all the strings pulled by someone else.
George is right. This is different.
“What if they hate it? What if they hateme?”
The circles on my back stop. “Then fuck them. They’re wrong.”
A startled laugh bubbles out of me, easing some of the tension in my shoulders. I forgot how blunt George can be.
She continues. “I am so excited to see you up there singing the songs you love, putting on a performance with so much heart. Because I’ve loved your shows over the years, because it’s you and I love everything you do. But there was something missing and I think you found it.”
My shock at her words clears my head. “You’ve seen my other shows?”
“Any time you’re in Tennessee, I’m up in the nosebleeds. I never want to get too close and freak you out. I’m excited to be so close this time.” Her voice cracks and she sniffles. “No matter how much time has passed, I always find myself turning to the person next to me thinking Hudson is there, and nearly say, ‘Look at our girl go.’ I just feel him with me the most whenever you perform and I know he’s so proud. You know I said it out loud once to this guy and I thought he’d freak out that this crazy stranger lady was talking to him, but he just nodded and said that he’d saved up for months to see you perform and he wouldn’t trade it for the world.”
As she talks, something knits together in my chest. She’s been there for me, showing up and supporting me while giving me the distance I needed. I’ve begged my grandparents to come and support me. But I never once had to ask George to do the same. I think part of us might live on in the people we loved the most,and that part of Dad that lives in George has seen me on stage performing songs I couldn’t care less about.
Tonight, I’m going to perform songs I love with my best friend, and I know part of Dad will be here with me.
I wrap my arms around her and squeeze her tight. “I’m sorry I haven’t visited or invited you out or done more than text. I’ve been running from you and Caper for so long because it hurts.”
“I don’t blame you. I’m just happy we’re here now.”
By the time George and I wipe tears from our eyes, and she helps me touch up my makeup, I’m officially out offive more minutes.
A tour crew member ushers me to my spot on a platform that will rise up to the stage the moment Wes’s set is over. I wish I didn’t miss all of it, but I’ll have more chances. My heartbeat is thunderous. My guitar is slipped into my hands, and I rise up until I’m under the blinding lights.
I step forward and sing, not giving a damn what anyone thinks.
A smile rips across my face as I head backstage to meet Wes before our finale number.
He stands, eyes closed, held tilted.
“What are you doing?” I ask, and his heavy lids flutter open. Heat rolls through me. I’ve barely seen him since this morning and the sight of him—hair tousled and frizzy from his performance, limbs loose—demands my attention. He looks like he’s just run a marathon and is bathing in the afterglow of victory. Standing still as others rush around him.
