As far as we know, no royal Blue has visited the town since Prince Rein’s departure for World War One. As there was a great affection between the royal family and the Starlight’s former mangers, Tuesday Knight and Spike Chambers, as well as with theGazette’sowner, Rachel Kirby, my simple request is for a member of the House of Blue to visit our humble town. Perhaps his or her presence will remind us all what we’re about: Unity. We need more restoration for more than just buildings. We need one for our hearts.
I believe the founders—a prince and freed slave—would agree. Thank you for your consideration.
Respectfully yours, Emery Quinn
She pushed away from her desk, knocking into the credenza. When she did, a white envelope fell to the floor. Picking it up, she set it on the desk, then hovered over her laptop, rereading the email. She edited a couple of lines, then cursor to the send button.
“Do it,” she whispered. “It’s now or never.” With an inhale, Emery closed her eyes and clicked send, with the whoosh of her request launching into cyberspace.
Aspear of anxiety was defeated by true, genuine excitement. What if they said yes?
Closing her laptop, she grabbed her bag. She’d sent it, now forget it. What will be, will be. She was about to shut off the office lights when she spotted the envelope.
Inside she found two press passes for the Beach Boys concert Sunday night at the Blue Shell Amphitheater—which allotted her backstage access and a ten-minute interview with Mike Love and Bruce Johnston.
Two. Backstage. Passes. But from who? Delilah’s “no” was adamant the other night. Besides, how would she have access to official press passes?
Emery tapped the envelope against her palm. The tickets felt like a message.“Come to the West End.”
“I see you, Mac Diamond. You can’t buy me, but I see you.”
17
CALEB
“Cassidy, stop. You can’t just barge in here and—”
“Who says?” She scooped Bentley’s socks and underwear from one of the dresser drawers and dumped them into his little suitcase. “Bentley, get your shoes.”
“I don’t want to go,” he said.
“Then you shouldn’t have cried to your uncle how I never call you.”
“But you don’t.”
Caleb stepped between Cassidy and her son, placing his hand on Bentley’s head. “Hey, buddy, go see if Grandpa needs help with dinner. It’s his turn to cook tonight, and you know how he likes to burn things.”
He didn’t have to tell the boy twice. Bentley shot out of his room, dashed down the stairs and out of the house.
“Bentley,” Cassidy called after him. “Get back here. Pack your stuff.” She gave Caleb a steely gaze. “Way to undermine me,UncleCaleb.”
“Cassidy, I told you if I took him, it was for the rest of the school year. And you agreed.”
“If he wants to talk to me, he can talk to me at my house.” She tossed Bentley’s sneakers from the closet to the center of the room.
Caleb returned them to the closet. “Will you stop throwing stuff? What’s going on? All I said in my text was he misses you and to please call him.”
“I’m busy, okay?” She left the room and came back with Bentley’s toothbrush. “We’re not staying for dinner. I can’t believe Dad is still burning good food hoping Mom will let him get out of his night to cook. Why doesn’t he just grill out?”
“It’s his version of blackened.” That actually got a laugh from Cassidy. “Mom made your favorite, chicken and noodles, the other night. There’s leftovers.”
“I don’t eat that southern comfort food anymore.” Cassidy wadded Bentley’s T-shirts into the suitcase. “Too many carbs.”
While Cassidy had always been a bit of a loose cannon, her behavior today reminded him of the summer she fought their parents at every turn. When she seemed to be at war with the whole world.
“What’s happened? Something with Pluto? Did you two—”
“His name is Arturo, you jackwagon, and yes, we broke up. There, you happy?” Cassidy shot down the stairs and through the kitchen, the back door slamming behind her.
