“And suddenly my whole day just got better,” she says with a wide smile. “How are you?”
“Better now.” I smile. “You?”
Lucy shakes her head, eyes wide in that way that says today was not part of the dream. “Sandro had a meltdown in rehearsal. Said we’re stealing his spotlight. Demanded a bunch of changes that puts us on these rickety risers. I’m just saying, I see now why there were so many injuries on the tour.”
“You okay? Ankle holding up?”
“I’m fine. It’s fine. I miss you something awful, though.”
“I miss you, too.”
There’s so much more I want to say, so much more I want to hear. I crave the conversations we used to have at the dinner table, laughing and joking about nothing. But she’s in a hallway and I’m on my mother’s porch and there’s always a countdown on these calls.
“I won’t be able to talk long,” she says, as if she could read my mind. “They called an emergency run-through to set up all the changes Sandro made. And, oh! I’m doing this whole aerial thing now, so I have a meeting with the fly crew to get comfortable in the harness.”
“Aerial thing?”
Lucy glances behind her. “Yeah. It’s crazy, but I’ll have to tell you about it later, when I have more time. I just needed to see you. To hear you.”
“I’m glad you called.”
“I’m sorry it has to be so short.”
“Don’t be. I understand.”
She glances over her shoulder again. “They’re starting. I’ll call you tomorrow?”
“You better.”
Lucy blows me a kiss. I pretend to catch it and press it to my lips. The screen goes black and I stand there, watching the sky like maybe the answers would be written in the streaks of light streaming out from behind clouds.
I sigh.
Mom’s words spin in my head.Bring it to God.
It’s been so long, and I don’t know if it ever helped, but I find myself gripping the porch rail and bowing my head.
“I don’t know if you’re there. If you’re listening. If you care. Or if you even exist. But I don’t know what I’m doing and I sure could use some help. I don’t… I just… I don’t know what to do, but I can’t keep feeling like this.”
I open my eyes and lift my face to the sky. A breeze stirs. The crickets begin their nightly symphony. There’s no deep, booming voice. No lightning strike of revelation. But something like peace settles over my heart. I sigh, releasing a breath I’d been holding since Lucy left, and my shoulders soften, just a fraction.
After a few more deep breaths, I head back inside.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Lucy
The crowd roars. Energy bounces off the filled stadium, from spectator to performer and back again, multiplying and repeating. Sandro is in rare form, leaping and jumping as he sings, joining in on the choreography and doing surprisingly well. It’s one of those golden nights. Everything’s right. The music hits. The crowd eats it up, cheering louder and louder, singing at the top of their lungs, screaming as Sandro rips off his shirt and prances around, nearly hitting the dancer beside me as he lassos the thing over his head.
When the lights finally go down and we’re all standing around backstage, catching our breath and basking in the post-performance glow, I find myself standing apart from the group. My chest heaves as I watch the dancers and stagehands mill around withSandro and the band, high on adrenaline and a night we’ll remember for a long, long time. A dancer I’ve never really talked to sweeps me into a giant hug, spinning me around before putting me down and planting a sloppy kiss on my cheek.
I smile in return, hands on hips, still working for breath, looking for someone, anyone to share my excitement with. I’d love to call Nash. I’d love to babble to him about the show. How good it was. How amazing it was to hear thousands of people singing at the top of their lungs as lights flashed and bass thundered. I want to share this moment with him. Not the band. Not the dancers. Not the stagehands. But it’s late here which means it’s even later there. He’s surely been asleep for hours.
Something about the thought turns down the colors of the world. The lights feel both too dim and too harsh at the same time. All the cheering and excitement around me, the anthill of activity, it presses against the edges of a headache I didn’t know I had.
The backstage crew is already busy with load out, breaking things down, packing them up, prepping to load everything onto the buses. Another city tomorrow morning. Another show tomorrow night. There’s food in the greenroom, but I’m not hungry. Instead, I head to the dressing room, smile with bittersweet sadness at a good night text from Nash that came in hours ago, then hit the showers.
Later, on the bus, I climb into my bunk and pull out my phone but that’s as far as I get. Everyone I want to talk to is asleep. Deeper in the bus, someone’s watching ahorror movie in the lounge, the sounds of screams and chainsaws echoing against the roar of the crowds still resonating in my head. The girl who sleeps in the bunk across from me—barely eighteen, first time out on her own, sweet and talented and totally unprepared for life without parents—limps down the hall. Her tearstained eyes meet mine briefly before she quickly glances away and swipes at her face.
