“Not that anybody’s going to see me. The show opened three weeks ago.” She smiled shyly. “I did get to meet Colt in rehearsal.”
Colt Henderson was one of the new bad boys of country music, a former studio guitarist who’d been on tour with Taylor Swift. “And now you’re on a first-name basis,” I teased.
“He told me to. He’s very friendly.”
“Definefriendly,” I said. Looking out for her, the way I used to.
She turned pink. “Not like that. He was nice. He asked me to play a song for him.”
“One of your songs? Beth, that’s so cool. Which one?”
“‘Leave a Candle in Your Window.’”
“I haven’t heard that one. Will you play it for me?”
“Maybe later. He said I showed promise.”
“So much promise.”
She ducked her head over the sink. “Not enough to land the job,” she said. Turning to me for confidence, the way she always did.
“Maybe not this time.” I rummaged in the junk drawer for a second peeler. “But you wait. There will be other auditions. Other songs. You just focus on school and the rest will come.”
Beth concentrated on the potato in her hand. Peelings flew.
Uh-oh.“Bethie?”
“I was thinking...”
“Always a mistake.”
“Ha-ha. The thing is, Mom could really use some help right now. Around the farm, you know? And I’m good with the goats. I was thinking maybe I’d stay home after Thanksgiving. Go back next semester.”
“Beth.” Impossible to keep the dismay from my voice. “You’ve missed so much school already. What about your classes? What about finals?”
“I already talked with my teachers. I could take incompletes.” A flush climbed her cheeks. “It would just be for a little while. Just until Momma’s feeling better.”
Her thoughtfulness put me to shame. “What does Mom say?”
“I haven’t told her yet.”
I pointed my peeler at her. “Because you know she’ll hate the idea.”
Beth’s chin came up. “I’m twenty-three. Old enough to make my own decisions.”
“I just hate to see you wasting your talents in Bunyan.”
“You know, not everybody thinks living here is some kind of prison sentence,” Beth said quietly.
My mouth opened. “I don’t think living here is a prison sentence.”Did I?
The soufflé was in the oven when the front door opened again.
“Dad?” I called.
But it was Meg with John and the twins. “Sorry we’re late,” my sister said breathlessly. “Oh, I’m so glad to see you!”
I hugged her. “Hi, munchkins. Hi, John. Happy Thanksgiving.”
