“Wait, yes, I have. Phoebe asked for her music for Christmas.”
She nods. “She loves her.”
Then my brain snags on her use of the past tense.
“Had? Is this one of those weird holograph shows?”
She snorts. “No. It’s a ton of tribute artists. Some of them have been around a while, though. They’re pretty good. They have the lineup broken up by ‘chapters,’ and several in a row are for Holly.”
“Why are we talking about this woman like she’s no longer with us?”
“She might not be.” Chloe shrugs. “No one knows.”
“This feels like an Unsolved Mysteries episode.”
“More like ‘Behind the Scenes’, I think. And before you say anything, Phoebe isobsessed. She’s a walking biography. I don’t have time to look all this up and follow all the theories. All I can tell you is that she was wildly successful and then,” she snaps, “she disappeared off the face of the Earth.”
I tug her closer. “Expert or not, you’re here.”
Her reaction when she thought she’d missed something huge from Phoebe’s ballet class is a moment I still think about. I was worried that might be the moment that broke her, even after everything we’ve walked through.
I know that moment influenced her decision to come tonight, even if she never admits it.
“It feels a little like peer pressure, but I’m here.” She gives me a small smile. “I don’t love crowds.”
“Are you worried about something happening or just people in general?”
“The number of people, for sure,” she says, bobbing her head.
“Fair. I’ll protect you from them all.” I shift so I’m half in front of her without realizing it.
Her head tips back in a laugh, easy and unguarded. “Good.”
Then she steps into me and wraps her arms around me for what feels like a “just because” hug. So I press a kiss to her hair for the same reason.
The far pasture where this is happening slopes toward a makeshift wooden stage, and strings of light stretch between tall posts and trees.
For a small town, there are a staggering number of people. We weave through a sea of sequins and boots—handmade recreations of tour jackets, glittery cowboy hats, vintage band tees hacked into crop tops.
There are a lot of people.
Someone chalked lyrics onto a barn. Families gather on quilts, teens perch on hay bales. Kids run between all of them.
Chloe found Lucy, the new friend she made when we were here earlier today, and they’re giggling as they run circles around our little huddle.
Her dad—Luke—is one of seven siblings of the family that runs this place, and it seems like an impressive place. Especially for events like this.
I wouldn’t mind adding events, but this feels like too much for our farm. But this place also seems to sprawl for miles.
The first notes ring out, and the shift is inexplicable. My music-going experience is more of the indoor stadium variety, and those are still limited. The air literally hums as the crowd adjusts, like muscle memory.
Considering her notoriety, I’m not surprised when the first artist walks on stage, and there are varying levels of shrieks about Holly.
By the end of the first song, I’m enamored. I know this isn’t the same as seeing theactualartist, but her songs are a vibe. There’s a literal energy as voices lift in unison, singing lyrics like they’re professing them.
But the shift in Chloe is where I can really appreciate what’s happening in this field. Amid all the cheers and the off-key fans, her voice joins them. She wraps her arms around Phoebe,and they sway to the melody, and it’s obvious the words mean something different to Chloe than they do to Phoebe.
But that doesn’t make the moment less meaningful.
