What was happening? Was I going crazy? My heart started to pound. A dull pain spread through my chest. I was certain I was dying.
The one man I should have been able to trust more than any other had done this to me.
“Dad, I think I’m having a heart—” As the strength left my legs, I peered in desperation at my father, then crumpled down onto the pavement below.
Woodstock
Day One
Friday, August 15, 1969
10:30 p.m.
“I would never underestimate your father,” Livy said as we zigzagged down our row, trying not to step on anyone. “There’s no way he’s gonna find out you’re here. He’s not a wizard.”
“Oh, yes he is!” I called from behind. “He can figure out anything.” I was seconds away from confronting her about what she had done at the Beatles concert when I spotted Leon sitting all by himself. Tie-dyed-skirt girl was no longer talking with him. She had moved down to sit with the couple in front. Relief coursed through me, and I forgot all about challenging Livy.
As soon as I walked up, Leon patted the ground next to him. “My curiosity about you continues, Suzie,” he said after I’d settled down on the blanket, like he’d been pondering things to ask me while I was away. Hearing him call meSuzieagain made my heart soar. It had been caught in his butterfly net.
“About what?” I asked, a little afraid to hear the question.
“Nothing bad—I just want to know more about you.”
No boy had ever asked to know more about me. When he grinned, I could hardly look at him. He was, without a doubt, the most adorable boy alive. “What do you want to know?” I asked.
“For starters, I don’t know your last name.”
“Withers.”
“Suzie Withers,” he said with a cute smile.
“I’ve never really loved my last name, but I suppose it could be worse.”
“Yeah, man. You could be Suzie Butts, or Suzie Cobbledick.”
I pushed his thigh. Laughed out loud. “That’s not a real last name.”
He chuckled through his words. “Yes, it is. I have a buddy named Cobbledick.”
Hiding my face in my palms, I said, “Withers is just fine. What’s your last name?”
“Wright.”
“That’s a good one.”
“I like it.”
“What else do you want to know about me, Leon Wright?” I flipped my hair behind my shoulder, a bit flustered but happy he was next to me.
“Let’s see.” He squinted one eye. “I know you’re from Memphis. And you sing like a songbird. What’d you do all summer?”
While the stage lights bounced off his face, I studied his darling chin dimple. I wanted to curl up inside that dimple. “I worked. Read lots of books—”
“Where’d you work?” As I opened my mouth to explain, he said, “Wait, let me guess. At a restaurant?”
I shook my head.
“You helped at your dad’s office.”
