“Clearly,” he says. “You worked that out in thirty seconds and I struggled with it for days.”
“Well, I was motivated. I’ve been listening to you play it for days and maybe I just wanted you to finally play something else.”
Jonah lets out a laugh at my joke, which makes me smile. Things are good between us. As good as you’d hope for things to be between you and your uh, fake, well, not fake but also not real husband.
“Oh yeah? What else do you want me to play?”
“Do you know Eva Cassidy?” I ask hopefully.
“Yeah, I do. A once in a lifetime voice, she had.” He strums a bit of “Fields of Gold.” “I always liked her version of this more than Sting’s.”
I nod, and listen to him play. When he stops, I say softly, “She also has a beautiful version of “Over the Rainbow.”
“You and that song.” He shakes his head and rewards me with another smile.
“I just—I don’t know. I love it. It speaks to something deep inside of me, I think. Something that feels like hope, but bigger. And more painful.”
“Careful pageant queen, that might be a complicated emotion you just expressed.”
Jonah’s comment startles me and I worry that he’s making fun of me, until I meet his face and find something strange written on it. Something that looks a lot like pride.
“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not a pageant queen anymore,” I mumble.
“No, you’re not,” Jonah says slowly. “You’re something else entirely. Something much better.”
I blush and look away. I dig my phone out of the couch cushion and scroll until I find Eva Cassidy’s version of the song. I press play and her gentle guitar strumming fills the room.
“Judy Garland’s version is pure. It’s happy and mournful all at once. But this…this is also perfect. Eva does something with it that just shatters me,” I say.
Jonah nods, and listens to the song for a few moments, and then starts to play it on his guitar, adding his own twists here and there. He keeps going, and then starts again and looks at me, a challenge on his face. I know what he wants. He wants me to sing. But I don’t do that anymore. Do I? Maybe not up on a stage, but I sang in the shower the other day and with Candice, Jenny, and Lila. What’s the harm in singing here, where only Jonah can hear me?
And the music is calling to me. I’ve never tried to sing Eva’s version of this because I always sang the classic version of it during the talent portion. But I want to give it a go, and Jonah is just playing the same opening chords over and over again, waiting for me to join in.
I open my mouth, and the first notes come out weak and rough, and I realize my throat is dry. I take a gulp of the tea I’ve let get cold, and then I start again. This time, I actually sound okay. I get through the first verse and start feeling good. I get to the second, and start to make it my own. I add runs where I want to, not just where Eva does, and I throw a little Judy in as well.
Jonah plays beautifully and together we fill the house with music that makes my heart ache. I don’t realize that I’ve started to cry until we reach the final lines. And Jonah must know I’m going to struggle to sing them, just like I did in the shower the other day, because he joins me, lending me the support of his strong, soulful bass.
The tears come even more quickly now, but I get the last lines of the song out.
I hastily wipe my face and feel it getting hot. I can’t remember the last time I cried in front of someone.
No, that’s not true. I do. It was in front of my mom and dad, after I didn’t place in the Miss United States pageant and they spent an hour berating me for it.Even pageant queens crack, I said.Not the ones who win, was my mom’s retort.
The memory just makes me cry harder, and I bury my face in my hands, hoping to shut everything else out. But then I feel Jonah’s weight dip the couch seat next to me, and I feel his arms come around me. He pulls me against his chest, and then wraps one arms under my knees, completely encircling me. Holding me safe.
“You can cry as much as you want,” he says gruffly. “But I hope at least a few of those tears are happy tears, Win.”
“Why?” I gurgle.
“Because we sounded good together, and you should be proud.”
It’s freezing outside,with snow piled in heaps around the paddocks and icicles hanging from the roofs. Nathan and Tomás are currently clearing them off. I offered to help, but then took one look at the ladders they were using and decided to make hot mash for the horses instead.
“Here you go, you cutie,” I say, plopping down the bucket in front of Fuzz. He’s short and stocky, and his coat is now long and shaggy. “You look like an Icelandic pony, Fuzz.”
He snorts in response and then buries his face in his mash. He’s currently on a diet since he can’t exercise much with his hooves being in the state they’re in, but he still gets a half portion of mash. Jonah has been keeping a close eye on him, andapparently the treatment he devised with Beau is working well. Fuzz has even developed a budding friendship with Rosie, who is in the stall next door.
“Hello princess,” I say to her. She pops her head over the door to greet me, and even presses her muzzle against my chest briefly. She’s still an anxious horse, but she’s come a long way since her first day here. “It’s a bit too cold outside for you today, isn’t it?”
