“Get up on that stage, Baxter,” Reggie ordered, waving hello to an incoming customer, the first of the evening that wasn’t Stevie.“Your audience needs you.”
Baxter set up his guitar and mic stand and sat on the stool, strumming his guitar and warming up his voice.A few other Thanksgiving loners came into the bar and ordered burgers, salads, or white wine or beer.Some of them were Stevie’s age, and others were younger or older.Loneliness didn’t seem to mind what package you came in.It feasted on you no matter what had happened, no matter where you were headed.After a few minutes, Baxter started his first song, “White Christmas,” but with a country twang.The bar became Christmassy and cozy.Stevie breathed a sigh of relief.
For a little while, she tried to convince herself that she needed to go elsewhere, that she needed to escape Baxter and Reggie.They knew about her daughter.They knew about her granddaughter.Probably, they’d put it together that she wasn’t currently with her daughter or granddaughter on this day, one of the most important holidays of the year.She wondered if she wore the tragedy on her face plain as day.
But then she pictured herself back in her apartment, alone on the sofa, flicking through channels, waiting for her daughter to call her back, waiting for something to happen, waiting for work on Monday.At forty-five, Stevie didn’t have a lot to show for the life she’d lived so far.
And so, when Reggie announced to the crowd that he had “a very special surprise” for them that evening and said that Stevie would join him on stage, Stevie stood, walked toward him, took the microphone, and belted out a song that came straight from her heart.It was a Stevie Nicks rendition of “I’ll Be Home For Christmas.”When she finished, there wasn’t a dry eye in the entire venue.Stevie wiped her cheeks of tears.
Reggie and Baxter looked at her with a mix of excitement and incredulity.The crowd roared as she returned to her seat at the bar.Reggie put a beer in front of her and said, “On the house.Come back every night this week, Stevie.We need that energy here.”
But Stevie felt overwhelmed by the insane energy she’d created, both within herself and in the bar.As Baxter started another Christmas tune, helping the audience to calm down after Stevie’s performance, Stevie rifled through her jacket and found her phone.Maybe she could call her daughter and apologize again.Perhaps she could explain why she’d done what she’d done.Or maybe she could call any airline and buy the cheapest flight out of Los Angeles to somewhere new.
Once upon a time, she’d run away.But back then, she’d been pregnant.She’d had something to live for.
There was a missed call on her screen.The name read: ELLA COPPERFIELD.
Stevie was stunned into silence.Ella Copperfield.She hadn’t read that name in years.She’d hardly thought of Ella in ages, save for a year or two ago, when Ella and Will’s band had gained traction again.Stevie had thought,Good for them, but she’d also been overwhelmed with jealousy and anger at herself for not making music work.Her career involved a position at an insurance company, selling health and dental insurance to wealthy Angelenos.There was no music at the office.All of her colleagues listened to talk radio, if they listened to the radio at all.
Why in the world was Ella Copperfield reaching out to her?On tonight of all nights?Stevie was pretty sure that Ella and Will had two children, that they were together on Thanksgiving, overstuffed with turkey and pie, and maybe watching a film.Was it possible that Ella had accidentally called Stevie?That she’d panicked and ended the call, hoping that Stevie would realize it was a mistake?
As Stevie sat alone, listening to the rest of Reggie’s set, she felt her mind rotating back to the nineties and early two thousands, back to a time when she and Ella had run wild and free through the streets of New York City.They were two musicians, eager to show the world what they were made of.Their bills were minimal.Their time was set aside for music writing, for performing.Ella had a band of her own, something from high school, before she’d started her band with Will—a band that had gained traction quickly.A few times, Stevie had performed with Ella’s band, either opening for them or performing right along with them.
Those had been some of the happiest days of Stevie’s life.
Those were the days before everything had happened, before she’d felt forced out of New York City and here, to Los Angeles, where the sun shone, and nobody asked questions.
She wasn’t sure if she had the strength to call Ella Copperfield back.But she had the strangest feeling that, now that she’d performed with Baxter for the first time in years, Ella had “heard” her across the continent.It was as though she’d opened a door to her previous life.
After a beer and a half—nothing, in most people’s terms—Stevie realized she didn’t feel safe enough to drive.She was especially frightened after the accident she’d seen earlier.She confessed this to Reggie, who told her his friend was a cab driver and owed him a favor.He called him up and had him come to the bar right away.Even though Stevie was alone and frightened and angry with the world, she hugged both Baxter and Reggie goodbye and thanked them for a night she’d never forget.Just before she walked out, Reggie caught her hand again and pulled her back.In his eyes, she saw kindness and fear.
“You’ll let us know if we can do anything for you,” Reggie stated, although they hadn’t seen each other for years, and she’d tried to be a stranger to them.
“I will,” Stevie said, though she sensed she’d never see Reggie or Baxter ever again.
She was right.
ChapterThree
Ella and Will loaded up the car for a trip back to New York City on the Sunday after Thanksgiving.Their lives had begun in that city.Their music careers had flourished, and they’d fallen in love and had their children.As it happened, both Laura and Will needed a ride and were grateful not to take the bus or train, which would be packed with travelers.Ella appreciated squeezing a little more time in with her children.The weekend had gone too quickly.
On the ferry to the mainland, Laura slid glumly out of the car, pulled the hood of her coat over her head, and went to the top deck to look out over the water.Ella watched her from the window, sipping a cup of coffee, her heart pounding.Will appeared beside her, gripping his own coffee and waving his phone.
“Grayson says he made a reservation for tonight,” Will explained.“Tatiana’s.I’ve heard about this place for years but never thought we’d make it.”
Ella recognized the swanky Italian restaurant, too.She’d dreamed of their creamy pastas and their juicy artichokes and their divine pours of red wine.Grayson had picked the restaurant for no reason.Probably it was the kind of place he went all the time, the kind of restaurant he often met clients at.Now, he wanted to use Will and Ella’s music to advertise his anti-plastic initiative, and he wanted to discuss the details of that agreement there, of all places.
“Sounds great,” Ella breathed, then clicked her nail against the window.“Do you think something is up with Laura?”
Will narrowed his eyes.Ever since they’d learned about Grayson Harris’s affection for their music, Will’s conversation and tone had been nothing but bubbly and expectant.This was part of the reason Ella hadn’t brought up Laura’s moods.
“I’m sure she’s stressed,” Will offered.“I can’t imagine what being a grad student is like.A grad student in philosophy, no less.I’m sure she feels overwhelmed with all those concepts.”He waved his hand through the air, clearly talking about something he didn’t know anything about.
Ella didn’t know anything about it either.She hadn’t really bothered with college.
Ella crossed her arms and peered past her husband to Danny, who was chatting up the guy behind the coffee counter, a guy he’d gone to Nantucket High School with.Ella remembered that divine year, when she’d brought Danny home to the island and watched him excel.He’d been captain of the football team.He’d learned to sail, and he’d swum every day.Sometimes it terrified her to think of what might have happened to him if they’d stayed in the city.
Should Laura have lived in Nantucket for a while?Would that have cured her of whatever this ailment was?
