As a precaution Tyler guided him to the side of the stage. She didn’t want Nadie to see him and freak out. She was freaking out enough for both of them, and then some.
Bert, the MC and musical director for the night, lifted the microphone from its stand. “Please give a warm welcome to Winnipeg’s next big star, Nadie Grant!”
The crowd followed suit and applauded.
Nadie sang the same Joni Mitchell song she’d rehearsed earlier in the day and Tyler choked back the tears pooling in her eyes, preventing a waterfall down her face. She didn’t want to cry in front of Cary Kingston, especially not on her birthday.
“She’s amazing,” Cary said.
“Really good,” Vegas agreed.
“She’s my niece.”
“Your niece?” Cary’s eyes shocked open.
“She’s sixteen,” Tyler added. “Almost seventeen.”
“Wow.” Cary pointed to the stage. “She’s talented.”
Tyler nodded. “It runs in the family. The Robertsons are backing her up, and my sister made her the dress she’s wearing.”
After the song ended Bert boomed, “Give it up for Nadie Grant!” The crowd cheered and whistled. “Don’t forget to bid on the silent auction! It ends at midnight.”
Nadie skipped down the steps and smiled at her aunt.
“You killed it,” Tyler said, hugging her niece. “As Kim would say, straight fire.”
Nadie stammered, “Ho-holy shit.”
“Nadie!” Tyler laughed, but it was hardly offensive. The language she’d heard on tour buses would have shocked the filthiest comedian.
“Sorry, Auntie Ty, but”—she pointed—“that’sCary Kingston.”
“You were amazing,” Cary said, shrugging into his guitar.
Bert jogged down the steps. “What the . . . ?”
Tyler cupped her hand over her dad’s ear. “Slight change in plans.”
“Nice meeting you, sir.” Cary extended his hand. “I’m Cary. Big fan.”
Bert stared at Tyler, eyes bulging while shaking Cary’s hand. “Same, but—”
“He’s playing a few songs, Dad.”
“Thanks, son,” Bert said. “Means a lot.”
Son-in-law sounds better.
“Don’t mention it.” Cary shook his head like it was nothing.
Bert turned around and climbed the stairs with a pep in his step. He grabbed the microphone and shouted, “Winnipeg, we’ve got an extra special treat for you!” He revved up the crowd by raising his arms. “Put your hands together for Manitoba’s own . . . Cary Kingston!”
The audience half-applauded, probably expecting to see a tribute artist. Cover bands were common in casinos, especially in the Prairies where it was challenging to draw headliners.
Darting up the steps with his guitar slung over his shoulder, Cary grabbed the microphone and yelled, “Winnipeg! It’s good to be home!”
The crowd went into a frenzy and phones flashed like fireflies in the darkness.
