“This way, we avoid Live Nation and expand our brand,” Mad Dog said at her side. “We’ll be branded under S.L.O.: Sarafian, Larsen, and Oglethorpe Events.”
Eddie was furious. “Are you fucking joking me? Whose idea was this? Has Papa approved this?”
“Yes, he has. It was a group decision,” Jasmine said. “It will cut down on your father’s day-to-day stress. We won’t have to lay off too many people. Most will be taken under the Oglethorpe branch.”
“What about me?” Eddie said. “Where do I fit into the company?”
“Wonder if the new brand hires felons?” Fen murmured, scratching his chin dramatically.
“Welcome to the future, Eddie,” Jasmine said, ignoring Fen’s remark. “This is how we grow. Would you like to really learn this time? Start at minimum wage, bottom of the ladder, and work your way up.”
Eddie was seething. But he held his tongue, maybe for the sake of keeping his family united during his father’s recovery, who knows. I wanted to think he was learning and growing.
But later in the night, when he was watching the fireworks, and Velvet was insisting that he’d only had a few celebratory holiday beers, I worried about the darkness behind his eyes.
Maybe I was just projecting something that wasn’t there.
Maybe.
Dad and I finally made time to take our yearly sequoia tunnel tree photo. Good thing we got it when we did, too. If we’d waited a couple of days, we would’ve had to share our annual shot with strangers.
Because the week of the festival, Condor Lake swelled with people.
Thousands upon thousands.
They descended like a plague of locusts, clogging up every street and parking space. The Strip? Forget about it. Bumper-to-bumper traffic all the way to the festival grounds. Which meant all the shops along the Strip were jam-packed.
Most definitely Victory Vinyl. It was one of their busiest times of the year. Fen had to work most of it, so I rode into the festival with Starla, Velvet—and Eddie, of all people.
Nothing like VIP backstage passes.
I just hadn’t imagined experiencing them like this.
Starla and I spent most of the first day of the festival together. It was as hot and sweaty as I remembered. Nothing but bodies and booths, an enteral quest for overpriced bottled water, and a longing to chill at those Avalon tents, even though I knew the secret behind them now.
My heart hurt a little thinking about it because I wished I could go back to that day with Fen, riding out into the woods to see his tree. Back when we were in our own little bubble.
The second night of the festival, Fen was able to get away from the record store. Dad ended up driving us to the amphitheater in one of Mad Dog’s SUVs with Velvet and Eddie, and there was concern in my father’s eyes as he watched us in the rearview mirror. He was seeing something I wasn’t, and that made me anxious. Was it Velvet? Was she high? Eddie was a little twitchy, and he kept licking his lips, saying he needed water. But it was hotoutside, and maybe I was looking for trouble that wasn’t there.
Velvet had promised me several times that she’d been sober around Eddie. Swore. She sounded genuine.
So I tried to put it out of my mind, because even though Fen was tired from working all day, he was trying to get a second wind, holding my hand, and I was grateful to spend time with him. Ifhedidn’t notice anything wrong, then maybe it really was okay.
All in my mind.
After donning lanyards that pretty much identified us as festival demigods—I would definitely be saving this memento—we entered the amphitheater through the band door around back. I enjoyed it for a while, walking through a dark underground tunnel past dressing rooms and some of the roadies who were friendly to Fen and Eddie. Velvet somehow knew one of the band’s managers. One big happy music family, the Sarafians and the Larsens.
And me, the only odd person out.
But I forgot all about that when we stood in the wings, looking out at a crowd of thousands. I was excited all over again. It was music, the thing I loved. A band I loved, and on a warm summer night, all these people made a pilgrimage all the way out to Nowhere to experience this. For them, the fairy tale of Condor Lake was real. You could watch a dozen live clips on YouTube alone in your bedroom anytime you wanted. And that was all good—truly. But you’d never feel what everyone here was feeling right now.
The connection.
The energy.
The joy of being human together.
The roar of the crowd transcended anything that could only be seen on a tiny laptop or heard through a pair of earbuds. Because it wasn’t just the band that mattered. It was all the people out there who were listening. Without them, it was just band practice.
