Swaying.
Beating like a single heart from one soul.
Peace and music, she thought.This is what it means to be alive.
Being up onstage was the cherry on top of this wild, messy, magical search for her mother.
The final brick in the foundation Leanne was building to finally honor herself.
As the song’s last note drifted into the sky, Leanne turned and wrapped her arms around her mother. The hug was tight, warm, unshakable.
“I love you, Mom,” she whispered into Eleanor’s ear, and her mother squeezed back, her frame smaller now than Leanne remembered but still pulsing with that electric kind of strength.
“What’s your name?” the lead singer, Shep Moon, asked, breathless into the mic.
Leanne stepped toward the microphone without hesitation. “Leanne.” Her voice came out clear and proud.
“Your mom’s one hell of a lady.” Shep’s grin was genuine and proud, and it made Leanne wonder just how deep her mother had become entrenched in this world and how much she would miss itwhen they left.
Leanne turned, pride rising in her chest like a tide. Eleanor gave a sheepish shrug, a smile tugging at her lips.
“That she is,” Leanne said softly.
Before she could say anything else, Shep’s band kicked into a new jam, the guitar riff roaring through the crowd. Another woman appeared from the wings, gripping Leanne’s hand with the urgency of someone who’d done this dozens of times.
“I’m Megan. Come on, let’s get you a band T-shirt,” Megan shouted over the music.
Leanne hesitated, glanced back at her mom, then let herself be pulled gently to the side of the stage. But she wasn’t going anywhere—not really. She wasn’t about to fade into the crowd, away from her mother, not after coming this far and finally finding her. Not when they were finally in the same place, at the same time, singing the same damn song.
She stood just offstage, watching Eleanor lean into Shep, her voice folding into his, as natural as breathing. The two of them radiated joy, rhythm, something unnameable and transcendent.
Megan riffled through a box and held up a T-shirt. Stretched across the front in a psychedelic font, it read “I Heard the Moon. Summer of ’69.”
Leanne took the shirt, her fingers smoothing over the cotton.
The summer Leanne’s mother ran away.
The summer Leanne’s mother ran toward herself.
The summer Leanne finally stopped being afraid to do the same.
Leanne smiled. “Do you happen to have an extra one for my daughter, Nora? She’s somewhere out in the crowd.”
“Mama Lightning must be so thrilled to have her family here,” said the young woman beside her, riffling through the box again to pull outanother T-shirt. “Watching her perform like that…” She trailed off, gaze drifting wistfully toward the stage.
“We’re just happy she followed her dream.” Leanne hugged the T-shirts.
“We’re happy too. This summer wouldn’t have been the same without her.” Megan’s voice held something unspoken in it, a fondness. And the way she watched Shep sing made Leanne wonder if the girl had more than admiration tucked behind those eyes.
“Do you play?” Leanne asked.
Megan snapped her attention back to Leanne. “Me?” She laughed. “No, no—I’m just the manager.”
Leanne raised an eyebrow. “Just the manager?”
Megan shrugged, cheeks pink. “Well, yeah. I don’t play an instrument or anything.”
“Honey,” Leanne said, a smirk curling at the corner of her mouth, “if there’s one thing I’ve learned this summer, it’s that the person who manages things is neverjustanything.”
