She craned her neck around the diner looking for her mother, but there was no sign of her here either.
“Mom, I’m sure she’s fine. If she’s with the band, they probablyhad people to protect them,” Nora said, her soft touch on Leanne’s elbow. “Besides, when Joe spoke to her she was full of spunk.”
Leanne nodded, hoping that was true and also feeling jealous that this young journalist had been able to track down her mother for a quote when she couldn’t even track her down for a hug. But where the hell had the band gone? When was she going to find her mother? Frustration made her grind her teeth. The mix of feelings only made it harder for her to breathe. She drew in a steadying breath, imagining her mother’s hand on her back, telling her to breathe slowly in and out, the way she’d done when Leanne was nervous for a test at school, the same way she’d done when she’d gone into labor with Nora. God, she wanted her mother.
The three of them grabbed stools at the counter’s far end. Stools still warm from the patrons who’d just vacated them. Leanne perched on hers, her spine aching from lying on the ground during the panicked stampede. Leanne gripped the edge of her round, red stool, hoping to ease her still trembling hands. Despite the deep breathing, her nerves hadn’t entirely caught up to her stomach yet, but she ordered a coffee anyway, grateful for something to hold.
Joe sat beside Nora, their knees just barely touching. The ease between them had Leanne raising one carefully plucked brow. He was handsome in a scruffy, slightly poetic way—rumpled shirt, pencil behind one ear, a leather satchel slung casually at his feet. He didn’t look like the clean-cut, polite, all-edges-and-no-depth boys Nora had brought around before. This one had stories in his eyes and was full of questions.
Nora was beaming.
Leanne took a slow sip of her coffee, cringing at the weak and bitter taste. Like it had been on the burner since four a.m. But at least it was something.
“So,” she said, tone light but direct. “Tell me how you two met.”
Nora’s cheeks flushed, her smile faltering for half a second before she swept a lock of her hair behind her ear and gave her mother the same innocent visage she’d perfected as a child.
“I bought him a Coca-Cola at the last concert. That’s all.” Nora said it with a too-practiced shrug.
Leanne hummed, unconvinced. The way Joe glanced over at her daughter—like he was seeing straight through her nonchalance—told a different story. But Leanne didn’t press, not here. Her daughter would never forgive her for pressing in front of an audience.
Leanne folded her hands around the warm mug. “Well, thank you, Joe. Truly. I don’t know what might have happened if you hadn’t appeared at our moment of need.”
Joe tilted his head in her direction. “No problem, Mrs.…?”
“Miller,” she replied. “Mrs. Miller.”
He nodded as if tucking the name into some mental notebook. “Good to meet you, Mrs. Miller.” Joe offered his hand across the counter in front of Nora, who sat between them. Leanne leaned left and shook it, interrupted by the waitress swooping in and pouring more steaming coffee into each of their chipped white mugs.
Leanne took a tentative sip, hoping this fresh batch of brew would be better. No such luck. Pure diner sludge. But at least it was warm.
Joe raised his glass of water slightly in a quiet toast. “To fortunate chance encounters.”
Nora rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t falter.
Leanne let herself imagine this was what change looked like—not confusion, not collapse, but connection. Small moments. Three people at the end of a counter. A little hope served alongside a grilled cheese and a cup of burned coffee.
“So, you’ve seen my mother?” Leanne leveled her gaze at Joe over the rim of her mug.
Joe nodded, reaching for the sugar canister. He poured at least halfits contents into his cup, followed by a generous splash of cream. He stirred it all with the handle of his spoon like he was mixing paint.
Nora kept her hands wrapped around her mug but didn’t drink. She had never been a coffee girl. Though if she copied the way Joe had doctored his up, she might be. That cup was pure dessert.
“I have seen her.” Joe lit up, scooting taller in his chair. “More than once actually.”
He glanced toward the waitress refilling someone else’s mug, then back at Leanne. “At first, no one knew what to make of this elderly woman onstage with Shep Moon. Everyone assumed she was his grandmother.” His grin was sheepish, apologetic. “They were so in sync, so relaxed together. Like they’d known each other forever. Honestly, I just figured she was family.”
Leanne felt her throat tighten. She wasn’t sure why.
“But then she started to sing and play,” Joe continued. “And Shep introduced her as Mama Lightning.”
“Mama Lightning?” Nora repeated, a small laugh escaping before she could stop it.
“Pretty amazing, right?” Joe nodded the way young people did when they were still awestruck by the world. “Now, the radio guys call her the Dame of Rock and Roll all due to a little article I wrote in theSan Francisco Chronicleabout her that Johnny Carson happened to read and talked about in the opening of his show.”
“I just can’t believe it,” Nora said, glancing at her mother. “I didn’t even know she could sing like that.”
“I did,” Leanne said softly.
