She looked out toward the water.
“I moved here for a job that disappeared two months later. My apartment had mold. My car made a sound no mechanic could identify, and I was trying very hard to pretend I hadn’t made a huge mistake.”
“That sounds like a bad winter.”
“It was character-building.”
“I hate character-building.”
“Same. Usually means something expensive broke.”
She smiled faintly.
“I played this song a lot. There’s something about her voice.”
I stopped breathing for half a second.
“What about it?”
“She sounds sad, but she doesn’t sound like she’s waiting for someone to save her.”
No interviewer had ever said that.
They asked who the song was about. Whether the town was real. Whether I had cried while writing it. Whether the line in the second verse referred to a specific person or had been selected for commercial relatability.
Ellie had simply heard it.
“That’s a good way to describe it,” I said.
She glanced at me.
“You know the song?”
“A little.”
“A little?”
“I may have heard it once or twice.”
“Selective country fan.”
“Very selective.”
“Savannah makes the cut?”
“Some of her.”
Ellie smiled.
“That sounded personal.”
The musician finished the song with a flourish that suggested he had survived something.
Ellie applauded.
I joined her.
“He’s brave,” she said.
