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I glare at Halley and then glance around at the people sitting in the barn. Uncle John taught me to play the guitar. Tilda gave me my first banjo. Marla, Steve, Sam, Joe, Clive and Carol, Becky and Jim. These people have been in my life for years, encouraging me. Teaching me. Playing music with me. I know they won’t judge me.

But still, I can’t seem to make myself stand.

My mouth grows as dry as a bare-branched Christmas tree.

“C’mon, Paisley,” she prompts. “We hardly ever get the chance to play together anymore.”

Sister guilt is the worst.

I’m tempted to fake a bout of food poisoning or a fainting spell, but that won’t help with the fact that all eyes are on me. The attention is bad enough now, but it would be so much worse if people thought I was having some sort of medical event.

“You got this,” Kash whispers in my ear, pressing his shoulder against mine. The flutter in my stomach from his breath on my ear blends with the flutter from the performance anxiety butterflies that have taken up residence there already.

I’m not sure that I do.

It’s nice to know he has faith in me, however misplaced it is. I still haven’t told him about my connection with Six String Justice, but at least he won’t be comparing my previous performance to what’s about to happen here, thank goodness.

With wobbly legs, I push my chair back from the table. I might as well get this over with before Halley does something really stupid. I wouldn’t put it past her to force my hand by telling embarrassing stories from our childhood.

It feels like a mile of wet concrete separates me from the stage, but somehow I manage to make it over to stand beside Halley. She smiles at me, and when I force myself to grin back, I make sure she can see the death stare I shoot at her.

“What song do you want to do?” she asks sweetly, handing me my guitar.

I try not to let anyone see the way my arms shake as I pull the strap over my head. “This was your brilliant idea,” I mutter back.

If I’m lucky, she’ll pick a song with an arrangement that doesn’t require anything more from me than rhythm guitar.

I’m not lucky.

Halley leans into the mic and says, “We’re going to play ‘Mockingbird,’ a song that was written by Inez and Charlie Foxx, in the style of Carly Simon and James Taylor.” Of course she goes and picks a call-and-answer duet for us to sing. After this, she’ll be lucky if I ever speak to her again.

I force down a swallow and wonder if I’ll bomb just like the last time I stood on a stage.

Did Halley pick this song because she knew Carly Simon had to get over her stage fright to perform it live? Is this special torture supposed to be inspirational?

If that Paisley girl don’t sing…

I glance over at Kash and he gives me an encouraging nod.

Here goes nothing.

Track 16

Take My Hand Two-Step

Kash

November 21

Paisley stands next to her sister, Halley, and gives everyone a tepid smile. Every so often, her gaze lands on my face, like I’m the beacon of a lighthouse in a stormy sea. This time, in her passing glance, I catch a glimpse of the sheer terror that seems to be swirling inside her.

The next time she looks my way, I nod. You’ve got this.

Halley tilts her head toward the mic, trying to get Paisley to step closer. Paisley purses her lips. She clearly does not want to be up there.

Halley turns and gives the room a big smile. “This is a song we used to sing a lot when we were younger. Let’s give it a whirl.” Halley starts playing and I don’t miss the flash of panic followed by the look of pure, unadulterated loathing Paisley casts her sister.

Halley’s voice is sharp and twangy when she sings, the sound filling the space.