Page 54 of The Roads We Follow

“Adele,” I begin, “I don’t think Mama was intentionally being reckless. I think—”

“Did you know about this, Raegan?” Her gaze spears me through. “Were you involved in advocating for my daughter to quit school?”

“No, I didn’t know anything about tonight.” I glance at my niece. “But Cheyenne is an adult, and she’s—”

“Mother.” Cheyenne steps in front of me. “If you need to blame someone for what happened tonight, then blame me. I’m the one who called Nonnie. She was only trying to help make my dreams come true.”

“Dreams are what children speak of, not mature and responsible adults. I will not support you throwing away every opportunity we’ve worked so hard for just because your last name hands you a golden ticket. The second that ticket is no longer shiny, you’ll be crumpled up and thrown away, just like every other girl your age who thinks she has what it takes to make it in this industry.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “This is not the future we planned for you.”

My sister’s targeted words throw me back into a memory so vivid my entire body rocks off-center. Adele, sitting across from me at Mama’s kitchen table where Daddy once sat with his morning coffeeand Bible, sifting through the contract pages I’d just received from a renowned literary agent offering me and my novel representation just over a year ago.

She sets it down and lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, Raegan. But I can’t support you signing this rightnow.”

“What?” Shock vibrates my vocal chords. “Why not?”

“Because it’s clear this woman is only interested inrepresenting your last name, not your talent. And unfortunately, thosethings can’t ever be separated. Even if you’rehalf as good of a writer as she’s said you are, you’ll forever be Luella Farrow’s daughterfirst. You’ll be judged differently than your peers—everymove you make, every book you write, every interview you give.” She lays her palm on the stack of freshlyprinted papers. “Fame has a price tag, and all ofus have paid a portion of it in our own way. A literary agent will never have your best interestin mind, and certainly not your family’s. I needyou to put this on hold for now, especially in the wake of everything that’s happened. It’s notthe right time.”

Cheyenne’s heated debate launches my mind out of the past and back to the present. “What if I don’t want the future you’ve planned for me? Nonnie has had a fifty-year career in music. Her success is the only reason you have a job—”

“Myjobis based on the cruel understanding that this industry has far less to do with talent and far more to do with how much you’re willing to let it suck from your soul.” Adele refocuses her gaze on Mama. “If you’ve led her to believe that you’ve somehow arrived at this place of stardom unscathed, then you should be ashamed of yourself. Because none of us have.”

Adele stares at our mama for so long that my lungs burn from the charge in the air. And then, without another word, my oldest sister stalks down the hallway. Alone. It’s so quiet when she makes it to her room that the swipe and click of her access key card doesn’t prepare me for the sharp rattle in my chest when the door slams shut behind her.

Nobody speaks for close to a minute. “Looks like I’ll be bunking with you tonight, Nonnie,” Cheyenne says, resigned.

Mama nods, but her gaze remains fixed on Adele’s closed door. “She’ll come around, sweetheart. Don’t you worry.”

But worry is exactly what I hear in Mama’s faint voice.

With her University of San Francisco duffel bag flung over her shoulder and her guitar case in hand, Cheyenne kisses me goodnight before she follows Mama down the hall to her suite. I’m just about to head to my own room, as I desperately need to locate my emergency supply of antihistamines in my travel kit, when a sickening thud of realization hits my gut at what appears to be the same time it hits Micah’s.

We whirl around to face each other, our eyes panicked.

“Where’s Hattie?” We both demand in unison.

We point at each other. “I thoughtyouhad her.”

“Me?” He points the finger at himself. “Why would I have her?”

“Becauseyouwere the one on the dance floor.”

“Right,” he remarks slowly, “only you seem to be forgetting the part where I was busy rescuing your mother from being mowed down by a mob. Forgive me for assuming you conducted a head count of the members in your immediate family before our getaway car left the premises.”

“Ididconduct a head count,” I sputter back. “There were five of us in that car....” But my argument cools as soon as I recallwhythere were five of us in that car.Cheyenne. I slap my hand to my mouth and feel my eyes bulge in horror as I speak around my trembling fingers. “I forgot my sister.”

“No, we all forgot your sister,” Micah says, gripping my arm and tugging me toward the elevator. “The important thing is we remembered her. We’ll simply order a rideshare and pick her up. She’ll be fine.”

“Don’t sayfine,” I nearly cry as the elevator door closes us inside again. “You’ve ruined that word for me forever.”

For once, Micah has no response, and I’m ninety-nine percent sure we’re both better off for it.

By the time we’re inside the rideshare—an electric blue four-doorhatchback, driven by a kid who can’t be much older than eighteen, given his backward ball cap and baby-face grin—I’ve panic-dialed my sister five times without an answer. I can feel the hive vine snaking up my forearm and settling into the crook of my elbow, but I don’t have the time or the mental capacity to care. If something happens to Hattie because of me, I’ll—

“Do you have a tracking app on her phone?” Micah’s question feels like a divine intervention.

I gasp. “Yes! Oh my gosh! You’re a genius!”

“I was hoping you’d finally recognize that.” He reaches over and squeezes my kneecap. “Breathe, Raegan. We’ll find her.”

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