Page 97 of The Roads We Follow

Only as I’m about to push toward her door, I realize the headboard of Adele’s bunk shares a wall with Mama’s bedroom. Adelecannotgo to bed right now. Every sensical thought in my head begins to unravel.

“Oh, I think Micah was hoping to talk to you.” The words tumble out of my mouth despite the fact that I don’t have the necessary logic to support them. “The jump seat’s open now.” I smile.

Suspicion masks her face. “What would Micah want to talk to me about?”

“Not sure.” I panic-laugh, knowing that unlike me, Micah could pull this off with Oscar-worthy talent. “You never quite know with him.”

Her frown deepens, and she lowers her voice. “Does this have to do with the two of you?” She peers at me in question. “I like him, Raegan, I do. Far more than I ever liked Tav. But the two of you getting involved right now would be detrimental to—”

“Whoa, what? No.” I’m so caught off-guard by her assumption I can barely form words. “I can assure you Micah won’t be talking to you about our relationship status.”

“Then allow me to talk toyouabout it. Despite what you may believe about yourself, you are a terrible secret-keeper. It’s been obvious that something’s going on between the two of you since the first hour of this road trip.” She rests her hand on my arm. “I can see how much he cares for you, but the last thing our family needs right now is to be targeted in yet another media frenzy. We agreed you would keep your broken engagement to Tav on the down-low, and I need it to stay that way a little longer. Luella Farrow’s youngest daughter showing up at a three-day country music festival filled with twenty thousand die-hard fans, hanging all over Lynn Davenport’s son, won’t go unnoticed. That is clickbait material. For the next few days, our family will be watched by everyone with a social media page, not to mention all the media that’s been invited to cover theevent.” She pats my shoulder twice and smiles. “He shouldn’t be too hard for you to avoid at the venue, seeing as I’m going to need you to act as my liaison during rehearsals. It’s going to be all hands on deck.” She gives me a conspiratorial look. “Which also means you’ll need to keep a close eye on Hattie, too.”

She must think my dumbstruck expression is the equivalent of being one hundred percent on board with this plan, because she straightens and adds, “As far as Micah goes, if the two of you are still interested in each other after a few months off the road, I’d be happy to discuss what a future could look like between the two of you then.”

When she turns and moseys down the hall into the restroom, I’m left reeling, yet I only have a moment to shake off my befuddlement before I lose this opportunity. I slip the manuscript from under Micah’s pillow and rotate toward Mama’s door. I slip inside the small but well-furnished bedroom and close the door behind me. Due to the blackout curtains, I can’t see her, but I can hear her deep, rhythmic breathing. I fumble around her mattress to her bedside. She doesn’t stir.

But with an impending book contract and unsanctioned tell-all on the horizon, I push myself out of compassionate daughter mode and into confession mode.

I rub her back until her breathing hitches.

“Mama?” I whisper. “It’s me. Raegan.”

“Hey, sugar,” she answers, groggily. She rotates slightly and places a hand on mine. “I’m sorry I didn’t say good night.” She yawns. “You’re sweet to check on me.”

My heart pounds. “Mama, I ... I was hoping to talk to you about something important.”

“Are you okay?” Her grip on me tightens. “Is this about Micah?”

“No, it’s not about Micah.”It’s about you,I want to cry. It’s about our family. AndI’m so, so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.

“I’m afraid my mind is mush tonight, sweetheart. Is it something that can wait until tomorrow?”

I think of the reading time required for three chapters, and the explanation I’ll need to share with her on how I came to learn about the fraudulent book in the first place. And I think about the time it will take to list all the reasons why I’m certain Peter is the author behind it and how I was inspired to write something of my own to cushion the blow.

But more than all of that, I think about Micah’s caution to check my motives and rely on God for the words and the timing.Why did I wait so long?

As I hold the comforting hand of my sleepy mama, tears gather in the corner of my eyes and leak down my cheeks in the darkened room. And instead of God providing me the words to speak, I’m overwhelmed by one thought: this isn’t the way.

My desperate need for relief at the eleventh hour can’t come at the expense of someone else’s peace—certainly not my mama’s.

I’m too late.

“Sure.” A repentant tear drips off my chin onto her blanket. “It can wait until after the festival.”

27

Micah

There were manyoohsandawwsfrom Cheyenne and Hattie as we drove up the Pacific coastline early this morning, and then again after we turned off at Aberdeen and passed through Seattle on I-90, but the drastic scenery changes of the Columbia River Gorge in central Washington, with its yawning canyons and mammoth bluffs dotted with wind turbines and a river that cuts between it all, had them up on their feet. Everyone crowded around the windows in the front lounge to gawk and remark at the epic view. Everyone except for Raegan. She’s been beside me all morning, and yet she’s so lost inside her own head I’m not even sure a meteor strike could get her attention at this point.

“It kind of reminds me of the Grand Canyon,” Hattie observes with awe.

“Just wait till you get on the grounds,” Luella says. “They may have updated the sound system and plastered those mega screens tothe side of the stage since I was last here thirty years ago, but God’s creation will never need an upgrade. It’s perfection.”

When I pull through the main gate and show the first security guard Luella’s pass, he radios our clearance to several other guards, and soon we’re being ushered through a series of private gates and into a reserved parking area between the back of the main stage and a canyon with a killer view of the Columbia River. There are temporary trailers set up in a horseshoe with names of each headlining band on the doors—the one nearest us is reserved for Luella Farrow herself.

Cheyenne slaps her cheeks and squeals. “Nonnie, can you even believe it? You’re headliningat Watershed! You’re the coolest grandmother in the whole wide world!”

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