Page 51 of The Roads We Follow

“I thought I was, too,” I say simply as the background music fades out and the only sound in the ballroom is the low hum of patrons’ voices. My eardrums appreciate the break, and I use the timing to introduce myself, given Raegan’s confused expression.

“I’m Micah,” I say to the one unfamiliar face among us. “I’m guessing you must be associated with this raucous crew somehow.”

“Only when they’re on their best behavior,” the young blonde says as she shakes my outstretched hand. “I’m Cheyenne.” She tips her head to the right. “And this is my mom, Adele.”

“Micah’s quite familiar with who I am, sweetheart. He’s been the bus driver for our trip,” Adele states without a trace of her usual aggression. It doesn’t take a clinical analysis to see how motherhood affects her.

“He’s also a family friend,” Luella pipes in happily. “Micah, my granddaughter here just knocked our socks off on that stage tonight. She surprised her mama with an original song and made her whole family proud!”

“Congratulations,” I say. “I’m sorry I missed it.”

“It was an incredible performance,” Raegan concurs.

“Cheyenne will be with us overnight at the hotel, and then we’ll drop her at the airport in Amarillo tomorrow afternoon,” Luella chirps. “Perhaps we can convince her to share more of her talents with us on the road.”

“Only if you promise to join in, Nonnie. I wouldn’t be here without you, after all,” Cheyenne says.

I notice the slight shift in Adele’s posture and the way her armslips from her daughter’s waist. She rotates to look her child in the eye. “I’m still curious as to how you were able to make this trip happen on such short notice in the middle of your summer internship with Union Capitol and Associates?”

Cheyenne glances at Luella before focusing on her mother again. “Because I ... I decided not to take the internship.”

Adele doesn’t so much as blink as the all-male cover band is announced onstage. Obviously, this is brand-new information. “That is hardly a decision you should be making on your own at nineteen, Cheyenne. Your father and I worked hard to get you that position.”

“I know you did, and I appreciate it, but music is what I want to do, Mom. I’ve told you that. I don’t want to go into business management and work for the family label. Nonnie said—”

“I told her we’re only blessed with one life,” Luella interjects, “and as I’ve said before, she should get a choice in how she wants to live it.”

Adele’s expression is raw when she looks from her mother to her daughter, as if she’s too disoriented to formulate a reply. She’s been blindsided, and I can’t help but feel for the blow she’s been dealt.

When Luella starts in with another speech, Adele’s voice is tight with hurt. “I can’t do this here, Mother. This is neither the time nor the place.”

For what might be the first time, I agree with Adele.

Raegan gives me a look that says,Let’s get out of here. Only, I feel a strange sense of duty to follow up with this potentially disastrous conversation—maybe even offer my assistance to mediate between the three of them if needed. From the expression on Luella’s face, something tells me it will be needed.

Raegan loops her arm through mine and leads me toward a walled-off area at the far side of the room. The thumping volume lessens the closer we get to the enclosed area, and my bones will be grateful for the relief from the vibration. Before we’re through, she presses in close and asks, “What are you really doing here?”

“I found something in my mother’s journals about this place. A drawing—summer of 1977. Know anything about it?”

She shakes her head and points to the arched doorway beyond. “I don’t, but I know where we might be able to find out.” Her gaze holds a mesmerizing sparkle. “But first, can you help me get eyes on Hattie? Is she still out on the dance floor?”

Oh, right. Hattie.I chide myself for playing into the stereotypical fear of a middle child—being forgotten—and search the room from where we stand on the sidelines. I scan the sea of gyrating bodies.

“She’s wearing a white snakeskin tank top,” Raegan says, gripping my forearm and lifting up on her tiptoes. The heat of her hand searing into my skin is far more distracting than anything else in this dance hall.

“Over there! Near the front. Is that her?” She squints and points. “She knows every word of this song; it’s one of her favorites.”

I watch the woman she’s pointing at sway like seagrass on a stormy riverbank. She’s right, it’s Hattie. Only, she’s certainly not in the condition I last saw her in at the hotel.

“How many drinks do you think she’s thrown back?” I ask just as the kick drum picks up again.

“What?” Raegan yells.

I bend so my lips are practically pressed against the shell of her ear. It’s an effort not to think of how close her mouth is. “Drinks. How many has she had?”

Raegan startles back. “She had a glass of wine at dinner, and I’ve only seen her drink water since we’ve been here.”

I watch as Hattie sloshes back some clear liquid from a plastic cup. “I’m thinking she’s been enjoying something a bit stronger than water.”

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