Page 81 of The Roads We Follow

“The thing that’s felt off—the reason the story hasn’t felt full enough to me yet.” A terrifying elation swells in my core. “I can’t tell Nonnie and Papa’s love story without including Lynn. Her part is too important to the early narrative of, well, pretty much everything Nonnie wanted and worked for in those early years. And it’s never been told before.”

“I barely even know her name,” my niece admits perfectly on cue.

“Which is precisely why her perspective will be valuable. She disappeared from the public eye for thirty years, and yet she helped shape Mama’s entire future.” I swallow. “She’s still shaping it even now.”

My fingers itch to get started with the revision of the first chapter, and I can’t wait to talk to Micah about it.

“When do you hope to show Nonnie your book?”

“As soon as the festival weekend is over. I should have the contract in hand by then.”

Cheyenne stands to retrieve her guitar and slides the strap over her shoulder. Some people have comfort blankets; Cheyenne has her music. She perches on the edge of the hard desk chair and forms chords but doesn’t play them. “Mama asked me to stay on the trip through Watershed.”

“She did? When did that happen?”

“After breakfast. Honestly, if I hadn’t been there to witness it myself, I would have sworn Micah had hypnotized the whole family.” She forms another chord and then strums. The low resonance of a minor chord fills the room, but I have half a mind to take the instrument away and demand her full attention. “Micah was in the kitchen with Mama and Nonnie when I got down there, and I’m not sure what happened, but they were both in good spirits. Like nothing was awkward. And then Aunt Hattie joined us, and Micah started asking some questions about our different kinds of communication styles, and soon everybody was chiming in with their thoughts and it was all so ... normal.” Cheyenne lifts her head. “For like an hour there I felt like I was in a completely different family.”

My heart swells to five times the size. Once again, Micah to the rescue.

“And then Mama asked me to talk to her on the patio, and she asked if I’d stay on this trip so we can talk more about what I want for the future. I said I would.”

“Chey, do you really want to drop out of school?” I ask softly.

She stops strumming and pats the strings. “I told Nonnie last night that I don’t want to work in finances or business—I loathe numbers. Music is my passion. Why would God give me a talent He didn’t want me to use? Some days it seems like the only reason I keep going to those classes and working at the internship program is because I’m afraid to disappoint my family—my mother, especially. But fear can’t be the reason I do or don’t do something.”

My chest thuds with resounding empathy. “Did Micah tell you that?”

She shakes her head. “I told myself that.”

Whoever says this next generation doesn’t have a clue about life should meet my niece. “It’s wise.”

“I’m open to hearing what my mama has to say, but I don’t want to be in my thirties and feel obligated to a life I didn’t choose and never wanted.”

ThatI feel. So much so that I sink back into the mattress several inches while a sharp pain wiggles it’s way under my ribs. How different would things be today if I’d asked God to show me how to use the talents He gave me when I was Cheyenne’s age? And how different would things be if I’d learned to balance those plans with the needs of my family through real communication?

If Lynn’s journals have taught me anything, it’s that. I wonder how much of Lynn and my mother’s friendship could have been saved if they’d talked to each other sooner. If they had believed the best about each other. If they had shared their hurts and fears and rejections before it was too late. There’s a thundering of conviction in my chest that’s impossible to ignore.

Despite Lynn’s faults, she raised a son who thrives on the verything she struggled with most, so much so that he was willing to step into my family’s mess even while in the midst of his own.

“Do you know where I can find Micah?” I ask Cheyenne as she strums a melody as beautiful as her soul.

“Last I saw, he was out back, talking to Nonnie.”

22

Raegan

I’m on my way to the stairs in search of Micah when I hear movement in his room. The door is cracked, so I knock as I enter. I’m fully anticipating the jabs he’ll make about me sleeping in past noon as soon as he sees me, but when I step inside the strange flying-monkey quarters, I barely recognize him. He’s the same gorgeously handsome man I saw last night, yes, but his movements are uncharacteristically erratic.

And he’s stuffing a sweatshirt into a backpack.

“Micah?” I say. “Hey, what are you—”

My question drops off when his gaze collides with mine. It’s at that exact moment Cheyenne’s words register in a totally new way. Micah was out back with Mama. Talking to her.About Dorian. Suddenly, that dizzy sensation I get when looking too far over a railing roils through me.

“You talked to Mama about Dorian?” I confirm gently.

“Yep.” His short reply ratchets my nerves even higher. My nightmare this morning feels far too much like a bad premonition now. I fight every instinct I have not to think of him and Tav as half brothers and instead try to funnel my energy into the support he needs most.

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