Page 3 of Sing Sweet Nightingale

“What’s it?”

“I’m going to run away. Disappear. They can’t force me to be their singing puppet if they can’t find me. I can take the cash I have stashed away and just leave.”

Why didn’t I think of this earlier? I’ve imagined running away many times before but always gave up. The guilt well bred into me from my mother. But now? Now I have zero fucks left to give. I’m older, and I have the cash squirreled away because when you’re the breadwinner and are put on a monthly allowance, you tend to hoard it like a chipmunk preparing for winter.

“What about the rest of your tour? And breaking the contract?”

“I don’t care anymore if I break the contract. They can have all the money, properties, cars, fashion lines, merchandise, and royalties. I don’t fucking care anymore. They can have it all. As long as they leave me out of it.”

“And the fans?” Luna adds quietly.

I may despise what I’ve become professionally, but the fans still love it, and I respect them. It’s not their fault my life is the way it is. They don’t deserve to feel the backlash of my rash decision.

This tour has been sold out for months, and thousands of people are waiting to see me perform. Not all my songs are forced hits. Some I like; they were from before when I was writing for the love of it and are some of my top-grossing singles. I can manage six more months to finish the tour.

“You’re right. The fans don’t deserve it. I’ll finish out the tour. But after that, I’m running away. I’m through with all of this.”

“Fine by me.”

Luna cocks her head at me and looks me over quizzically.

“What?” I ask.

She’s looked at me this way a few times before but always brushed it off and changed the subject when I asked. Maybe this time she’ll actually tell me what she’s thinking.

“There’s always been something about you, Lottie. Something extra that I’ve never been able to put my finger on.”

“Is it my winning personality? The witty comebacks and perfectly timed puns?”

She doesn’t laugh at my joke and just keeps eying me in a way that makes me think she’s seeing more than what’s on the surface.

“It’s not that. It’s something more.”

“More?”

She doesn’t respond to my question but changes the subject. “If you’re so set on running away, I might have a place you can run to. Somewhere safe, secluded, and quiet. There are people there I know. That I trust.”

“And where is this magical place that you speak of where no one could possibly recognize me and immediately post a photo of me on social media tagging the location?”

If such a place exists, I’ll move there in a heartbeat.

“It’s a small town in Montana not on any maps. They like their anonymity and seclusion. They like that no one knows where their town is. They’re not into social media and gossip sites. Half of them probably don’t even know who you are, let alone what you look like. If we cut your hair and give you a more average look, get you a few pairs of jeans and slouchy t-shirts, and you’ll fit right in.”

I perk up a bit. This place sounds like a dream. There has to be a catch.

“What’s the catch?” I ask suspiciously.

“No catch. People there like to keep to themselves. So, if you do the same and respect their right to privacy, they’ll respect yours. Now, that doesn’t mean they don’t like to be in each other’s business; like any small town, there is gossip, but it’s all word of mouth. Nothing online. They’re friendly and although mostly wary of newcomers, I’ll ensure you have a local guide to help you fit in.”

I stare at her in disbelief, far too hopeful what she says is true and a little peeved she never mentioned it earlier.

“Why are you telling me about this now? Why not years ago?”

“You weren’t ready to leave years ago. You couldn’t. Now that your contract is ending, you can leave and not worry about what might follow you legally. You can start over if you want, or just take a break and return and do your next record differently. It’s up to you.”

It’s up to me.

Words I never thought I would hear. Nothing has been up to me for the past ten years. But now, here it is. My future freedom dangles in front of me like a carrot on a string. Should I reach out and grab it? Or, like so many times in the past, will it pull just out of my reach?

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