Page 71 of His North Star
“Oh, look.” I gestured behind Dad. “The Laudertons are coming this way. Dad, why don’t you get Mom settled and I’ll get the hand sanitizer passed around.”
They did as I suggested. James hovered by me. “What song are we singing?” He whispered in my ear before the family of four set upon us.
I flipped my head so fast, my neck popped. “I don’t want to drag you down with me. I’m really not that great of a singer. What if we just didn’t sing?”
“And get on your mom’s bad side? I don’t think so.”
Drat. If Ty were here, I wouldn’t mind, because he could sing and I’d soften my voice, allowing his to drown mine out. I had no clue what James and I were in for. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I doubt you’re that bad.” He squeezed my arm.
“Ha,” I blurted.You have no idea, pal. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
The Laudertons were a few steps away. After greeting them and squirting sanitizer onto each of their palms, I told them to help themselves to the s’mores supplies. We liked to go above and beyond in almost everything we offered. Instead of just the classic ingredients, we also had chocolate-covered cookies, peanut butter cups, butter crackers, and coconut chocolate cookies.
We taped a laminated paper with a variety of combinations to the table next to a lantern. Not that we needed the lantern. In late July, the sky didn’t darken until after ten. Our bonfires were from eight until nine each Saturday evening. It was perfect in the spring and fall, but almost unbearable because of the heat and bright sky during the summer months. Guests still loved the activity though.
As more people trickled in, Mom gestured for me to start our kumbaya.
I stood in between two of the logs. “Hey y’all,” I called out. “Thanks for joining us. Please help yourselves to as many thmores as you’d like.” Had I just said thmores instead of s’mores? This was all Mom’s fault for making me nervous to sing with James. Heat saturated my neck. “We’re going to sing a few songs now.”
Groans from the older kids echoed. If I had to do it, they did too. As I looked at the adults seated, polite smiles plastered their faces. Dad hid his amusement behind his hand, covering his mouth. And James? His face said my being up here was pure entertainment.
He’d caught my lisp.Fantastic.
“We’re going to start with a classic. ‘Home on the Range.’”
I started us out, a little off-key, but Dad joined in and got us on track. After singing a few more songs with Dad’s voice bellowing out, I asked for requests. A family with three young kids requested songs like “Baby Bumblebee,” “Five Little Speckled Frogs,” and “Going on a Bear Hunt.”
Those were a little easier for me to stay in tune with, but if awards were given out tonight, mine would be “Silence is Golden—so Shut Up and Shine.”
An eternity later, Dad tapped his watch, signaling the evening was almost over.
“We always end our night with two songs,” I said. “First is ‘Sweet Caroline,’ followed by ‘Happy Trails.’ After that, you’ll have about ten more minutes before we extinguish the fire. Thanks again for coming. And please let us know if there’s anything else we can do to make your stay more comfortable.” I pointed at James. “I have a friend who is going to help me with our last two ballads. James?”
He smiled, rubbing his neck as he came to stand next to me.
Dad helped Mom stand. He kept his arm tight around her lower waist, supporting her.
“Ready?” I asked James.
“Sure.”
I inhaled a big breath and started singing the opening lines. James joined right in and I immediately felt bad for everyone there who did not have alcohol in them. It wasn’t necessarily that James was bad. It was that he followed my pitch, which was off. I sang softer, straining to hear Dad. Once I picked out his voice, I matched mine to his.
Mom’s voice wasn’t as loud as usual. But my parents held each other’s gaze while singing, and a shiver ran down my spine. If only someone would look at me likethat. Especially after twenty-eight years of marriage.
Thankfully, no one lingered by the fire. Once the final chords of our song were sung, everyone, including Mom and Dad, ambled back to their cabins. James grabbed the bucket I kept under the s’mores table and walked down to the lake to fill it.
James and I finished our tasks at the same time. “I’m going to put this stuff away really quick. If you want to head up to my apartment, the door is unlocked.”
“I can come with you,” he offered.
“Actually”—I scrunched my nose—“you can’t. Technically, only employees are allowed in the kitchen. Food safety and whatnot.”
Not that Ty followed that rule. But he was the exception.
He nodded. “I understand. I’ll see you in a few.”
