She inhales slowly, nodding. “I get that, but it’s hard to let go.”
“Take your own advice and forgive yourself, Bree. Really listen to the words when we sing them in a moment and let it go.”
She closes her eyes, inhaling. “Okay.”
Peter announces our names, and I feel my nerves dancing. But the anxiety I was expecting has faded to anticipation. “Ready?”
“Let’s do this.”
We walk out onto the stage to the sound of cheering. The crowd grows louder when Bree takes the mic. I strap on an acoustic guitar someone let me borrow, hooked up to an amp. It’s been so many years since I’ve taken a stage like this, and as much as this sort of thing used to give me high anxiety, I don’t feel any of those things now.
Bree looks at me, taking my hand and squeezing my fingers enough to say we’re in this together, and it grounds me. I think I could do anything if she was beside me. Either way, I’m not overwhelmed. Age and wisdom and time have culminated, putting my mental health in a better place, and now I understand that it’s important to keep track of where my head’s at.
“Good afternoon, Bodega Bay!”
I take the other mic. “We’re lucky today, aren’t we?”
“I agree, Benny Rhodes. These people are in for a special treat.”
“They are. They get the first live rendition of Bree’s newest song, ‘Flying Forgiveness’.”
The screams are wild. “Accompanied by none other than Benny himself.”
“We co-wrote this song,” I say, looking at Bree so I don’t lose courage. “I’ve written quite a few of Bree’s songs, actually, under a pen name. But this one might be my favorite.”
She blinks at me. I can tell she wasn’t expecting this, but ifI’m going to put it all out there, I want to show her I mean what I say—she’s worth anything I have to put up with. It’s time to be done with secrets.
“If you’re a local, you might recognize where I got my pen name from. Duncan Doran—two of my favorite beaches in this area. My grandma used to bring me to those beaches as a kid, and if you have time, I recommend stopping by for a visit this week.”
Bree nods at me, like she understands why I needed to do that.
I sit at the edge of the stool someone provided, situating the guitar against my leg, and Bree stands next to me. When I begin to strum, the music flows through me, and I put everything I have into this performance.
Bree sings with me, and people from the audience join in. Theyalreadyknow the words, which boggles my mind. I shouldn’t be surprised though. I’m so happy, feeling the energy from the crowd and Bree at my side, and I think I can do this forever if I’m doing it with her.
I’m whole.
We’re practically buzzing, enjoying the cocoon that encapsulates us when we write together, only it’s magnified with the vibes from the crowd and the feeling of singing together. The words of forgiveness and moving on leave Bree’s lips, and she looks at me, a content expression on her face that proves she’s internalizing the lyrics and really moving on.
We both have a lot of growth in the three and a half minutes of singing, and by the time we’re finished, it feels like we morphed in our cocoon and came out the other side as new people—beautiful butterflies.
When we finish singing, the crowd erupts. That video footage is going to be everywhere by the end of the day, once all these people have service again. People are screaming forencores, but I think we’ve both hit our emotional limit for the day.
“That was amazing,” Bree whispers away from the mic.
We wave, bowing together, and head off the stage to where Colby is waiting. He doesn’t have his camera up, though. His brow is furrowed, sending fear straight to my gut.
“It’s Grandma,” he says. “We need to go. She had a heart attack, and they took her to the hospital.”
31
BREE
The driveto Memorial Hospital in Santa Rosa is forty minutes of pure torture, and getting in to talk to someone about Nancy’s status is a whole ordeal. By the time a doctor comes out to the waiting room to speak with Benny and Colby, it’s late.
I hang back, waiting until they’re finished getting their update.
“Can we see her?” Colby asks.