Page 126 of Fallen Stars

With a single touch, without saying a word, Oliver soothes my anxiety. A true balm to my soul, he always knows the right thing to say or do in every moment.

Hundreds of people mill about at the amphitheater. The aroma of salty and sweet fried treats floats through the air. Balloons are blown and twisted into animals, hats, or swords. People wait in lines for the dunk tank, jumbo-sized Jenga and Connect 4, Twister with the dots painted on the grass, cornhole, and more. Laughter and buoyant conversation blend with loud music played by a local DJ.

The pre-summer sun warms our skin and boosts everyone’s mood. The entire town and countless tourists are present and excited for Stone Bay’s annual Memorial Day festival.

As for me, I’m equal parts thrilled and uneasy.

Since mid-October, Oliver has helped me ease into group social situations. Most of them involved our core friends—Skylar, Lawrence, Kirsten, Travis, Delilah, and Phoebe. Occasionally, Delilah’s siblings would join the fold and share a meal or celebration with us. What I love most about our circle is we don’t treat each other differently because of past circumstances.

Some of us have been through crazy shit. Those moments changed our outlook on life. Opened our eyes and made us see just how precious life is. Earlier this year, Skylar, Kirsten, Delilah, and I joked about forming our own recovery group. Just the four of us. Soon thereafter, I got a message from Delilah—a group chat text.

Dee Dee

For those moments when we need to get heavy stuff off our chest

The chat gets used a couple times a month. Most of the conversations are about things we have discussed with our significant other but want comfort from someone who has been in our shoes.

“My stomach is ready to eat itself. What about yours?” Oliver’s question snaps me out of my introspection.

“Yeah. Skimped on breakfast so I could eat my weight in grease and sugar today.” I chuckle.

God, it feels good to laugh easily now.

“Brats, shrimp, donut burgers, tacos, some fancy French word I can’t pronounce,” Oliver says as he points to different food tents. “Ooh, the bacon and potato tent.”

He tightens his grip and hauls me toward the mile-long line.

“Nervous about playing today?”

Hailey’s Fire has played a handful of shows since Dalton’s on July 5th. When I was taken, everything band-related was canceled until further notice. No shows. No band practices. Hell, I hadn’t heard Oliver play anything on his own until a few months ago.

As much as I wanted to ask him why, I never did. Deep down, I knew the answer. His need to distance himself from his music had many layers. It’s difficult to write or play something when your mind isn’t in the right headspace. Like other creative art forms, you have tofeelit, connect with it. Otherwise, it falls flat.

“A little.” Oliver tips his head from side to side. “IknowI can do it. The Fall Fest and shows we’ve played at Dalton’s over the past few months prove as much.” He shrugs. “Just feels weird to be on a big stage again.”

“I’ll be front and center if it helps.”

Oliver, Trip, and Hailey managed to convince the event coordinators—my mom and Marilyn Langston—to make a VIP section right in front of the stage. Enough space for our group and select family members to sit close and enjoy Hailey’s Fire comfortably without fighting the crowd.

Turning into my side, Oliver rests his chin on my shoulder. “It does.”

We shuffle forward in line. I point to the chalkboard menu as it comes into view. “What sounds good?”

“All of it.” He laughs. “But I shouldn’t eat too much before we play.” He straightens and studies the options. “Hmm. Maybe the loaded potato tornado.” Leaning back into my side, he kisses my neck. “What about you?”

I tilt my head from side to side as I decide between my top two choices. “The pierogi sampler.” I nod.

Minutes later, we place our order. When Oliver’s name is called, we both go wide-eyed as we take in the huge portions.

“Let’s go find everyone and chill for a bit.”

Winding our way through the crowd, I startle when a little girl with face paint disguising her features bolts past us and bumps my hip. A man calls after her and apologizes as he jogs past us.

Needing a moment, I pause, take a few deep breaths, and count with each one.

Inhale… one, two, three.

Exhale… three, two, one.

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