Page 70 of We Redeemed the Rain

Bea burned a CD for me when she was fourteen. Even then, she was talented. Her songs were beautiful and soulful.

“So on Thursday, I met with an agent and got a record deal. An offer, anyway. If I take the offer, I won’t have to write my own songs anymore, and I’ll make a livable income. But they’ll change who I am as an artist. Then I’ll have to do tours and travel. And here’s the real kicker—my headquarters would be inNashville.”

“I stayed in Nashville for a few months. It’s not too bad.”

“I was just there last week. It’s nothing personal against Nashville. I’m sure it’s fine, but being halfway across the country…being away from my family…there’s nothing I love more than them.” She sighed.

The worry echoing in her sigh was deeper than this story would ever capture. I looked to the side again and watched the white toes of her shoes swipe back and forth over the dirty floor. I had the urge to touch her ankle. Wasn’t sure why.

“You’re thinkin’ of Peter.”

“Exactly. Maybe I shouldn’t. It’s not like he’s going to need me. He has Sarah now…it’s just…I don’t know. I can’t even put into words how I feel about it. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity. Part of me thinks I should suck it up, sign the contract, and do it for a few years.

“But I was advised to take some time away and recuperate from burnout before making a decision. So that’s why you’re stuck with me at the moment. I had planned to only stay a week, but the price was right.” A soft humorless laugh came from her.

She camehere. To Meadowbrook. Why?

A moment of silence overtook us as I considered all she’d said. I placed the tools on the concrete and tucked my hands behind my head, stretching out and getting comfortable. Might as well. I wasn’t doing anything anyway.

“I’m okay. Just frustrated in my inability to make this decision. And I miss…” Her words trailed off. Pretty sure she choked up. I waited, unwilling to even breathe.

I waited for a few moments. “Miss what?”

“The music. Feeling connected to it.”

“You don’t anymore?”

She cleared her throat. “The last couple years, when I play, I feel like I’m performing. I hardly remember what it feels like to touch the strings and just…get lost. Music has always been more than songs and notes. It’s a piece of my soul.” Her voice broke. “I know how dramatic that sounds, but I’m being totally real. Closing my eyes and letting the music carry me away…it’s like an unburdening. I walk away from those moments whole and at peace. And I haven’t felt that in a really long time. I wish I knew why.”

She’d held up a mirror, poking awake a reality in my own life. I could almost smell new paper and the sweet ink smudged against the side of my hand. Could almost hear the crackle of a new spine and thescritch-scritchof dry lead on the page. Could almost feel the phantom ache in my knuckles after a good longunburdening.

But I’d never miss it enough to go back. Every damn thing I worked night and day to chase away caught up with me on paper.

She sniffled. “I got way deeper than I intended. Sorry.”

“We’ve both been guilty of that a time or two.”

Legs, feet, and chair stopped moving. She froze.

I swiped the sweat off my forehead, bumping my elbow on the bowels of the truck. Why did I say that? Tempting us down memory lane was not a smart move.

Because I was a lonely desperate kid, I overshared with my penpal. Itfeltlike Bea knew everything about me. That she’d heard it all and chosen to stay. I’d fooled myself into believing someone could.

Only paper knew me. And I’d do well to remember that.

When I first met Bea in the hayloft, she was magnetic. She was curious, bursting with questions, and it was obvious she cared about me. Not because she knew me, but because I was human. Seems basic enough, but it wasn’t. Her concern and willingness to sit with me sucked me in faster than anything else could have.

My family made sure theyweren’twith me.

As much as I’d loved my Granny, she didn’t do right by Cooper and I. It took years for me to admit the truth to myself. She existed in denial about many things. She had two daughters, three grandchildren. Gran would rather bury her head in the sand than rock the boat. Cooper, Randi, me. We all suffered. We needed someone to speak up for us, but no one would.

I’d often wondered if Grandpa would’ve been the same way if he was still alive.

When CPS contacted Gran, she took us in but treated us like ranch hands. Not grandchildren. Not kids who needed help. Sure, she put food on our plates and sort of kept us out of trouble. But it wasn’t enough.

I felt seen in Bea’s letters—a lot more than a person would think.

Bea had been able to weasel information out of me. I shared with her more freely than any person in my entire thirty years of living. She handed me a lifeline in my ocean of pain. Hers were the only words I craved more than my own.

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