Page 86 of We Redeemed the Rain

And yes, thanks for asking, Tillie is feeling much better.

I know this letter is so short. I’m running out of time to sit down these days. You’ve been a patient friend as my letters have grown more and more scarce. I’m sorry, Strings. Know you’re on my mind, even when I’m not writing.

Miss you.

Scribbs

TWENTY-SIX

Bea

Icalled through the curtain. “Did you get a video of American Pie’s ride tonight?”

“I’m watchin’ it right now.”

“Oh! I want to see, too!” I shimmied into my pajamas, cursing the fact that this particular rodeo had no bath house, and I’d be going to bed sticky from a day in the sun. I ripped the curtain back and knelt beside Tag’s spot in the passenger’s seat.

He started the video again as I leaned over the arm of his chair, taking note of how close Tag’s face was to mine. The last three days, I’d existed with a painful moment-by-moment awareness of him. If I thought he was handsome the night I arrived at Meadowbrook, getting reacquainted had done nothing but dump fuel on that opinion.

And last night was a match to soaked kindling. Over dinner, he had talked to me.Reallytalked to me. Now, I felt tingly, breathless, and confused as feelings ravaged my heart. I found myself seeking out his eyes, craving his shy smile, and hoping he was watching me.

The rodeo tonight was short-go broncs only and the competition wasfierce.Scores all around were high. There were a fewwrecks. The cowboys were top notch. Prizes were doled out. The experience was euphoric, especially after three of Meadowbrook’s horses came out with champion scores. Of course, American Pie scored a ninety-one. Tag was ecstatic.

We watched her video on repeat, Tag commentating the entire time. Eventually, I stood and rubbed the dust off my knees. When I straightened, Tag’s gaze slid down the front of me, lingered on a few places, then snapped back to my face. My pajamas were blush pink silky shorts and a tank top.

He looked away, out the front window, as his fingers restlessly fiddled with his phone. His throat pulled with a visible swallow.

I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. Tag thought I looked good in these, didn’t he?

I said, “I guess I’m going to head to bed.”

“Sounds good.”

“I brought Glory.”

He nodded once. “I saw that.”

“You mind if I try and play her?”

His eyebrows lifted as he looked back to my face. “Go right ahead.”

A few minutes later, I stretched out on top of the quilt. The curtain was drawn. I propped Glory across my lap in the darkness. A softtick-tick-ticksounded as Tag moved his seat into recline position.

I took a deep breath and let my fingers find her strings. The light metallic squeak sent a chill down my spine. I loved the sounds a guitar made when no one was playing it. I strummed my thumb down one string at a time, tuning her.

“Any requests?”

A long silence. Then, “Play what you hear.”

I huffed as emotions immediately grabbed my throat. I’d only told a couple people in my entire life that I sometimes hear music where there is none. Like a pulsing in the atmosphere. The inaudible music would crush me until I played and sang along. And when I sat down to write a song, that pulsing music was what poured onto the page. People and their stories brought that out in me. Sometimes, I felt like I heard theirpersonalheart’s song. When I was young, I’d called it “themusic of souls” and joked that my special power was to hear and “play people.”

The memory brought tears to my eyes. It was a very intimate thing for Tag to bring up. I tried to make it light. “Funny you remembered that.”

“I believe it.”

I huffed loud enough for him to hear.

“You don’t?”

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