Page 116 of Loaded

As I listen, something strange happens.

I can hear it, the similarity between what everyone says about them.

The stories kind of converge in my brain, and a melody emerges. A melody thatisBentley and Barbara. It’s their devotion. It’s their patience. It’s their enduring kindness. Their frustration and weariness with the world, and then their joy in turning toward one another.

It’s how individually, they’re all less, but as a family, they’reenough.

I stand up, patting Easton’s arm, and cross the edgeof the room to where the band’s playing softly. Luckily, there’s a keyboard. “Can I borrow this?”

The poor player blinks, and then nods. He stands up and steps back toward the wall. When Killian stops talking, which frankly is a relief, I step into the gap. “I’m Beatrice,” I say into the microphone. “And I wasn’t sure whether I’d get an invite, since the first time I met Uncle Bentley, I threatened to cut his throat.”

That gets everyone’s attention.

“When I first came to live with Mom and Dad, I didn’t think I belonged there. I figured it was just a matter of time before I packed up my junk and found a new place to stay, with new people to annoy. The idea that I might have found my family.” I choke up, but I forge ahead. “It hadn’t even occurred to me.”

Jake catches my eye, and he’s not smiling. He looks sad.

“But you know, that never happened. No matter what dumb things I said, no matter what idiotic things I did, like threatening Uncle Bentley, Mom and Dad kept right on loving me. And Uncle Bentley, not three weeks after I threatened his life, came to my very first birthday party.”

I drop my fingers on the keys of the keyboard.

“I’m not sure either of you will remember what you gave me for my birthday.” This time, my eyes well with tears. “But Uncle Bentley, you had heard I liked music, so you bought me a keyboard, not unlike this one.” I place my hands on the keys.

“It was one of the best gifts I ever gave,” Uncle Bentley says.

“And Aunt Barbara, you gave me a pair of headphones to connect to the keyboard. That’s probably theonly reason no one took the thing away, because I had no idea what I was doing at first.”

Everyone laughs.

“For a long time, I didn’t want to play in front of anyone. I’ll be honest, I still don’t really enjoy this part. I like to make up songs, and I like to play them—but I do it in the peace and quiet of my own family room. For a long time, that’s where my songs stayed.”

I point at the wall.

“Over there, in that pile, you’ll find the panic-gift I bought you. I think you might like it, but who knows? The gift I wanted to give you, a song, just didn’t come to me. Not until I watched you. Not until I heard all your guests talking about the love you share and about the family you’ve built.”

I play the opening chord. It’s hopeful. It’s bright. And then it segues into something mournful. Something tragic. I don’t have words yet, but I think some songs are better without words. It’s pure emotion.

Like me, Uncle Bentley and Aunt Barbara had some rough times. They felt alone, they felt unloved, and they felt unworthy. I could tell in the way they joked. I could tell in the way they smiled as Dad kissed Mom. I play that sorrow into the beginning.

But then the hope comes back. The chords progress into something lighter. Something tentative, something new.

And then comes the real transition. The key signature from the tragic and the key signature from the hopeful combine, and the harmony meets the melody. The sorrow and the joy combine to form something more. Strength.

That’s what I’ll call this song.

Strength.

When I play the final chords, I stand up. “My mom and dad were there for me, lending me their strength, lending me their faith when I didn’t have any of my own. And you two—I can feel it. Together, you’re just as strong as Mom and Dad. You’re better together than you were apart, and you’ll only grow stronger.” I shift to look at Ricki and Nikki. “You may have times you doubt, moments of fear, but I promise you that eventually, you’ll realize that their strength is also yours.”

I turn back toward Aunt Barbara and Uncle Bentley. “I’m so happy for all of you. I’m delighted that I’ll be around to watch as you only grow stronger. Congratulations and best wishes for the years ahead of you.”

When I walk back to my seat, Uncle Bentley starts clapping, and then everyone else joins in. It’s the first, and probably the last, time that I’ve ever been happy to perform.

But when we finish eating, I notice that Octavia has tried to call me four times. I’m not sure she’s ever called me before. She’s always just texted. When I slide to my texts, I read hers. CHECK YOUR EMAIL.

So I do.

And buried between something from Tractor Supply Company—how I got on their list I will never know—and Ann Taylor Loft is an email that saysFinalist: Sony Music Record Competition.

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