Page 97 of Sing For Me

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After dinner,Paige insists we have a campfire. “We’ve barely roasted marshmallows this whole trip,” she complains, which is nonsense—we’ve had s’mores almost every day that I’ve been here. But I’ve learned that it’s easier not to argue with Will’s excitable aunt.

Reed and Daltrey build the fire, while Cash stands behind them criticizing their technique. They must do something right, because within a few minutes there’s a pretty decent sized roaring blaze going out in the fire pit behind the farmhouse. Daisy enlists Paige, Rose, and me to help her bring out trays of s’more fixings and coolers full of sodas and beer.

“I thought I was too full of tacos to eat again tonight,” Rose says as we arrange the trays of fixings.

“Is it possible to be too full for s’mores?” I ask.

Paige beams at me. “I like the way you think, Eva.”

“This is such a pretty dress,” Daisy says, eyeing my light blue sundress—the same one I wore the day I met Will.

Not that all the details of that event have been permanently etched into my mind, or anything.

“Evaalwayswears the best dresses,” Rose agrees with her mom. “She has a very feminine style—I’m totally jealous of your wardrobe.”

“You know,” Paige muses, studying me, “she has a point. I don’t think I’ve seen you even wear jeans since you’ve been here.”

“Oh, I never wear jeans.” It takes me a second to realize that I blurted something out of the ordinary. They’re all looking at me, waiting for me to continue. I swallow. “I hurt my hip a while ago. Sometimes it gets swollen so jeans are usually pretty uncomfortable.”

Paige’s face fills with sympathy. “Well, it sounds like you’ve made something sweet out of those lemons—I think you look beautiful in your dress.”

She says the compliment with so much sincerity I have to blink back a sudden sting in my eyes. Then I catch sight of Will behind her, watching me, a slight smile on his face, understanding shining in his eyes. It’s getting easier for me to talk about these things, I realize. Or maybe I’m just getting more comfortable with his family.

We sit and eat s’mores and talk in a loose circle around the fire pit. Without asking me, Will sets our blanket back a little farther than the others, correctly guessing that I won’t want to sit too close to the dancing flames. But I find myself oddly unaffected by the closeness of the fire while darkness settles over the property, stars beginning to wink high overhead. You never see stars like this in LA and I’m going to miss them when we go back. I’m going to miss all of this—the sense of relaxed comfort and peace that I feel flowing through the people in this circle.

Eventually, someone brings out several guitars. I try not to squeal like a fangirl as Cash and Haylee both take their instruments.I’m just going to sit at this campfire and listen to a private show with my idols,I think to myself, giddy. No big deal.

Haylee starts with an old Billie Holiday song, her bluesy voice echoing out across the nearby darkened forest. Most of the family joins in on the chorus and it’s everything I can do to keep from crying.

Music was such a big part of my life. I started playing piano when I was three years old. I wrote my first song at age seven—a jazzy little number about Katherine’s toddler tantrums that I used to sing to my mom to make her laugh when she was stressed. Music is what got me into a performing arts high school, which is how I started getting cast off-Broadway. Music is what made it possible for me to provide for my sister.

My world used to be filled with songs—songs on the radio, songs in my head. Singing in the shower or while cooking or driving, going out to watch my friends play. Sitting for hours on end at my piano, lost to the world while I played.

But after the fire, something changed in me. I never play my piano anymore. I haven’t picked up a guitar in more than a year. Where it used to be my greatest escape, music now fills me with anxiety. A reminder of everything I’ve lost and a fear of what I won’t get back.

Siting out here with the Ransome family under a starry, ink-blue Tennessee sky, some of that peace trickles back into my soul. Even with the fire crackling nearby, there’s no fear, no reminder of choking smoke and out of control flames and panic. There’s just the sound of Haylee’s voice, Cash’s fingers on the strings, and then, by the chorus, the rest of the family joining in.

On the second chorus, I join them. And before the next song, when Reed offers me a guitar, I take it. I play with Haylee and Will’s dad and Daltrey and Reed and Lennon as they all take turns. And I sing, my voice loud and clear even though it’s been unused for so long.

I don’t hear Will joining in, but eventually, his hand finds my knee in the darkness, holding me steady while the music drifts around us in the dark.