Page 82 of Sing For Me

She admitted to me the other night that one of her biggest fears is that a crowd of photographers will cause her to have a flashback—and they’ll capture the entire thing on camera.

“I know I’m whining,” she says, blowing out a breath. “I’m just frustrated. I want to go outside.”

Unease settles deep in my belly. I’m perfectly capable of giving her the opportunity to go outside as much as she wants. To socialize a little bit, to swim and bike and kayak and a hundred other things my cousins and I grew up doing at the farm.

But we would be with my family. And not just for a few hours.

I would be with my dad.

“You okay?” she asks, looking up at me. “You seem kind of pre-occupied.”

I close my eyes. Am I really going to do this?

“I know somewhere we can go,” I say through gritted teeth. “But we wouldn’t be alone.”