Page 35 of Night Songs

As I sweated over open flame

In the delivery, you called me pretty little lady

As the big bouncing baby came

Now that the emergency had passed, I stood there terrified, wondering what the hell I was doing in front of all these people. When it was time for the chorus, Hess pulled me into the mic, and I belted:

We’re just pretty little ladies

Like a flower bloomin’ all year long

We’re just pretty little ladies

It’s a miracle we can sing this song

Awash with adrenaline, I finished the song with Hess and the thousands of singers in the crowd. When it was over, they wailed like lunatics. Hess took my hand, and we stepped forward and bowed. I thought my heart might explode, and when she released me, I ran from the stage to the safety of the wing.

Once I was out of view, a crew member handed me a water bottle, and I tried to drink it while hunched over my knees.

“That was very brave,” came a smooth voice above me. I looked up to see Clayton standing there, eyes twinkling.

“I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“It looked like you saved the day.”

I smiled gratefully, still focused on catching my breath.

“I wonder if there’s something here. An album, maybe. ‘Greatest hits of Belle Powers as performed by her daughter.’ Could be big if that crowd is any indication.”

“But I’m not really a singer,” I said, wondering if he might challenge me. Maybe I had a better voice than I thought, and I only needed the right person to spot it. Part of me still wondered if there was a remnant of Belle’s talent lurking somewhere in me, just waiting for the right moment to reveal itself.

He furrowed his brow and pursed his lips. “Oh, that doesn’t matter. We’d pair you with artists from that era for most of the songs. And nowadays you can take any voice and make it passable. Computers are remarkable things.”

Deflated, I considered how to respond. It seemed like something I should be excited about, but the idea made me a bit queasy. Perhaps that was just the adrenaline leaving my body. I arranged my expression to one of enthusiasm. “I could sing some of my father’s songs, too. A few of the big ones he wrote.”

Clayton stiffened and looked away. “I mean no disrespect, but I have no interest in memorializing your father.”

I bristled. Was this jealousy after so many years? It didn’t seem like Clayton to hold on to such petty emotions.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Please, it’s no matter.” He took a card out and placed it in my hand. “Give me a call, and we’ll talk about the album. I can really see it.” He looked me up and down and said, “You could even dress up like her for the cover.”

As he walked away, I glanced at myself in the mirror used for touch-ups at the edge of the stage. I’d worn one of Belle’s old dresses from the ’70s in a lime polyester, and it strained across the middle and at my thighs. My hair, bleached to a red gold from the sun and teased up for more volume, had fallen since the morning. My eyeliner ran from the heat, and my hot-pink lipstick had faded, blurring the outline of my mouth.

I looked like a bad Halloween version of Belle—a night-worn, shameless imitation stumbling home late from a party.

I suddenly felt the tight itch of the polyester against my skin, like I was trapped in the dress. My chest constricted, and my stomach roiled. Instead of sinking into the heat, it smothered me now. I needed some air.

I left the stage area and walked through the searing neon fairground to meet Micah, as loud country pop pounded against my head and the smell of fried dough pressed against my nose like a thick blanket. I still felt like I couldn’t take a full breath.

When I finally saw Micah at the Ferris wheel, he took one look at me and grimaced. “Are you okay?”

His beautiful face made my stomach turn even more. “I don’t feel very good,” I answered. “I think it’s the heat.” It didn’t help that whenever he was close, I felt like I was going slightly insane. I couldn’t stand another night of watching him out of the corner of my eye, wondering if he’d try to kiss me. “I’m sorry, I just need to get out of here.”

I staggered toward the exit, but he said, “Wait,” and caught my arm. We rarely touched, and an electricity passed between us.

I stopped and turned back to him.