Miranda

(7:35 P.M.—SHOWTIME)

I tapped out the beat with the toe of my boot.

Then with my hand against the side of my leg. Bom, bom, bom, bom. Junior’s bass line was slow and easy.

I opened my eyes and sang.

There was a ripple of applause, like rain spattering on the windshield, as the audience recognized the song.

Their clapping should’ve been louder, though. I tried not to worry.

I pulled the microphone from its stand. I marched to one side of the stage, then over to the other. It wasn’t the kind of song you tossed your hat to, really. Instead, when the notes were loud and lonesome, I touched the brim, bent my head back, and sang to the sky.

Another spatter of applause.

I looked over my shoulder at Ronnie. She mouthed slowly: Keep going.

I felt like the little girl at the livestock auction, waiting for someone to stand up, to raise their hand for me.

The grandstand wasn’t full yet. Up there, people were still climbing to their seats, not paying us any attention at all.

I tried to ignore them because the crowd standing just below us was bigger than any we’d ever played for at the Family Side Stage.

Any we’d ever played for anywhere.

But they were not dancing.