Edwin was the drummer for The Perennials and also Joel’s best friend.
The second text read:The Perennials added another stop to your tour.
Her tour. The one that could make or break Emeline. Representatives from Daybreak Records would be at the first stop.
If you impress them, her manager had told her,they’re going to offer you a contract.
The thought made Emeline crackle and spark with hope.
A contract with Daybreak—one of the biggest record labels in the country—would launch her to the next level of her music career.
The tour started in just over a week. Which was was why she needed to get back to Montreal as soon as possible.
Did you get my dad’s email?
Joel’s dad was Emeline’s manager.
He wants you to read through the revised schedule and make sure you’re good with the new date.
Joel’s last text simply read:You okay?
She decided to respond later—she had a flashlight to find. As she slid the phone back into her pocket, it buzzed again. Emeline fished it out.
Incoming call from: Joel White
Heaving a sigh, she pressed TALK and lifted the phone to her ear.
“Hi,” she growled, pulling open drawers.
“Wow, nice to hear from you too.”
She winced, paused her searching, then rubbed her forehead with her free hand. “Sorry. I … It’s been a rough day.”
“Everything okay?”
She shook her head, suddenly wishing he weren’t seven hours away and instead was right here so she could pretend everything was fine. Just for a minute. Pressing her hip to the bench as she leaned against it, Emeline hooked her free hand around her waist. “I wish this were over.”
She should be at the Merchant Alehouse right now, singing. She should be crawling into Joel’s bed later tonight, safe in his arms.
That’s how you felt about the last guy too,said a voice in her head.Craig. The brown-eyed fiddler in the Irish trad band. She came for his fiddling, stayed for his dimples.
It’s how she felt about all the others before that. Others who never lasted long.
“How about I finish up here,” Joel was saying, “and then I’ll hop on a train tomorrow.”
“No,” said Emeline, a bit too forcefully, remembering why she’d come into the garage. She needed a flashlight. She supposed she could use her phone’s flashlight app, except it would drain the battery. And if she got lost in the woods, she’d need her phone to call for help. “I’m fine. Besides, don’t you have a show this weekend?”
Joel was the lead guitarist in a successful indie band, St. Urbain’s Horsemen. Their most recent album had won this year’s Polaris Music Prize.
“We’ll be back in time for my show.”
Would they? She touched the tithe marker in her pocket.She had no idea how long it would take to find the King’s City and get Pa back.
She pulled out another drawer, shoved aside boxes of nails and screws and oil-stained rubber bands, then shut it. She pulled out the next one.
Ah-ha!
There was the flashlight. Sitting between an old ball of twine and a measuring tape.
