Chapter 1
Rowan Wilkes had stood beneath stage lights and thunderous applause, but nothing had ever felt as sacred as the song rising from a child’s hospital room.
It didn’t matter that the child’s voice was thin and raspy, worn down by tubes and nights spent coughing, or that the song was “Baby Shark.” This moment was more life-giving than playing Red Rocks Amphitheatre, the Hollywood Bowl, and even the Grand Ole Opry.
Not that Cara, the five-year-old patient with a matted helmet of blonde curls, knew Rowan from any other country music star.
No, her music appealed to an older audience, and those who were more likely to frequent bars than the children’s hospital at Vanderbilt.
“You’re a terrific singer,” Rowan said, eliciting a big baby-tooth-filled grin from the girl.
“What do you say, honey?” Her mother gave Cara a prodding nudge as she sat next to her on the hospital bed.
“Thank you,” Cara rasped. She peered up at her mom questioningly.
“You can ask her. Rowan is nice. She won’t mind.”
Rowan lifted the strap from around her neck and placed her guitar back in its case. “What would you like to know? You can ask me anything.”
“Do you know Taylor Swift?”
Rowan laughed and matched Cara’s wide-eyed enthusiasm. “I do! She invited me to join her on tour when I was starting out. She’s super sweet.”
“Maybe next time you visit me, she can come too.”
The realization was sobering. This wasn’t a one-off hospitalization for a little girl with a cystic fibrosis diagnosis. This was her and her mom’s life. “I’ll see what I can do.”
A knock sounded moments before Elliott, the nurse, pushed his cart into the room. “Hey, Care-Bear. Time for me to take your vitals.”
Cara lit up. Elliott, Rowan had noticed over the past couple of years, could coax a grin from even the sickest kids on this floor.
Not to mention the mothers. He was a fine dinner date too, Rowan could attest. And it might have gone further if he didn’t have deep brown eyes that reminded her of someone she’d vowed to forget.
With Cara occupied, Rowan secured the lid on her case, careful not to work the troubled hinges too hard. Twelve years in Nashville had taken its toll, for sure.
“I can’t thank you enough for this.” Cara’s mother stood, clasping her hands to her chest. “It means so much to us that you took time to be here.”
“There’s no need to thank me. Hands down, it’s my favorite part of this career.” And the part she’d miss the most if her career kept its downward trend. Rowan shook off the thought, but she couldn’t shake off the pressing sorrow. “Cara’s darling. How long will she be here?”
“With a typical flare-up, it’s about two or three weeks, but they’ve been getting more common. We came to Nashville to see a specialist and try a new treatment.”
“Oh. Where’s home?”
“Not far from your hometown. We’re from Blackberry.”
“Yes! I knew I heard a Minnesotan accent there.”
“You betcha.” Cara’s mother finger-combed the girl’s curls. “When was the last time you were home?”
Rowan worked her jaw. “It’s been a while.” Twelve years, actually. She could still see the graduation-cap tassel swinging from the rearview mirror as she passed the Welcome to Tennessee sign.
“Do you miss it? Maple Lake?”
Rowan snuck a look back at Cara, who innocently giggled at Elliott’s magic trick while getting her temperature taken. Some things in life were simple. But that question about missing Maple Lake was not. “Not everything, but what I do, I miss every day.”
The woman scratched her neck. “I also have an eleven-year-old staying with my mother while we’re here. She’ll be so bummed she didn’t get to meet you.”
“You’re Lucy’s favorite-ist,” Cara adorably interrupted, dropping the thermometer from between her lips.
“Yep. She adores ‘Shadow Song.’ She even sang it at her school’s talent show.”
Rowan pressed her hand to her cheek. “I’m honored.”
“The past few years have been difficult for her, with Cara in the hospital so much. Would you sign something for her? She’d love your autograph.”
The sting worsened as Rowan pictured the young girl shouldering a world full of emotions while her sister was hospitalized and her mother was gone. Her watch vibrated against her wrist. A quick glance showed an incoming text.
Crue
Almost finished? You’ve gotta be at the costume fitting by four.
She ignored him. It was his fault for scheduling something.
Monday afternoons were blacked out for the hospital.
As if he hadn’t been her manager for a decade.
Besides, the fitting was with Mare. She knew what would fit Rowan’s body for tomorrow’s video shoot, and she understood how much Rowan cherished these visits.
“I’d happily do that. Would it be possible to FaceTime her? ”
“We can try. What do you say, Cara? Should we call Grandma and Lucy?”
The little girl beamed, and her mother took out her phone. A minute later, Rowan was introduced to a ponytailed tween whose jaw fell open when she realized who she was speaking to.
“Lucy, I heard you performed ‘Shadow Song’ at school,” Rowan said with her guitar back in hand. “Would you like to sing it with me now?”
After Lucy smiled, despite a trembling chin, Rowan began to play her breakout hit. The desperate heart song that had taken her from the street corner to inside the Ryman Auditorium. Together, she and Lucy sang the lyrics.
“When the lights go low and the night feels long,
I hum my hope like a shadow song.
I’m not alone, I’ve been seen all along,
Held in the dark by a shadow song.”
Fifteen minutes and many tissues later, Rowan, her guitar case slung across her back, stood in the elevator. As it descended, a familiar face smiled at her from a new acrylic sign promoting the Faith, Hope, and Cure Foundation.
“Every penny lets a child know they aren’t forgotten.”
—Jenna Ludington, Minnesota FHC Advocate
Pride lifted the corners of Rowan’s lips despite that old shadow trying to steal it away.
On cue, when she exited the elevator, her phone began playing “Sisters” from White Christmas.
Unease seeped through her for a different reason now.
Rowan moved out of the path of other visitors before retrieving her phone and answering it. “Hey, Jenna. Is everything all right?”
“Can’t I call just because? Nothing has to be wrong.
” Jenna sounded upbeat, but that didn’t mean anything.
She was the only person Rowan knew who could share a devastating cancer diagnosis and never fully lose her smile.
“Everybody’s fine. Faith got nominated for homecoming queen.
Oh, and Lea got a few minutes of playing time in the varsity soccer game last night.
Lilly’s still protecting us from every squirrel, delivery person, and plastic bag.
Mom and Dad, as always, are embarrassingly affectionate.
But alas, Chris Evans has yet to appear and sweep me off my feet. ”
The dreaded feeling subsided. When it came to diagnoses, she guessed no news was good news. At least for a bit. “Chris, Chris, Chris. I mean, what’s taking him so long anyway?”
“Goodness knows.”
In the hospital lobby, her manager, Crue Barnett, paced between two ficus trees.
She held up a single finger, which earned her a pointed look. “How’s Maple Lake?” Her stomach tightened as she awaited the hometown news rundown, which always somehow included an update on Lucas Hemingway—who he was dating, which cat he saved from a tree, what he purchased at Hagen’s General Store…
“Blessedly uneventful.”
Really? Nothing about Lucas? She took in a breath, but the strange hollow feeling inside remained. “That’s good.”
“There’s a reason I called though.” Jenna hesitated. “So, uh, you know how I do a lot of charity work? Well, the town has created a local scholarship in my honor.”
“Jenna, that’s wonderful. And so well-deserved.”
“The inaugural winners are going to be announced at the homecoming football game on October twenty-third. I know it’s a long shot, but I was wondering if you’d like to come back for the ceremony.”
Rowan glanced again at Crue, who gave her that do you want me to handle it? look. She waved it off. “That’s only, what? Two and a half weeks away? I’ll have to look at my calendar.”
“Didn’t you say things had slowed down quite a bit?”
Ouch. “Crue’s in talks with Rascal Flatts. We might do a show together.”
“Like a comeback tour?”
Rowan untucked her hair from behind her ears in case they were as red-hot as they felt. “Just because you don’t hear much from a group for a bit doesn’t mean they went anywhere that requires a comeback.”
“I didn’t mean anything by that. I really want you there. We want you there.” A long pause. “Maple Lake misses you, Row.”
Did it though? They seemed to do just fine without her. Jenna, her parents, and her nieces. Even Lucas, one of the most eligible Maple Lake golden boys.
A shrill howl pierced Rowan through the phone, followed by a series of barks.
“Lilly, hush,” Jenna said without effect. As a puppy, her parents’ Maltipoo could not be quieted once she got going. Clearly, that hadn’t changed in her senior years. “I have to go. Somebody’s at the door, and I’ve been expecting something important.”
Rowan forced a grin. “Chris Evans?”
“Lilly, quiet! What did you say?” In the background, Jenna asked someone to wrangle the dog. The doorbell rang again, followed by more howling and shushing.
Across the way, a woman pushing a stroller said something to the man at her side and pointed at Rowan. Recognition dawned on the man’s face, and he fumbled with his phone to take a picture. A few other people looked her direction.
Crue tapped his wrist.
“Wasn’t important.” Rowan surrendered. When it came to everything Maple Lake, her voice always got drowned out.
“Lucas Hemingway? What are you doing here?” Her mother’s voice squeaked with delight in the background.