Chapter Seventeen
After days on the road, Leanne parked the Continental in the only spot left—a crooked sliver of grass between two psychedelic-painted vans. The motor fell silent, and she just sat there for a beat, letting her joints recalibrate.
Road-tripping was not for the faint of heart. And when they finally got back to New York, she might boycott automobiles for the foreseeable future in favor of walking, even if it took her the entire day.
When she finally swung the door open and stepped out, her entire body groaned in protest. Knees stiff. Back sore. If she hadn’t been driving for hours on end she might have worried she was suddenly ninety. The time on the road certainly had felt like longer than fifty years.
She stretched her arms over her head, twisting right and left from the waist up, feeling her muscles loosen. Music thundered from the stadium—deep, pulsing, relentless. Lights shot into the night sky like flares. The whole scene was alive, pulsating with energy.
She could only imagine the thrill of being on the inside.
And, allegedly, somewhere in that musical pandemonium, her mother was singing and playing guitar. Performing like she was twenty, not nearly seventy.
How in the world was Eleanor doing all this? Leanne had barely survived a twelve-hour drive. She felt like she’d gone ten rounds on one of those vibrating belt machines—except instead of her hips having been slimmed, she felt like her organs had rearranged themselves.
Unlike her mom, Nora had leaped out of the car—camera swinging around her neck, her hair catching the glint of neon from the stage lights—all youthful bounce and forward momentum.
Leanne watched her daughter with a strange mix of admiration and envy. To be that young again. She shook her head ruefully.
“You all right?” Nora slowed just enough to glance back.
There it was again—that look. The one Leanne had started catching more and more. Not pity. Not concern. Something new.
Recognition? Acceptance?
It felt like Nora wasn’t seeing just as a mom anymore.
She was seeing a woman. One with a past, one who looked a little lost sometimes.
Or maybe that was wishful thinking on Leanne’s part.
In fact it had been nearly twenty-four hours of complete pleasantness, and not a single argument or snide remark.
“I’m good,” Leanne replied, smoothing her skirt. “Just a long drive.”
Nora agreed, but her voice brightened. “But we’re here.”
She punctuated the sentence with a little hop and a squeal, already bounding toward the stadium gates, full of energy and wonder.
Leanne fished into her purse for cash, fingers brushing old receipts, a tube of lipstick, and a stray mint fallen from the Certs pack lying on top of the folded bills left over from pumping gas that morning. They’d been in such a hurry she hadn’t bothered to put them back in her wallet.
Every time they approached a festival gate, she worried tickets would be sold out.
That they’d be turned away at the last minute.
That their chance to finally put eyes on her mother would disappear.
So far, they’d gotten lucky. But still, the uncertainty made her stomach twist. From the looks of things, Mile High Stadium was already packed.
As they entered, she was immediately aware that this crowd felt different from the one in California.
The atmosphere there had been mellow, almost dreamy—tie-dye and tambourines, patchouli and peace signs.
Here in Colorado, she’d expected something similar—mountain air and mellow vibes.
But there was nothing bohemian about this crowd.
The energy was less euphoria and more edge.
On instinct, she stepped closer to Nora, brushing her hand against her daughter’s in case she needed to grab hold. A strange protective urge that came from within rather than any outward urgency.
True to form, Nora appeared unaffected. She had her camera out, snapping candid shots of the scene—bare feet, shirtless guitarists, a girl with daisies woven into her hair. With wide, enthralled eyes, Nora rode the wave of the crowd, documenting every second to share with her friends back home.
While Leanne wanted desperately to feel the same way, to sway with the music and live in this carefree pocket of time, she couldn’t shake the unease curdling in her stomach.
The rock that had settled there, she admitted to herself, could have been the greasy burger they’d picked up off the highway.
But more likely, it was the creeping worry that this would be the end of the trail.
That her mother had vanished somewhere and they’d never see her again. That they were too late.
A man stepped in front of them, blocking the view and startling Leanne. But his massive grin disarmed her. He juggled five bright balls—red, green, yellow, blue, and orange—each arcing in a dizzying whirl above his head. They spun like planets. Hypnotic.
He grinned with every whirl, his face half hidden behind the blur of motion.
Something was familiar about him. Not just the artistry but the aura.
Beside her, Nora tilted her head, camera half raised.
“The wizard?” Leanne asked, squinting.
The mellow fellow laughed, tossing his arms wide and nearly sending a ball flying into the crowd.
“I am a wizard!” he declared. “A juggling wizard!” He turned in a full circle, tossing the balls high above his head and wiggling his fingers as if conducting a great cosmic spell. Somehow, he caught them all on the way back down.
One wrong toss and that rainbow would’ve smacked Leanne right in the face. Still, she found herself smiling despite the nerves.
“I thought I recognized him,” she muttered out of the side of her mouth, curling her arm around Nora’s and steering her out of the juggler’s path. “Pretty sure I saw him in Vegas too.”
Nora laughed, lifting her camera to snap another picture. Then she let herself be tugged along, the click of the shutter lost in the roar of the music.
Leanne’s eyes drifted toward the stage. She didn’t recognize the band.
The musicians glistened with sweat, while their lead singer practically devoured the microphone like an ice cream cone.
They were talented, but it was not the sort of music she’d ever play on the console stereo in the living room.
More importantly, there was no sign of Eleanor.
Nora danced without a care, arms high above her head, swaying with a rhythm.
A smile played on her lips. She leaned close to her mother, pointing and shouting something about the drummer, but Leanne couldn’t make it out over the clash of the crowd and music.
An uneasy feeling gripped her like a vice.
Leanne scanned the crowd—hair flying, cigarettes dangling from lips, glass bottles clinking together. A couple was pressed against each other so tightly it made her blush, limbs entwined like ivy. Their kiss was slow and messy, full of hunger and complete abandon.
That kind of affection hadn’t been an element of her marriage in years.
Leanne quickly looked away, the ache in her belly part longing, part memory. She thought of Dean. How once, she would’ve kissed him like that in the middle of a street if he’d ever allowed it.
Beside her, Nora followed her gaze. With a laugh that was more gasp, she lifted her hand in front of her mother’s eyes like a blindfold. “Mom! Don’t stare!”
Leanne laughed, tugging down her hand with a wiggle of her brows, trying to lighten the mood. “Do you think he swallowed her tongue?”
“He does look hungry.” Nora raised her eyebrows up and down jokingly.
Then they laughed together—really laughed. Leanne felt like a bridge between them, strung with light, had appeared and they’d met in the middle.
Then, Leanne’s laughter cracked, cut off as quickly as it had come.
From somewhere off to the right of the stadium came shouting. Not excited, not playful, but sharp. Angry. Mom?
“What’s going on?” Nora asked.
The shouts grew to bellows, more and more people joining the fray. But she could see nothing, only hear them. Leanne’s entire body tensed.
A ripple moved through the crowd. As if the fury of shouting rode the bodies of fans. A bottle launched overhead, arcing. Nora flinched, ducking and instinctively Leanne leaned her body over her daughter’s.
People began to scatter. Their bodies bumping indiscriminately into one another. The air, thick with music and smoke just seconds ago, snapped taut like a wire.
Leanne grabbed Nora’s hand, her voice cutting through the noise. “Stay close.”
They shoved, joining the scattering crowd, barely making any sort of progress in the crush.
Then came the explosion.
A crack of sound and light—too close, too loud—and the air shifted. A thick, smoky film clouded everything, a fog that stung her eyes and burned the back of her throat. Her lungs screamed with each breath.
“What is that?” Leanne gasped while Nora coughed beside her.
“Tear gas!” someone shouted, voice cracking.
“Fucking pigs!” someone else roared with a rage Leanne had never experienced.
Panic surged. Bodies pressed in on all sides, the scent of sweat and marijuana strong.
People shouted, coughed, and shoved. Leanne clutched Nora’s wrist and yanked her close, trying to pull her toward the exit.
Back to the Lincoln. Back to breathable air.
Back to safety. But the crowd surged like a wave, crashing against them with no rhythm, no mercy.
She stumbled over something. A shape on the ground.
A person.
Leanne bent to help, but someone behind her shoved hard, and she toppled, landing on the fallen figure. Her knees hit the ground, her palms scraped, and the impact knocked the breath from her lungs.
“Mom!” Nora screamed, her voice ragged with fear.
Leanne looked up through the blur—of smoke, of noise, of movement—and saw only mayhem. Mayhem that made people forget which way was forward. Which way was out.
Every inhale was a struggle. Stinging tears blinded her.
And in that split second of fear, a terrible thought took hold. This is how I die.
This was how her mother would die.
Crushed under the weight of strangers. At a concert she’d never wanted to be at.
Choking on tear gas while trying to save a daughter who shouldn’t be here.
Chasing a mother who should have been at home, knitting in front of the television—not gallivanting across the country like some rock star on a comeback tour.
New tears filled her eyes. Not from the gas now but from rage. From helplessness. From a lifetime of holding everything together, only to have it all fall apart like this.