Chapter Twenty
The local diner buzzed with a charged energy. The air was thick with the scent of burned coffee, fried onions, and sweet maple syrup and clung to Leanne’s clothes as she stepped inside.
A slight tremble still buzzed in her fingertips, and every now and then she found herself gasping for air.
There were places on her shoulders, arms, back that ached like bruises, and she was sure when she finally undressed for bed tonight, she was going to see the marks of people’s shoes and hands on her body.
Every booth, every counter stool, and every syrup-sticky table was crammed with concertgoers seeking refuge from the smoke and sirens still drifting up from the stadium.
They looked as worn out as she did. It was an ironic energy when compared to the panoramic scene of the mountains out the window.
A few patrons sported torn band T-shirts, either on purpose or from people grabbing hold of them while trying to stay upright.
She craned her neck around the diner looking for her mother, but there was no sign of her here either.
“Mom, I’m sure she’s fine. If she’s with the band, they probably had people to protect them,” Nora said, her soft touch on Leanne’s elbow. “Besides, when Joe spoke to her she was full of spunk.”
Leanne nodded, hoping that was true and also feeling jealous that this young journalist had been able to track down her mother for a quote when she couldn’t even track her down for a hug.
But where the hell had the band gone? When was she going to find her mother?
Frustration made her grind her teeth. The mix of feelings only made it harder for her to breathe.
She drew in a steadying breath, imagining her mother’s hand on her back, telling her to breathe slowly in and out, the way she’d done when Leanne was nervous for a test at school, the same way she’d done when she’d gone into labor with Nora. God, she wanted her mother.
The three of them grabbed stools at the counter’s far end.
Stools still warm from the patrons who’d just vacated them.
Leanne perched on hers, her spine aching from lying on the ground during the panicked stampede.
Leanne gripped the edge of her round, red stool, hoping to ease her still trembling hands.
Despite the deep breathing, her nerves hadn’t entirely caught up to her stomach yet, but she ordered a coffee anyway, grateful for something to hold.
Joe sat beside Nora, their knees just barely touching.
The ease between them had Leanne raising one carefully plucked brow.
He was handsome in a scruffy, slightly poetic way—rumpled shirt, pencil behind one ear, a leather satchel slung casually at his feet.
He didn’t look like the clean-cut, polite, all-edges-and-no-depth boys Nora had brought around before.
This one had stories in his eyes and was full of questions.
Nora was beaming.
Leanne took a slow sip of her coffee, cringing at the weak and bitter taste. Like it had been on the burner since four a.m. But at least it was something.
“So,” she said, tone light but direct. “Tell me how you two met.”
Nora’s cheeks flushed, her smile faltering for half a second before she swept a lock of her hair behind her ear and gave her mother the same innocent visage she’d perfected as a child.
“I bought him a Coca-Cola at the last concert. That’s all.” Nora said it with a too-practiced shrug.
Leanne hummed, unconvinced. The way Joe glanced over at her daughter—like he was seeing straight through her nonchalance—told a different story. But Leanne didn’t press, not here. Her daughter would never forgive her for pressing in front of an audience.
Leanne folded her hands around the warm mug. “Well, thank you, Joe. Truly. I don’t know what might have happened if you hadn’t appeared at our moment of need.”
Joe tilted his head in her direction. “No problem, Mrs.…?”
“Miller,” she replied. “Mrs. Miller.”
He nodded as if tucking the name into some mental notebook.
“Good to meet you, Mrs. Miller.” Joe offered his hand across the counter in front of Nora, who sat between them.
Leanne leaned left and shook it, interrupted by the waitress swooping in and pouring more steaming coffee into each of their chipped white mugs.
Leanne took a tentative sip, hoping this fresh batch of brew would be better. No such luck. Pure diner sludge. But at least it was warm.
Joe raised his glass of water slightly in a quiet toast. “To fortunate chance encounters.”
Nora rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t falter.
Leanne let herself imagine this was what change looked like—not confusion, not collapse, but connection. Small moments. Three people at the end of a counter. A little hope served alongside a grilled cheese and a cup of burned coffee.
“So, you’ve seen my mother?” Leanne leveled her gaze at Joe over the rim of her mug.
Joe nodded, reaching for the sugar canister. He poured at least half its contents into his cup, followed by a generous splash of cream. He stirred it all with the handle of his spoon like he was mixing paint.
Nora kept her hands wrapped around her mug but didn’t drink. She had never been a coffee girl. Though if she copied the way Joe had doctored his up, she might be. That cup was pure dessert.
“I have seen her.” Joe lit up, scooting taller in his chair. “More than once actually.”
He glanced toward the waitress refilling someone else’s mug, then back at Leanne.
“At first, no one knew what to make of this elderly woman onstage with Shep Moon. Everyone assumed she was his grandmother.” His grin was sheepish, apologetic.
“They were so in sync, so relaxed together. Like they’d known each other forever.
Honestly, I just figured she was family. ”
Leanne felt her throat tighten. She wasn’t sure why.
“But then she started to sing and play,” Joe continued. “And Shep introduced her as Mama Lightning.”
“Mama Lightning?” Nora repeated, a small laugh escaping before she could stop it.
“Pretty amazing, right?” Joe nodded the way young people did when they were still awestruck by the world.
“Now, the radio guys call her the Dame of Rock and Roll all due to a little article I wrote in the San Francisco Chronicle about her that Johnny Carson happened to read and talked about in the opening of his show.”
“I just can’t believe it,” Nora said, glancing at her mother. “I didn’t even know she could sing like that.”
“I did,” Leanne said softly.
The words dropped like a stone in a still pond.
She set her mug on its saucer, prepared for Nora to ask for an explanation. But just when she was about to no doubt ask, the waitress returned, breaking the chain of conversation. Leanne ordered a whole stack of pancakes with extra syrup and a side of bacon, extra crispy.
Nora stared at her with shock. Leanne had never ordered anything that indulgent, and she was certain her daughter had a thousand questions running through her mind. For breakfast, it was always grapefruit, cottage cheese, and black coffee. That was the Leanne Miller everyone knew.
But after the emotional whiplash of the day—the riot, the sheer disbelief of learning her mother was now a stage-singing sensation—Leanne figured she’d earned a stack of sugary pancakes, probably with butter on top and a side of unapologetic, crispy deliciousness.
And maybe she’d even add some sugar to the terrible coffee to wash it all down.
Add this to the many things she’d changed up on the trip. Was it any wonder that Nora was confused?
“You knew she could sing like that? I’ve heard her sing lullabies, but to really sing…” Nora asked, her tone caught somewhere between awe and accusation.
Leanne looked down into her coffee for a minute then raised her eyes to meet her daughter’s.
“When I was younger, she sang all the time. While making eggs or hanging laundry on the line. Even when she washed my hair in the kitchen sink. I don’t think our house was ever quiet.
At the very least she was humming along in the background. ”
She paused, swallowing against the lump that had crept into her throat.
“But as I got older, she got quieter. The singing became something I heard only through closed doors. Like the older I got, the more her voice disappeared.” Leanne exhaled, long and slow, a sigh laced with something that sounded and felt suspiciously like guilt.
Had she said something once, years ago? Rolled her eyes? Laughed at the wrong time?
“Well,” Joe said, “she has definitely found her voice again. She blew the roof off with Shep Moon tonight. Honestly? Wouldn’t be surprised if a record label calls her.”
“And you’re making her into your muse for the summer?” Nora’s eyes narrowed slightly in that perceptive, protective way that reminded Leanne how brilliant her daughter really was.
Joe lifted his hands like he was under oath. “I am. But this”—he motioned between them—“is off the record. Just here as a friend.”
Leanne nodded slowly. “Thank you,” she said genuinely. How strange to be grateful to a boy she didn’t know for looking after her mother—and her daughter—but she was.
She scanned the diner. The Formica counters gleamed under the buzzing fluorescents. Behind the pie case, nestled next to a cigarette vending machine, was exactly what she hoped for.
“I’m going to check if that pay phone works,” she said, sliding off her stool. “I need to call your dad and let him know the latest installment in this rock-and-roll soap opera. See if maybe through his marketing connections he can find a way for us to contact Shep Moon’s manager.”
“That’s a great idea,” Nora said.
“If he can’t, I might be able to see if can find out through the newspaper I’m interning for,” Joe offered.
“Thank you.”
Nora smiled at Joe, and Leanne caught it—a glimmer in her daughter’s expression at Joe’s desire to help.
Leanne slipped off her stool and made her way toward the pay phone. The linoleum floor squeaked beneath her sensible heels. She dropped in the required coins, which clinked down with a hollow finality, and dialed home.
The phone rang. And rang.
No answer.
Again.
Leanne let the receiver dangle briefly in her hand, then returned it to its cradle with a soft click.
She stared at the rotary dial, hesitating, her finger poised to spin the operator for Dean’s office line.
But the image of that honey-voiced secretary flickered through her mind, and the knot it formed in her stomach was enough to make her retract her hand.
Not tonight.
Through the smudged glass, she watched Nora at the counter, laughing at something Joe had said. The two of them were dipping toast into their yolks. Beside them, a glorious stack of pancakes awaited her, the syrup glistening like amber in the diner lights.
Leanne took a breath and straightened her shoulders. She was going to devour the hell out of those pancakes.
And then?
She was going to find her mother.