Benny
Bree offered her mom a room in Colby’s Airbnb, but she turned it down, choosing to head back to the airport with the publicist and one of the bodyguards.
She left the rest of the security team—and the hairstylist, who wanted to remain—because her appearance had the effect of fully revealing the Belacourt women to the locals.
It was a good thing for the paps. They got all the pictures they wanted of the ladies in their disguises. So, that was fantastic.
The security detail ended up being great, keeping everyone away so the girls could remove their wigs and enjoy the rest of the concert without being bothered for selfies. Lucy, the stylist, helped them remove the crazy makeup at the car, and they came back looking fairly normal.
“Hey, now that the cat’s out of the bag,” Colby says, his camera hanging from his neck, “You two could sing your new song.”
I cough, almost spitting up my Coke. “It’s Bree’s song.”
“It’s ours,” she argues, her hand drawing around my waist while she leans into me.
I put my arm around her shoulder and look down at her. “Do you want to get up there? We can make room for you.”
“Only if you come with me.”
There’s a click, and I look up to see that Colby took our photo. He’s smiling, looking at the image on his camera’s screen.
Old, familiar anxiety edges into my limbs. “We’ve never practiced it.”
“It wouldn’t be hard. We can both sing the melody.”
I try to read her brown eyes. Is she serious? Is this something she wants?
Bree shakes her head. “I wasn’t thinking. You’d be totally outed.”
I turn her to face me. This is the moment Grandma was talking about. I can’t put my life off because I’m worried about what it would do to her heart. She would be happy about us being together, that much is true.
I can’t live in fear.
It’s true I don’t want to be in the spotlight, but putting everything out there and choosing Bree is worth it.
Love is worth it. If I want Bree to stay here in Bodega Bay with me, there will be no keeping the paps out of it.
We’ll be found. So why hold on to the dregs of anonymity like this?
If I let go, maybe the anxiety around keeping myself hidden will go away, too.
I try to hold Bree’s gaze so she understands that I mean every word. “We’d be outed, which I’m okay with if you are.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” I try to read her eyes, but all I see in them is warmth. “Peter can announce a surprise guest. Does that work?”
“Great idea!” Olive says. “I’ll get a video for your socials.”
“I’ll record too,” Colby says, making Olive roll her eyes.
Zoey claps her hands together. “I actually love this.”
“I’m still mad at you,” Bree says to her sister.
“Hey, Mom would have found you one way or another. I didn’t mean to leave Find My Friends on. Besides…it’s Olive’s boyfriend’s plane that really gave us away.”
“Maybe,” Bree concedes, “but once you found out she was coming, you could have warned me.”
Zoey looks like she has no good argument for that, so she keeps quiet.
“I’ll talk to Peter,” Colby says, heading off.
“Let’s go somewhere and run through the song once,” I suggest.
Bree nods. “Okay.”
Our attendance here must have really gotten around, because when Peter announces the surprise guest, the crowd goes insane.
There are shouts of Bree’s name all through the festival.
People are screaming for her, and there’s a specific demographic that rushes the stage.
Mostly women, but there are men in the mix, too.
“They can’t see us, can they?” Bree asks, looking up at me in the dark wing of the outdoor stage.
She’s lost the wig and her makeup artist only took a few minutes wiping her thick makeup and giving her a natural look and a red lip.
She’s the Bree I fell for all those years ago, then fell for again over the last month.
“I’m sure they all know you’re here by now.”
“Thanks, Mom,” she mutters.
“Hey, aren’t you kind of glad to have that over? You don’t have to hide anymore, and your mom knows how you feel now.”
“Yeah, but I wish she would have stayed to hang out with us. Not everything has to be a business move.” She sighs. “It tracks though. Honestly, I’m surprised they sound happy to see me.”
“No one’s as angry at you about that diss track as you are. You need to let it go.”
She inhales slowly, nodding. “I get that, but it’s hard to let go.”
“Take your own advice and forgive yourself, Bree. Really listen to the words when we sing them in a moment and let it go.”
She closes her eyes, inhaling. “Okay.”
Peter announces our names, and I feel my nerves dancing. But the anxiety I was expecting has faded to anticipation. “Ready?”
“Let’s do this.”
We walk out onto the stage to the sound of cheering.
The crowd grows louder when Bree takes the mic.
I strap on an acoustic guitar someone let me borrow, hooked up to an amp.
It’s been so many years since I’ve taken a stage like this, and as much as this sort of thing used to give me high anxiety, I don’t feel any of those things now.
Bree looks at me, taking my hand and squeezing my fingers enough to say we’re in this together, and it grounds me.
I think I could do anything if she was beside me.
Either way, I’m not overwhelmed. Age and wisdom and time have culminated, putting my mental health in a better place, and now I understand that it’s important to keep track of where my head’s at.
“Good afternoon, Bodega Bay!”
I take the other mic. “We’re lucky today, aren’t we?”
“I agree, Benny Rhodes. These people are in for a special treat.”
“They are. They get the first live rendition of Bree’s newest song, ‘Flying Forgiveness’.”
The screams are wild. “Accompanied by none other than Benny himself.”
“We co-wrote this song,” I say, looking at Bree so I don’t lose courage. “I’ve written quite a few of Bree’s songs, actually, under a pen name. But this one might be my favorite.”
She blinks at me. I can tell she wasn’t expecting this, but if I’m going to put it all out there, I want to show her I mean what I say—she’s worth anything I have to put up with. It’s time to be done with secrets.
“If you’re a local, you might recognize where I got my pen name from. Duncan Doran—two of my favorite beaches in this area. My grandma used to bring me to those beaches as a kid, and if you have time, I recommend stopping by for a visit this week.”
Bree nods at me, like she understands why I needed to do that.
I sit at the edge of the stool someone provided, situating the guitar against my leg, and Bree stands next to me. When I begin to strum, the music flows through me, and I put everything I have into this performance.
Bree sings with me, and people from the audience join in. They already know the words, which boggles my mind. I shouldn’t be surprised though. I’m so happy, feeling the energy from the crowd and Bree at my side, and I think I can do this forever if I’m doing it with her.
I’m whole.
We’re practically buzzing, enjoying the cocoon that encapsulates us when we write together, only it’s magnified with the vibes from the crowd and the feeling of singing together.
The words of forgiveness and moving on leave Bree’s lips, and she looks at me, a content expression on her face that proves she’s internalizing the lyrics and really moving on.
We both have a lot of growth in the three and a half minutes of singing, and by the time we’re finished, it feels like we morphed in our cocoon and came out the other side as new people—beautiful butterflies.
When we finish singing, the crowd erupts. That video footage is going to be everywhere by the end of the day, once all these people have service again. People are screaming for encores, but I think we’ve both hit our emotional limit for the day.
“That was amazing,” Bree whispers away from the mic.
We wave, bowing together, and head off the stage to where Colby is waiting. He doesn’t have his camera up, though. His brow is furrowed, sending fear straight to my gut.
“It’s Grandma,” he says. “We need to go. She had a heart attack, and they took her to the hospital.”