I hold my lantern out. “To Sam,” I say. And then I let go, too.
But my lantern doesn’t move. It hangs in the air, hovering in front of me, its light blinking ever so slightly. I give it a little nudge from the bottom with the palm of my hand, and it rises for a few seconds, then lowers itself as it stays in the air. “Mine won’t go,” I say as the others look over, watching curiously. “Look.” I can’t help smiling, and laughing a little at this, because I think Sam heard me. He heard what I whispered to him, and he wants to stay with me a little longer. And then a breeze comes, and begins to pull the lantern down the fields, keeping it low, letting it almost graze across the grass. I step forward and follow it, trying to keep my hands right beneath to—I don’t really know. When the lantern picks up some speed, so do I. And the next thing I know, I’m dashing down the fields with my hands stretched out, chasing after it. Something takes over me. I need more time. I can’t let you go just yet. But the lantern gains height, like the sail of a ship being blown up from the wind, as I’m stumbling fast toward its light.
“Julie!”
The others are calling my name from behind me, and I realize how far I’ve run from them, but I can’t stop. I think Mika must have chased after me, because her voice is the closest. But my stride becomes too much for her, and my resolve to catch up to the lantern is too strong. Only I remain running further down the fields until the voices calling me sound far away. All I hear are my own heavy breaths and the sound of my heart pounding in my ears.
Another breeze comes and lifts the lantern even higher, moving it past the line of the mountains. And it keeps on going no matter how hard I’m running. But eventually I become so tired and out of breath, I can’t run anymore. So I stop and stand there, gazing up, watching it vanish into the sky with all of the others until I can no longer recognize it from the millions of stars.
The lantern is gone. I lost it. I can’t lose you, too. Not again.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BEFORE
When I close my eyes and everything goes dark, I see him. Sam. Standing there. Letting his dark hair cut across his forehead at a soft angle. Wearing a white dress shirt, buttoned up, with a bow tie. Leaning beside the door of the hotel kitchen as waiters pop in and out, carrying silver plates. Taking in deep breaths and tugging at his collar, trying to stay calm. And suddenly I’m there, too, holding his hand, saying, “It’s gonna be okay, Sam. Just breathe.”
“Maybe we should leave,” he says.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You have to go out there soon.”
“But I don’t know if I can.”
“Of course you can. Why are you so nervous?”
Silverware crashes into trays around us. We are standing behind a curtain that separates the kitchen area from a ballroom full of guests. Sam was hired to perform at his friend Spencer’s cousin’s wedding in the spring of junior year. They gave Sam a list of songs they wanted him to sing, and he’s been practicing for weeks. It’s his first paid gig, and I’m not letting him back out.
“I don’t know anybody out there,” he says.
“You know Spencer. And me. I’m here.”
Sam tugs at his collar again, so I help loosen the knot of his bow tie, letting him breathe easier. The first bead of sweat appears on his forehead. I move his hair out of his face.
“What if no one likes it?” He keeps looking around.
“Of course they will. Why else would they have hired you? You’re going to do great out there.”
“We didn’t even have a real sound check…”
“You’ve practiced this a million times. You’re going to do great.”
Someone with a headset peeks behind the curtain and gives us a thumbs-up. “Let’s go, kid.”
I squeeze Sam’s hand. “Good luck. I’ll be right here.”
Once he’s out there, I peek through the curtain. There is a hardwood dance floor beneath a chandelier, surrounded by silk-lined tables, each crowded with wedding guests. Connected to the dance floor is a stage where the band is set up. Sam appears from the side of the stage, looking nervous. When he steps up to the microphone, and awkwardly adjusts the stand, I hold my breath.
The lights dim, leaving only the stage as everyone goes quiet, turning their chairs to watch. And then the music starts …
A live piano fills the ballroom, playing a familiar tune. It takes me a second to recognize it. “Your Song” by Elton John. Sam knows the words like the back of his hand. He’s practiced it a hundred times. It’s a great choice to start with, perfect for his range.