Dreamland: A Novel (24 page)

We arranged to meet behind
the hotel at half past seven, but like Morgan, I also needed a nap. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. Surprisingly refreshed when the alarm went off, I showered and dressed before ordering two Greek salads from a restaurant down the block, one with added salmon and the other with grilled shrimp. On the way back to the Don, I also bought a bag of ice, along with more iced teas and bottled water.

Staking out a spot next to the dune to the side of the hotel, I spread out a sheet that I’d snagged from the condo. I had just opened a bottle of water when I caught sight of Morgan approaching. Rising, I met her with a hug and got her settled on a collapsible beach chair I’d brought along.

“What did you bring?” she asked. “I’m starved.”

I pulled the salads from the cooler, and after we finished, we used the dune as a backrest, snuggling in its shade. I put my arm around Morgan, and she curled into me as the sky began its slow and miraculous transformation. Blue faded to yellow; pink highlights cut long swaths toward the water as the sky turned orange
and then finally red. As if on cue, the moon started to rise just as the sun was setting.

“I want you to do something for me tomorrow,” I finally said.

She rotated toward me. “Anything.”

I told her what I wanted, and though she didn’t answer, she didn’t reject my idea, either, which I took as a positive sign.

Afterward, we went back to my condo, already kissing and undressing on our way to the bedroom. We made love with tenderness and renewed urgency, and afterward, Morgan twined her limbs around me, her head resting on my chest. When she finally drifted off to sleep, I gently untangled myself and rose from the bed. Wrapped in a towel, I went to the living room, which was bathed in silvery moonlight streaming through the sliding glass doors.

As I stared at the moon rising above the trees, I thought about how much I loved Morgan and marveled at how different my own life seemed when viewed through the lens of these new feelings. Naturally, my thoughts turned to the fact that yet another day had passed and that Morgan would be leaving soon, and I wondered again what was going to become of us, dreading the idea that a decision was coming, one that might break my heart.

Back in the bedroom, I pressed my body against Morgan’s. Even in sleep, she sensed my presence and responded, her body curling into mine. I breathed in her scent, feeling complete, and though it took a while to fall asleep, I knew that after I finally drifted off, I would no doubt dream of her.

When we woke, Morgan persuaded
me to join her and her friends on a visit to the Dalí Museum, an hour after they finished rehearsal.

We held hands as we toured the exhibits, which I’ll admit I found more interesting than I expected. Maria seemed quite knowledgeable about the artist and took time to explain why one painting or another was particularly important, and while most of what I saw wasn’t exactly my style, there were four or five that I kept returning to to study. They were strange but definitely thought-provoking.

Afterward we went to Clearwater Beach, sinking our bare feet into the powdery white sand and floating in the warm gulf waters. I had to leave early in order to get to my show on time, and I reminded her again of my request, but as usual she deflected. Lingering over a long kiss, I whispered that I loved her, not caring in the slightest what her friends might say after I was gone.

The Thursday-evening crowd dwarfed Tuesday’s—no surprise since the weather was idyllic—and more people continued to
stream in as I rolled through my first and second sets. Soon there was barely enough room to stand. Again, I was surprised by the number of requests for my original songs—clearly people were familiarizing themselves with my recordings online—and only too happy to mix things up on the evening’s playlist. Overall, it was the booziest crowd since the previous weekend, and Ray and the staff struggled to keep up with the drink orders.

When Morgan and her friends showed up with about twenty minutes left in the final set, heads turned at the posse of stunning young women. I immediately launched into the song that had been inspired by her, followed by some sing-along standards to juice the crowd. Though I was still uncertain about how she would react, I cleared my throat and tapped the microphone, getting everyone’s attention, before turning my gaze to Morgan.

“I heard an extraordinary singer the other day and asked if she’d be willing to perform a song for you tonight. She has yet to give me an answer, but if you’d like to hear what I heard, let Morgan Lee know how much you want her to come up and join me right now.”

The crowd whooped and hollered, just as I’d expected; after registering her embarrassment, I held out my hand to her, urging her forward, while Holly, Stacy, and Maria cheered and excitably nudged her in my direction. Despite her hesitation, it seemed she was less bothered than simply nervous. As she eventually began making her way toward me, the crowd’s enthusiasm built to a roar. Her friends followed, already grabbing for their phones and moving closer to the low stage, no doubt so they could film. I helped Morgan onto the platform, stepping back as she finally reached for the microphone. I moved my stool to the side, then retrieved a music stand from the back corner. Morgan pulled up her photos, zeroing in on the one with the lyrics that she’d taken while at the condo.

“Give me a minute to make sure I know all the words, okay?” she whispered, her hand over the mike.

“Of course,” I said. “Take your time.”

I watched as she went through the words, and it was immediately clear to me that a long review wouldn’t be necessary. “For now, why don’t I play through the opening stanza and the chorus, and I’ll just repeat it until you signal that you’re ready, okay?”

She nodded, her eyes still on the screen as she continued to mouth the words. Somehow, her nervousness only seemed to heighten the audience’s anticipation.

I started the song’s opening stanza, watching for my cue. As I came to the end of the chorus, I saw her nod at me, her body swaying ever so slightly as she raised her eyes toward the crowd. I circled back, repeating the opening, and as soon as she hit the very first notes, I wasn’t the only one who was mesmerized. Silence reigned as her throaty voice filled the bar, people paralyzed by its clarity and power. But as she began to dance, her steps taking her from one end of the stage to the other, they erupted, cheering and clapping in time. This was a Morgan I’d never seen before—no trace of the self-conscious girl standing in my living room. Her friends were filming with intense concentration, but I could tell that it was all they could do to keep from jumping up and down.

The song was infectious, inspiring shouts and whistles by the second refrain, and the more the crowd got into it, the more Morgan responded.

There was an operatic quality to her voice, and as she launched into a powerful vibrato toward the end of the song, the audience rose to their feet as one. When she landed the final high note with total confidence, the applause was explosive. She was a sensation, and everyone there knew it.

People immediately called for an encore, but Morgan declined
with a shake of her head as she placed the microphone back into the stand. She stepped off the platform, only to be swarmed by her friends, who were almost giddy with excitement.

Because I still had a few minutes left to play—and knowing it would be foolish to follow Morgan with anything I’d written—I picked a perennial crowd favorite, “American Pie.” As soon as I embarked on the opening chords, the attention of the crowd swung back to me, and soon everyone was singing along, just as I knew they would. Meanwhile, the girls retreated to their original spot in the back, flushed and buzzing.

When I finished, I spotted the next act waiting in the wings. I set my guitar off to the side to make room for them to set up, then pushed through the crowd to reach Morgan and her friends. By the time I reached them and took Morgan’s hand, she seemed strangely subdued.

“You’re incredible,” I said. “Everyone loved you.”

She kissed me softly.

“I still think you’re better.”

After a celebratory dinner,
we all went dancing at a club in St. Petersburg. It wasn’t the size of a weekend crowd but not bad for a Thursday night, and the five of us danced in a circle to the high-energy techno beats. Or, rather, they danced while I mainly shifted my weight from one foot to the other and did my best not to call attention to myself.

It ended up being a late night, with Morgan riding back to the condo with me while the others hopped in an Uber. On the way, she confessed that Holly and Stacy were already pressing her to post the videos they’d made of her singing.

“What do you think?” she asked, uncertain. “Do you think it would be a mistake?”

“How could it be a mistake?”

“I don’t know…. Do you think it’s good enough? What if, like, some A&R exec comes across the video? It’s not exactly studio quality, and my throat has been kinda scratchy lately. I didn’t have a chance to warm up and I didn’t even know all the words perfectly—”

“Morgan.” I took one hand off the steering wheel and laid it firmly over hers. “Stop.”

When she turned toward me, I went on. “You were
fantastic,
” I said. “If anyone sees that video, they’ll see that you have
superstar
written all over you.”

Morgan covered her face with her hands in embarrassment, but I could see the smile peeking out between her fingers.

The following morning, I drove her back to the Don. The conversation in the truck was muted, and though we made plans to meet by the pool in a few hours, she was quieter than usual, her expression preoccupied.

I didn’t ask the reason, if only because I already knew.

Our time together was quickly coming to an end.

Because I’d be working
the following evening, I wanted our Friday night to be memorable. Doing some quick research on the internet, I was able to arrange for a private catamaran ride at sunset. I winced at the cost but tried to remind myself I only lived once.

I also planned to make her dinner afterward, which required yet another trip to the grocery store, as I wasn’t sure I trusted that the chicken I’d bought before the power outage would still be safe to eat. I also had to figure out a recipe that sounded good but was also supremely easy. In the end, I didn’t make it to the Don until half past eleven.

This time the group of friends was on the beach, and again, a chair for me had thoughtfully been placed beside Morgan’s. Though part of me considered inviting only Morgan on the catamaran, by then I’d come to like her friends and figured they’d enjoy it, too. Their excitement at the prospect was even greater than I expected, however—they kept mentioning how much
they were looking forward to it, which earned some grateful expressions from Morgan, as well.

She and I wandered off for lunch together alone. Afterward, we walked the beach and waded in the surf to cool off, and it was easy to imagine a life with her in the future, if only I had the courage to make it possible.

In late afternoon, they regrouped in their rooms to get ready; I did the same at the condo, then met them at the Don for the drive to the docks. Though I should have expected it, Morgan’s friends had their phones out and were taking selfies as soon as we stepped on board, prompting the occasional eye roll from Morgan. It wasn’t a huge vessel—I figured that it was comfortable for up to seven or eight guests—but the girls swooned over the fruit and cheese and complimentary champagne. Surprising me, even Morgan had some, and we all clinked glasses in celebration.

We left the dock and cruised along the waterfront; twice, we spotted dolphins trailing alongside the catamaran. The spectacular sunset somehow seemed closer when out on the water, as though we were actually sailing into it. With the wind in our faces, Morgan leaned into me, and I held her as we skimmed over the gentle waters. Her friends kept trying to get us to pose for photographs, too, but after a couple, Morgan shooed them away, trying her best to preserve the moment for just the two of us.

Once we were back onshore, the girls suggested that we head into downtown St. Pete. Though I offered to go with Morgan in case she wanted to join them, she shook her head and said she’d rather return to the condo with me.

In the small kitchen, Morgan watched while I preheated the oven and popped a couple of baking potatoes in; later I retrieved the marinating chicken breasts from the refrigerator, placing them on a baking sheet. I put them in the oven along with
another foiled baking sheet bearing asparagus coated with olive oil and salt.

“I’m impressed,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t be. I googled it this morning.”

When I reached for the tomato to start slicing it for the salad, Morgan wrapped her arms around my waist from behind and kissed me behind my ear. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You can slice the cucumbers,” I said, reluctant to have her move away.

She went hunting in the drawers for a knife, then rinsed the cucumber under the faucet before returning to my side. She was smiling slightly, as though pondering an inside joke.

“What’s so funny?”

“This,” she said. “Cooking a meal with you. It feels so domestic, but I kind of like it.”

“Better than room service?”

“I wouldn’t go
that
far.”

I laughed. “Did you help your mom in the kitchen when you were growing up?”

“Not really. The kitchen was my mom’s place to relax. She’d have a glass of wine and turn on the radio and do her thing. My job—and my sister’s—was to clean up afterward. My mom hated the cleanup. I didn’t like it, either, but what could I do?”

The timer on my phone dinged, and I removed the potatoes and baking sheets from the oven. Surprising no one more than me, the chicken came out like the recipe said it should. After loading our plates, I brought them to the table along with the salad and a bottle of store-bought dressing. As soon as Morgan sat, she surveyed the table.

“This isn’t quite right,” she said.

She rose and did a quick circuit of the bedroom and living
room, returning with the candles and the matches. After lighting the candles, she turned out the kitchen lights.

“Better, don’t you think?” she said as she resumed her seat.

The sight of her face in the candlelight triggered a memory of how she looked the night we’d first made love, and all I could do was nod.

Morgan genuinely seemed to love the chicken, eating two helpings in addition to half a baked potato and generous servings of salad and asparagus. After clearing the plates, Morgan surprised me by asking if there was any wine left over from the other night. Morgan brought the candles to the coffee table, and I took a seat beside her on the couch, glasses in hand. She was scrolling through the photos from the catamaran. I leaned over to study them, as well.

As pretty as Morgan was in person, I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised by how photogenic she was.

“Can you text me those?”

“How about I AirDrop them?”

“What’s that?”

She rolled her eyes. “Turn on your phone and hit
accept
when it comes up.”

I did what she said, and almost instantaneously, the photos were on my phone.

“Do you really not know what AirDrop is?” Morgan laughed.

“If you really understood my regular life, you wouldn’t have bothered to ask that question.”

She smiled before growing quiet. Staring into her glass, she took a deep breath. I knew what was coming. It was a conversation I wasn’t sure I was ready for, the one that had no answers.

“What’s going to happen to us?” she asked, her voice subdued.

“I don’t know,” I answered.

“What do you want?” she asked, her eyes still fixed on her wine. “Don’t you want us to be together?”

“Of course I do.”

“What does that mean, though? Have you even thought about it?”

“It’s all I’ve been thinking about,” I confessed. I tried to see her face.

She finally raised her eyes, a strange fire burning in them. “You know what I’m thinking?”

“I have no idea.”

She put down her wineglass and took my hands in hers. “I think you should come to Nashville with me.”

I felt my breath catch. Then: “Nashville?”

“You can work on tying things up at the farm, take whatever time you need…and then meet me there. We can be together, write songs together, chase our dreams together—it’s our chance. If things work out, then you can hire more people at the farm or make it larger or raise that grass-fed beef like your aunt suggested. The only difference is that you wouldn’t have to be the one actually doing it.”

I felt my head begin to spin. “Morgan…”

“Just wait,” she said, her voice brimming with urgency. “Hear me out, okay? You and I…I mean…I never thought it was possible to fall in love with someone in just a few short days. I’m not romantic in that, like, hoping-to-find-Prince-Charming kind of way. But you and I…I don’t know. From the moment we met, it was like…we
fit
somehow….”

Clicked like a tumbler falling in a combination lock,
I couldn’t help but think.

“It was almost like I knew and trusted you from the very beginning. That hasn’t ever happened to me, and then the way we made music together…” When she paused, her expression was
full of hope and wonder. “I’ve never felt so in sync with anyone.” She turned her gaze on me. “You don’t want to lose that, do you? You don’t want to lose me, do you?”

“No. I want you, and I want us to be together, too.”

“Then come with me. Go to Nashville when you can.”

“But the farm. My sister…”

“You said yourself that the farm is easier now, and you said you have a general manager. And if your sister wants to come to Nashville, bring her. She can probably run her business from anywhere, right?”

I thought of Paige, thought of all the things about my sister that I had yet to admit. “You don’t understand….”

“What is there to understand? She’s an adult. But here’s the other thing.” She took a long breath before going on. “You have an amazing voice. You’re an amazing songwriter. You have a gift that others only dream about. You shouldn’t let that go to waste.”

“I’m not you,” I demurred, feeling suddenly trapped, needing another excuse. Any excuse. “You didn’t see yourself up on that stage.”

Her expression was almost wistful. “The thing is, you don’t see yourself, either. You don’t see what I see. Or what the audience sees. And you also understand that music is something powerful, something that people all over the world can share, right? It’s like a language, a way to connect that’s bigger than you or me or anyone. Do you ever think about how much joy you could bring people? You’re too good to stay on the farm.”

Dizzy, I could think of nothing to say, other than the obvious. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“Then don’t,” she urged. “Did you mean it when you said that you loved me?”

“Of course.”

“Then before you say no, even if you don’t want to go to
Nashville because I think you should or because we could be together, then maybe think about doing it for yourself.” She drew up her legs, kneeling on the couch as she faced me. “Will you do that? At least think about it?”

As she’d spoken, it was easy for me to imagine all of it. Writing songs together, discovering a new city together, building a life with each other. Enjoying life, without the worries and stresses that defined my world now. And she was right about my aunt and the managers being capable of keeping things going. Now that we’d built a rhythm and routine, things were easier, but…

But…

Paige.

I took a long breath, so many thoughts and impulses racing through me.

“Yeah,” I finally said, “I’ll think about it.”