Charley nodded. “That works. How’s Peyton?” Her fingers pressed into Annie’s waist when she asked the question.

It wasn’t a secret that Peyton suffered from retinoblastoma. Annie just hated that it defined her niece already at such a young age. There was always the underlying message when people asked about Peyton because the question was never about her being a kid. It was never about how she was doing in preschool or if she liked playing soccer or if she wanted to be in tumbling. It was always about if she was going to survive the cancer or if her sight would ever be normal. “She’s good. You know how she is. So resilient.” When Peyton was diagnosed at four, a late age for the disease, the prognosis was grim. The tumor behind her right eye had been growing at such an alarming rate the doctors feared the cancer had already spread to other parts of her body. Thankfully, it hadn’t, but her treatment plan was still aggressive.

“How many days is she in for?”

“Sarah will probably keep her overnight.” Annie’s older sister was head nurse of the pediatric wing of the university hospital. Years ago, they joked about how it was a good idea to take the job in case Sarah and her husband had accident-prone children. Little did they know how important that decision would turn out to be.

“I think it’s great that you play for the kids. It gives them something to look forward to every week.” Charley pointed to the bar. “Looks like they need me over there, but stop by before you head to the hospital tomorrow, and I’ll give you some freshly baked cookies for Peyton.”

“She’ll love it. Go. I’ve got this.” Annie turned back to the stage. She spent the next few hours welcoming the next thirteen guests until it was time to say good night and end her livestream. “Thank you to everyone here and those watching from somewhere else.” She stopped the stream and broke down the stage as people were leaving. It was almost midnight, but Annie felt so alive. She helped Charley close and walked to her apartment two blocks away. It was tough having no outlet for the inspiration that had swelled after tonight’s performances, but it was late, and she knew her neighbors were asleep. There was always tomorrow. Tonight, she’d crawl into bed and read the comments on tonight’s livestream.