Sam stood beside her, quietly tuning her fiddle. Although they hadn't played together publicly in years, they spent these minutes before taking the stage in perfect ease. Sam's way of dealing with any preconcert nervousness had always been to concentrate on her instrument. Marisa's was to search the crowd for the faces of the people she knew best.

There were the Nanouks, sipping wine and drinking in the beautiful music. Anne had to sit with her family, but Marisa knew that her heart was with the group of friends on their blankets by the gazebo. Marisa saw T.J. leaning against the rail fence.

And there, right in front of the stage, sitting side by side, were Patrick and Jess. Flora lay at their feet. Marisa's heart began to thump. She breathed in the clean air. For so long, she had never even imagined a night like this. Seeing her daughter with a man she trusted was more than she had let herself dream. She glanced at her sister, rosining her bow, and wondered what she'd say if Marisa told her she thought she was in love.

The band from Ingonish finished, and everyone clapped. Then Anne stood up from the grandstand and climbed the stairs to the stage. Marisa nudged Sam. She knew that they were about to get their cue. Anne smiled out at the crowd, thanked everyone for being there, and then turned toward the inn.

“We have a special entry in the contest,” she said. “They are nurses, they are sisters, they are my friends. Please give a warm Cape Hawk welcome to—” Anne glanced down at Jessica, as if she needed a reminder of the new name, “to the Flying Angels!”

Marisa grabbed Sam's hand, and they ran down the path together. Their fiddles seemed to whistle in the wind blowing through their strings. How many times had they done this? Hurried along, on their way to somewhere important—school, a concert, a birthday party, a wedding—together, each one knowing that the other was there?

They climbed the makeshift stage. Sam looked at Marisa, and Marisa nodded. “One, two,” Sam said, counting them in, and they began to play.

They both wore black. Sam's cowboy boots were scuffed yellow, and Marisa's were scuffed turquoise. They stood so close together that when the breeze blew Sam's hair, a few strands caught in Marisa's mouth. She barely noticed. Their bows moved in unison, fast and precise.