I am on an island. I am on an island floating in a sea. It’s not hard to imagine in this blue sea of a room with the light streaming through the lacy curtains like reflected waves. My mother is free, but she hasn’t called. I keep circling back to that. Is she not allowed to? Is that it? Some rule Melissa didn’t mention? Or am I the castaway now? I remember how Ginger described Mom’s wild teenage self. It makes sense when I think of her like that. And now she’s finally gotten the chance to cut loose from the thing that got her caught up all those years ago at seventeen. Me. I squeeze my eyes shut, but still a tear leaks out. It hurts. It hurts like sounds hurt. Like a physical punch.

But a memory floats to the surface, one late summer afternoon in Tahoe. We’d just finished a show for the lunch crowd down by the pier. It was a small group, thankfully, and I was proud of myself for keeping it together all the way to the end.

When we got back to the truck and I unlatched the guitar case to count our tips, I found a yellow piece of paper along with the usual coins and bills. It was a coupon for the fancy ice cream parlor.

Mom held up “lunch,” a jar of peanut butter and a box of Ritz, and said, “No spoons, baby Lou. Hope your hands are cleanish.”

I held up the coupon. “Ice cream places have spoons.”

She sighed. You could buy a gallon tub at Kroger’s for the price of one tiny scoop at this place. But she slipped it in her back pocket and took my hand.

As we walked back up the hill toward town, we hummed a little “You Are My Sunshine.” Mom’s always good with the harmony.

“Baby, you have the voice of an angel.”

“So you say.”

“You do, love. That’s why I do this, you know. All this.” She pulled me to a stop outside the warm glow of the Snow Cap Creamery, but I didn’t want to hear that speech just then. Didn’t want to be called her “better half” like she always did when I complained about the performing. I just wanted some ice cream. I took the coupon and walked in.

It was deliciously cool and quiet inside, and there was only one guy ahead of us in line. I took my time wandering in front of the cold case, eyeing the sherbet and the chocolate praline and the blueberry. We never got ice cream. Frozen food in a truck with nothing but a small cooler isn’t exactly practical. Mom laughed as I paced in front of the counter, waiting for the guy in front to hurry up and pay already.

And then it happened.