I follow the music the rest of the way up the block and it brings me to the pub. The sign hanging above the door says “The Tankard & Horn” with the appropriate imagery painted underneath the words, just in case you can’t read.

Okay, that’s just me being cranky and I’ve no reason for it. I pause to take a breath and work a crick out of my neck. When I start forward again, I try to do it with an open mind. And actually, when I give the music half a chance, I find myself smiling. Go figure.

Light spills cheerfully out the windows and door along with the music, falling on the half-dozen people who have come outside for a smoke. They’re all shapes and sizes. A couple of punk kids in leathers and jeans, hair retro-spiked. A guy that looks like he stopped by on his way home from a mechanic’s garage. Some old hippies, balding on top with thin ponytails. A tall woman in cowboy boots and hat who looks like she should be at a Hank Williams show. Their only commonality is their nicotine addiction.

One of the hippies nods to me as I walk toward the open window and I nod back, but I keep going until I can see inside.

Harnett’s Point is a tourist town that’s become a satellite community to Newford over the past few years. It’s on the lake and close enough to commute, which makes it attractive, but I’ve never liked to watch this sort of thing happen. Prices go up, taxes go up, and pretty soon the people who have lived in a place like this for generations can’t afford to even rent anymore. The people who do move in have no history—at least no history here—and therefore little appreciation for the way things were. So what they do is remake it all into something more familiar to them.

The main street is lined with coffee shops and restaurants, gift and souvenir stores, boutiques and pubs like The Tankard & Horn, all selling the same sorts of things you’ll find in other towns where this has happened, all the storefronts looking the same.

I don’t like it, but it’s none of my business, and I don’t want to think about it tonight. Tonight I just want to see Lizzie’s band play and see if I can learn to appreciate the music. Though mostly, I want to make sure she’s okay.

It’s hard not to appreciate the skill of the musicians up on the stage and I find my foot tapping, all on its own. I smile as I watch Lizzie hamming it up with Geordie, the pair of them never missing a note. Lizzie’s cousin is at the merchandise table.