Tenney Shares the Stage

The Search

For the rest of the week, Tenney works on the song about Logan every chance she gets, plowing through homework at Dad’s shop, then shutting herself in the listening room with her guitar until closing time each night. Some days the song comes easily. Other days she sits on the floor with her journal, treating the lyrics like a puzzle, strumming chords until the words finally lock into place with the melody.

By Saturday morning, the song feels like an old friend. Tenney plays through the final notes on the back porch after breakfast, and a ripple of applause makes her jump: Mom and Dad have been listening from the doorway. When Mom asks if it’s new, Tenney admits it’s inspired by the situation with Logan.

Dad’s mouth creases, unconvinced Logan deserves a second thought. Mom is gentler, saying there’s no reason the two of them can’t stay friends eventually. Dad calls Logan more troubled than committed to music, and Tenney bites her tongue.

Dad mentions that Zane has emailed a draft of her solo contract, their lawyer reviewing it by next week. Mom hugs her, delighted, but Tenney’s stomach churns. She has to talk to Logan face-to-face before she signs anything.

Tenney tries calling him, then sends a text marked urgent. Nothing. An hour later, with Mom, Dad, and Aubrey off at a Franklin street fair with the food truck, Tenney finds Mason in the garage rewiring a speaker and asks him to drive her around Nashville to find Logan. He crosses his arms, wary, and asks where Logan even is. She has no idea, and Mason doubts Logan will even want to talk to her once they track him down. Tenney admits he might not, but insists she has to try, offering to do his chores for a week. That’s enough to get Mason moving, on a one-hour deadline.

Logan’s house turns up nothing but an unanswered doorbell, rung twice. His middle school sits locked up since it’s Saturday, though Tenney checks anyway. The library and the park beside it are just as empty. When she remembers Mrs. Everett works as a nurse, Mason grumbles that there are at least four hospitals in Nashville and that the whole trip is a waste of time. He’s ready to call it quits when they roll to a stop at a red light. That’s when Tenney spots it past his shoulder: a giant gray building called Woodland Memorial Hospital, and locked to a nearly empty bike rack out front, an orange-and-silver bike with a worn, deflated front tire. Logan’s bike.

The light changes before Tenney can get the words out, and Mason drives past the entrance. Tenney shouts for him to stop, and though skeptical, he flips on the blinker and turns around.

The lobby is decorated with cheerful paintings of animals, its wall directory listing dozens of departments. Mason points out that Logan could be anywhere. Tenney remembers Mrs. Everett is a nurse in the pediatric ward, so they start there. They ride the elevator up and find a nurse behind a purple admissions desk who says Mrs. Everett isn’t on shift yet. Mason blurts out Logan’s name, and Tenney nudges him quiet, not wanting to tip Logan off. The nurse checks her screen, mentions his shift ended down the hall, then gets pulled away by a doctor before she can page him. Tenney takes off down the hallway, Mason trailing behind.

They push through swinging doors into a hall lined with room after room, Mason whispering that they probably aren’t allowed back here. Tenney tells him to act like they belong. Past a curving nurse’s station and a fresh row of doors, there’s still no sign of Logan, until a thread of guitar music stops Tenney cold. It’s “Reach the Sky,” one of the first songs she and Logan ever wrote together, and his voice is singing her lyrics. They follow the sound to a door marked the Gathering Place, propped open. Mason offers to wait outside while Tenney slips in alone. The room is dim and quiet, filled with cozy chairs, couches, and bookshelves, and seems empty until she spots a little girl curled up in a tall-backed armchair, her face glowing green in the light of a tablet, singing quietly along to Tenney’s song.