Tenney

Center Stage

On Saturday, Dad, Mason, and Tenney load their instruments into Dad’s pickup and head to East Park for the Neighborhood Association Mixer, where the Tri-Stars go on at two o’clock. The park has a temporary stage on the baseball diamond, food stalls, and another band playing bluegrass. Dad stops to say hello to Ms. Pavone, their neighbor with the big purple glasses.

Backstage, they tune up while Dad runs through the set list, but Jesse never shows. “We go on in less than half an hour!” Mason exclaims, checking his watch. Dad presses his lips together and calls her again and again until she finally answers, his face falling. Jesse has quit the band.

Mason and Tenney gasp. “Is she on her way?” Tenney asks. “No,” Dad says, dazed.

“What about ‘Carolina Highway’ and ‘Wildwood Flower’?” Mason asks. Dad’s voice is too low for those songs, and they’ve never practiced them in another key. Tenney blurts out that she can sing lead, since her range matches Jesse’s and she knows both songs by heart. Dad gives her a worried squint, but Mason backs her up, and Dad decides to play guitar himself and skip bass on “Carolina Highway,” so all Tenney has to do is sing. A nervous chill runs down her back, but Mason squeezes her shoulder.

Dad steps up to the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are the Tennessee Tri-Stars, named for our beautiful state flag,” he announces. “We’re one star short today, but I’ve got faith we’re still going to shine.” He winks at Tenney and counts off two upbeat songs. During his guitar solo on “The Devil Went Down to Georgia,” his fingers fly so fast that people start clapping along. He finishes with a flourish that earns a shouted “Bravo!” from the crowd.

Then comes “Carolina Highway,” a song Dad wrote for Mom years ago. Dad moves aside so Tenney can take the lead microphone, but it’s locked too high and won’t budge. She yanks it free of the clip and steps around the stand, then pours her heart into the opening line, her voice sailing across the melody while Ms. Pavone gives her an encouraging thumbs-up. By the second verse she sounds even more confident, but as Mason and Dad join the chorus, Tenney slips into her usual harmony part instead of the melody and realizes, panicked, that nobody else is singing the tune. She freezes and misses a line, though Mason and Dad smoothly cover for her, and the crowd sways along, none the wiser. Embarrassment burns in her cheeks, but when the song ends, the crowd applauds anyway.

Dad launches into “Wildwood Flower,” a simple folk song that feels easier after the last one, almost like hanging out with an old friend. Partway through, Tenney catches him watching her, proud and stunned, as though he’s never quite seen her like this before. By the time the set ends, she feels like she’s floating and can’t wait to tell Mom every detail.

Back home, Mom and Waylon listen from the couch as Tenney describes how she ended up singing lead. Dad and Mason both agree that Tenney was fantastic, and Mason declares she was better than fantastic, throwing himself onto the couch. Buzzing, Tenney asks if she might sing lead again sometime. Mom raises an eyebrow at Dad and hints that she just might get more chances. Dad warns her, half-joking, not to let it go to her head, but Tenney is already imagining the next time she performs.