The anger came whooshing back, and I opened my mouth to take in more air to release the heat in my chest, but everyone knows that you have to suffocate a fire. The rush of air down my throat only fed the flames. I sat, gasping, my face turned away, and then I held my hand over my mouth in a belated attempt to dampen the blaze. I wondered if Finn could see the smoke curling between my fingers and out my ears. I was so hot with fury that I reached out and unrolled the window, fiercely turning the old handle, letting the icy wind fill the interior of the Blazer and nip at my face and kiss my cheeks. Clyde didn’t complain about the cold or try to speak over the bellowing wind, and I closed my eyes and wished it would whisk me away. But I leaned my face too far out, and without warning, my hat, Bear’s hat, was snatched off my head. I watched it tumbling down the freeway, lost to me, just like Minnie.

Suddenly I wanted to throw everything out the window. I wanted to start grabbing things and hurling them out, as if tossing things out the window would purge me. It was the same feeling I’d had when I started attacking my hair in the dressing room.

But I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t throw my newly acquired things out the window. I couldn’t throw Finn’s things out the window, either. I had to get a grip. I grabbed the handle and starting winding, watching the space narrow, listening to the wind wane and finally cease altogether as the pane reached its destination. I sneaked a look in Finn’s direction. He was looking straight ahead, just waiting. I shrugged.

“According to Gran, she didn’t tell me because Minnie was gone, and me crying at her funeral wasn’t gonna bring her back.” I didn’t cry now either.

“Gran said we all knew it was coming, and that we had all said our goodbyes a hundred times. But I hadn’t said goodbye. Not even once.” I was proud of how calm I sounded. Clyde just continued to drive, not commenting, but I could feel the intensity of his attention, and it spurred me on.

“When they told me, I threw a fit worthy of a pop princess. I broke things, and I screamed and cried, and I told my Gran I hated her and I would never forgive her. And I won’t either. And then I packed my bags and headed home to Grassley. Which was fine with Gran. She had waited to tell me until I had a week-long break for Thanksgiving. It was the first time I’d been home in eight months. But when I got there, nobody was home but my mama. Daddy had moved out, Cash was in jail, and Hank just got out of rehab for the umpteenth time—he’d moved into Gran’s house in Nashville. And Minnie was in the ground.

“I spent a week with my mama, and she seemed like she was handling it all pretty well. She told me my dad got an apartment in Nashville not far from Gran’s and is pursuing his dreams. Isn’t that special? I think I’m paying for that, too. I have been making money for my family since I was ten years old. And I don’t have a relationship with any of them anymore. I never had much with my brothers in the first place. Cash was okay, but Hank has always scared me a little. Hank on drugs is even scarier. Gran’s the only one who can stand him. It’s because they’re two mean peas in a pod. Minnie, and my parents, I suppose, were my reasons for keeping on.” I shrugged like it wasn’t that important.

“When Thanksgiving was over, I was an obedient little Bonnie Rae, and I went back out on the road. I didn’t go back home for Christmas. I just kept working, and last night, I finished my tour.”

“So your parents have split up?”

“Yeah.” I leaned my head against the window. “I found out a couple of days ago that Mama’s got a boyfriend, and he’s moved in with her. We can all just go our own way now, I suppose. It’s just . . . everything I thought I was working for was just a lie. You know? Money makes things easier. It can even transform your life, but it doesn’t transform people. And all my money couldn’t save Minnie, and it sure as hell didn’t fix my family.”

“Is that why you wanted to jump off that bridge?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I kind of lost it last night. Gran had a surprise for me during one of my songs. That set me off, I guess.”

“What was it?’

“Gran had someone make a film, a series of shots of Minnie, pictures of us together. Pictures of her last days. And they ran it on the screen behind me as I sang ‘Stolen.’”

I heard Clyde curse under his breath, just a whisper of sound, but his sympathy chipped at my composure. “I couldn’t sing.”

What an understatement. I couldn’t sing because I could only stare at that huge screen. In that moment, I had nothing left that was mine. Gran had stolen everything. Every part of me. Just like the song said. And then she’d sold it all. And I had allowed it.

“What did you do?” Clyde asked.

“I walked off the stage. Bear and Gran were waiting backstage, just like always. I told them I was sick. That I couldn’t go on. The concert was almost over anyway. My exit only made the moment more meaningful, Gran said. Everyone would understand, she said.”

The heat was building again, and I started to pant. I paused and leaned back against the seat, collecting myself. I ran my hands through my hair, over and over, the short silkiness evidence of what came next. I continued more calmly.

“Bear walked me back to my dressing room, and then he went back down to take care of some other security issues. Gran went out on the stage and made my apologies, apparently. I don’t really know. I chopped off my hair, pulled on this sweatshirt, took Gran’s purse, and I left. And here I am.”