vast forests of green and the deep trenches of the shadowed valleys.
The energy around her was as strong as her heartbeat. She didn't know what fate had in store for her here, but it felt safe, and she hadn't felt safe in such a long time.
After a stop for fuel, and a to-go cup full of ice and Coke, Gracie was off to Springfield, then a slight jog east before heading back south to Branson.
She arrived just before noon, rolling into what had once been a small, mountain town long-since burst at the seams into the bustling, tourist-filled city it was today.
Gracie drove with one eye on the traffic, and the other on the sights before her. Signs advertising the daily music shows at their venues were everywhere, along with signs and arrows pointing the way to famous Silver Dollar City.
From the main roads, the winding streets that led up and down hills into older, quieter, neighborhoods were enticing, but something to see for another time.
She'd seen advertisements for the newer apartment complexes on the outskirts of downtown, but she would need to stand in the place to know if it was meant for her to be there, and that, too, would come on another day. Right now, she was just taking in the amazing mix of old and new and sensing the vibrancy of so many people coming and going. She would find a way to belong here. And somewhere, there was a job and a place here that would be hers to call home.
"I'm here, Mama. I made it," Gracie said.
But as she kept driving and seeing the hotel and motel parking lots full of cars, she realized it might not be as simple to get a room for a couple of days as it had been on the road. She needed a stopping place to reconnoiter. First thing was finding an apartment. It was time to get down to business or she'd be sleeping in her car to keep everything safe.
Because the name appealed to her, she pulled into Mel's Hard Luck Diner to get something to eat. The place had an old 50s-style vibe, with waiters and waitresses who kept breaking into songs from the era. She smiled. Singing waiters. It all reminded her of Mama and Daddy's music on the porch.
And the place was busy, which meant the food was likely good. They seated her at a small table against a wall, leaving her with a glass of iced tea and a menu to read.
When the waiter came back, she ordered a Hard Luck cheeseburger and onion rings, then got her phone and started pulling up hotel websites. After checking prices, she began making calls, and on the second try, she got a reservation for three nights with a 2:00 check-in at one she'd seen near the strip.
After that, she relaxed and glanced up, absently eyeing the other guests as the waiters and waitresses moved through the dining area serving food and refilling drinks.
It occurred to her as she sat there that she might wind up waiting tables, although not likely here. She couldn't sing good enough for a job like this, but she'd do whatever it took to pay the bills and be grateful for it. She'd already accepted that she was going to be behind the curve in work experience for someone her age, but it was what it was.
When her food came, she eyed the burger hungrily, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then picked it up and took a big bite, unaware she had become another diner's point of interest.
She ate until she was stuffed. She had almost come down from the high of her arrival when someone started singing an old Marty Robbins song.
"A white sport coat...and a pink carnation..."
She glanced up, and for a heartbeat, she was looking at her daddy. Then she blinked, and realized it was a waiter. The ache in her chest bloomed, rolling up her throat and blinding her with sudden tears. She was about to make a fool of herself and needed to get out of here.
John Gatlin had been eating lunch at the Hard Luck at least once a week for a good ten years—ever since he'd first come to Branson. He'd seen all kinds of travelers through the years, but not a one of them he could remember.
So, when he noticed the tall, dark-haired woman walk in leading with her chin, he thought, Someone got lucky with that one. She's