Free The Fame Equation by Lisa Wysocky

good time. I wish I could make this all go away, but I can’t. Now, I’ve got to git going. I promised Mama I’d stop by the store and bring her some milk.”
    Despite my grief I almost snorted. Mama Giles did a good job of keeping her grown-up boys mashed down tight under her thumb. “Mama” was healthy, worked a full time job and was in her middle sixties. She jogged, played tennis, and a year ago hiked fifty miles of the Appalachian Trail. It would be different if she asked Martin to bring her the milk as a favor, or if Martin, as a good son, had offered. My guess was that Mama Giles had pulled the “poor widowed me” card and wheedled the grocery run out of Martin. She probably didn’t even need the milk.
    Martin said his goodbyes and I went into the living room where a hearty game of poker was now going on.
    Brent saw the look on my face and jumped in before I could get there. “Bubba was just teaching us a new game, weren’t you Bubba?”
    Bubba was teaching Brent and Darcy to play poker? This entire day had made me feel as if I had fallen down the rabbit hole right along with Alice, and landed upside down. My mind couldn’t keep up with it all. I did, however, hone in on the fact that they were using marshmallows instead of poker chips. My marshmallows! My special gourmet,
handcrafted
marshmallows. These were shaped like gingerbread men and were one of the secret ingredients in my signature hot chocolate. Plus, they were expensive––as marshmallows go.
    It was all too much. I grabbed my coat and headed to the barn. Jon was nowhere to be found, so I assumed he had gone up to his apartment. I walked down the aisle and smiled at Gigi, who bounded up to meet me. I patted Wheeler’s wide, yellow head and watched the geldings, Bob and Petey, nap in their stalls.
    Sally’s stall was at the end of the barn and I could see a piece of paper tacked to it.
SHE WAS LIKE THIS WHEN I CAME OUT. VITAL SIGNS NORMAL. THINK SHE IS BEING PSYCHIC? WILL CHECK ON HER ABOUT MIDNIGHT. JON
    I peered into Sally’s stall to see her looking as forlorn as a young mare could look. She was on the ground, feet tucked under her like a cat. Her head hung, her ears flopped, and her eyes looked as if she had taken on the pain of the entire world. I opened the stall door and slid inside.
    “What’s up big girl?” I asked. Sally flicked an ear in my direction, the only indication that she was aware I was there. I sank to the floor and hugged her face, Sally’s warm breath softly blowing into the crook of my elbow.
    We stayed like that for what seemed an hour or more, but was probably only about five minutes. Eventually I scooted away from her, and rested my back against the stall wall. It was never safe to be sitting on the ground when a horse was near, but tonight I didn’t care. It was just too much effort to stand up. My iPhone buzzed in my pocket. Nine PM. It was a reminder Darcy had programmed into my phone to get the next day’s TO DO list together, but I didn’t have the energy. My best friend was dead. Nothing else mattered.
    Idly, I wondered what story concert goers in Louisville had been told about Melody’s absence. Did they even know? Davis and Scott, Chas, Augie, and Buffy, did they know their artist was gone? And Keith? Did he know? I sighed. I had promised to call or text if I heard anything, but Keith would be about ready to go on stage. It was an hour later in Louisville. Ten PM.
    I debated. If I didn’t send a text and Keith found out that I knew something, he’d be disappointed. Sighing, I picked up my phone and opened my message app.
I HAVE NEWS OF MELODY. NOT GOOD. TOUCH BASE WHEN YOU CAN.
    Seconds later he texted me back.
DAVIS JUST CALLED. SHOCKED & DEVASTATED. NOT ANNOUNCING NEWS TONIGHT AS PER DAVIS & CHAS (LABEL) REQUEST. GOTTA GO.
    I sat in Sally’s stall for another hour. Sally hung her head the entire time.

    By the time I got up the next morning, the news had broken. I had texts from Buffy, Davis, and