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stool. Dad was being offered a recording contract with Sapphire Music? Was this for real?
    “Just a one-off for now, but I got him to commit, in advance, to a full domestic tour to support the new album! As far as the songs, it’s hands-off. Write whatever you want. Not religious stuff, of course, but he said as long as you sing ‘Misunderstood’ on tour, the rest is your call.”
    “Wow. That’s . . .” Dad rubbed his chin. “That’s really humbling.”
    “It’s huge!” Mossy assured him. “And I don’t need to tell you these deals don’t come easily. Johnny, we’re back in the game!”
    “Sounds like an incredible opportunity—”
    “Thank you! I worked hard for it.”
    “I appreciate that, man, I really do.” Dad sighed. “But I’m gonna pass, Moss.”
    “What?” Mossy’s expression was a mix of hurt and disbelief.
    “Hey man, I’m sorry you made the long trip and everything. I mean, it’s great to see you, but it’s not my thing anymore, you know?”
    “Not your thing?” Mossy frowned. “Johnny, you got your life back in order. You’re looking good. There’s no passing on this!”
    “I get it. I do. Just . . . it’s not me anymore. I like what I’m doing now.”
    The room was quiet now, and Grace was controlling herself from jumping up and down and demanding to know why Dad wanted to take a pass on an offer like this. What was wrong with the man?
    “So . . . uh,” Mossy nodded over to where Mom was still puttering in the kitchen and Grace was supposedly studying the Monroe website.
    “It’s alright,” Dad assured him. “Say whatever you want.”
    There was another long pause. Then Mossy started talking again, more quietly this time. “Remember when you were playing bars at airports or any coffeehouse with an open mic? Who gave you your shot?”
    “Moss, we had a great run—”
    “Or when you were passed out drunk or the time you woke up behind bars. Who was there for you?”
    Grace saw her dad glancing her direction, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted her to hear this. But she just pretended to be absorbed by the boring college site.
    “You did a ton for me, Moss. That’s why I gave you my song. I want to help you out, man—”
    “Then do this!”
    Grace’s head popped up, and she watched openly as her dad slowly shook his head. “No.”
    “Johnny . . .”
    “Come on, Moss, if ‘Misunderstood’ is hot again, go ahead and do a remake. You own it.”
    “Get that kid from Idol —”
    “Johnny, he wants you!”
    “Look, tell Larry thanks, but—”
    “Listen, I know this is all very sudden. Take some time. You and Shelly think it over.”
    Dad just shook his head again. “I’m sorry, Moss. My mind is made up.”
    Mossy stood now. Grace could tell he was not the least bit pleased with her dad’s answer, but he smiled just the same. And thanking them for lunch, he went on his way.
    The room grew quiet as Mom poured soap in the dishwasher, shut the door, and turned it on. Grace, tired of feigning interest in a college she never wanted to attend, quietly closed the laptop. And without saying a word to either of her parents, she headed off to her room.
    She immediately went for her headphones and her computer, and before long, she was listening to her dad’s one hit song—“Misunderstood.” As she listened, she Googled Frank Mostin Management, pulling up Mossy’s website. She clicked on his bio, browsing through old photos until she found one of Mossy and her dad. Together they were grinning and holding up a gold record. The caption read: Frank Mostin with Johnny Trey celebrating their top-ten hit, “Misunderstood.”
    Before the song ended, she pulled off her headphones and tossed them onto her bed. How could her dad be so stupid? To throw away an opportunity like that? What was wrong with the man? Or maybe he was just too good. What was that old saying—too heavenly minded to be any earthly good? Yeah, that just about described her dad. The one-hit wonder who