It's a fact that strangers confide in musicians the most intimate or darkest details of their lives. You see it all the time. This happens for a combination of reasons. Music is an inherently bonding, charming, experience. People perceive musicians to be sensitive, special people.

Also, there is the low risk and lack of committment involved in conversing with a stranger who lives thousands of miles away and is leaving in the morning for God Knows Where.

Then of course, there's alcohol...

I don't know which, if any, of these motivations applied to Julie that night.

The "music" stilled, we got up from the piano, sharing a final knowing look. The band went about the business of packing and loading the equipment. A sober Julie made her way home. She and I never again spoke of the crimes being committed against herself and indirectly, her daughter.

I never mentioned it to anyone in the band.

Carl returned home the next day. We loaded the van and thanked them, said goodbye to Julie and Carl and Kiki. They bid us an affectionate farewell.

I gave Julie a pair of drumsticks and told her it was never too late to learn how to play.

Next: I thought the story ended there. However...