Making a Comeback (13 page)

“Don’t be late.”

She punched the accelerator, but her confidence faded before she reached the corner. If her instincts were wrong, it wasn’t just her dreams that would be lost. Her dad’s. Regan’s. Sammy’s. Teri’s. She flexed her fingers. It had to heal.

Liz turned off the Yukon. The sound of the garage door ratcheting shut replaced the CD, a demo one of her San Jose State senior students had made. Vicky’s quartet had potential, but Liz would have to address their problems. Tactfully. Constructive critiquing was a delicate dance of honest feedback that encouraged more of what was working while suggesting ways to improve what could be better. She’d been lucky to have her grandma and dad as mentors—she’d never questioned their opinions. Until now.

Her dad had insisted on helping with the song mixing. It was the most important stage in the process and was always grueling, but this was a nightmare. Resting her head back against the headrest she closed her eyes, trying to muster the energy to walk the ten feet to her door.

Please don’t let Hannah have someone over. Slinging her satchel over her shoulder she trudged to the door. Singing came from inside. Hannah showing off for whatever woman she was giving cooking lessons to tonight. She shoved through the door into the kitchen. “Can you tone it down?” Her anger deflated when she saw Hannah—alone, dancing around the tiny kitchen, pumping a spoon in the air and singing.

Hannah stopped in mid-twirl when she saw Liz. Holding the spoon like a mic, she continued her rendition of “I Will Survive.”

“Is disco making a comeback?” Liz flopped the satchel onto the small table tucked into the corner of the dining area, too tired to fuss about the shopping bags piled on the two chairs.

“No, but I am.” Hannah stirred something on the stove. It smelled delicious.

“You found a job?” Taking off her coat, she hung it on a peg by the door, next to Teri’s.

“Not yet, but I will. Survive,” Hannah boomed out. She had a beautiful voice.

“I remember watching you rehearse that song with Dad.” She set the bags on the floor and sank onto the chair.

“Yeah, my talent-show standby.” She did an over-exaggerated bow with a super-fake smile. “I’m better off as a chef than a singer. I’m really good at it and I’ve lived in some cool places. You got Dad’s dream life and I got Mom’s.”

“She wanted to be a chef?” Wiggling a finger inside the cast, she tried to reach the itch that had been tormenting her all day. Was the bone knitting together? Twenty-six days since she broke it. Another three weeks until the cast was removed. A new calendar count.

“No, silly. Don’t you remember all the travel magazines she subscribed to? She had a whole list of places she wanted to see. I’ve been to a lot of them.”

“She did? How come I don’t remember?”

“You weren’t around the house a lot. When you weren’t at Grandma’s or practicing, you were doing shows.”

“I liked playing piano more than anything else.”

“Good thing. You were their last hope.”

“Of what?” She yawned and laid her head on her forearm. She wanted to sleep till noon tomorrow, but they had a nine o’clock appointment at the recording studio.

“Here, taste.” Hannah delivered a spoonful. “New curry I’m developing for when the blacklist gets lifted.”

“Yummy.” There were definite perks to Hannah living here. “Blacklist?”

“He trashed my reputation.”

“Sleeping with your boss’s wife was kind of risky, don’t you think?”

“Just because he owns a bunch of hotels, his version isn’t necessarily the truth.” Hannah shoved a drawer closed. Silverware rattled.

“What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Hannah said, her voice edgy. “I’m not giving up. I will survive,” she sang in a loud vibrato. “How’s the CD coming?” Hannah piled rice into a perfect mound on the plate and ladled curry over it, topping it with sprigs of something.

“Terrible. Three days in the studio and we only have one song mixed. Teri and I worked with Mark on all our CDs. It’s never gone this badly. At this rate we’ll be at Monterey before it’s done.”

“Let me guess. Dad’s not helping.” Hannah brought the plates to the table and went back for beers, pouring them into frosted glasses.

“He knows my music, but mixing requires a certain kind of listening. You have to be able to separate out each of our twelve tracks and hear what it needs to make it the best, while keeping in mind how it’s going to fit into the song as a whole.”

“Like a meal. You have to know each ingredient but also how the flavors work together.” Hannah grinned as she moved shopping bags off the other chair.

“Exactly.”

“He can’t do that.”

“He understands reverb, compression, EQ, etcetera, from a technical perspective, but he doesn’t have the experience of knowing how to apply them. We have to keep repeating a track over and over for him, and then what he likes isn’t what I like. I don’t want to offend him so I try to compromise. I’m getting so confused I’m starting to doubt my own perceptions. Mark’s so frustrated I’m afraid he’s going to tell me to take it to another sound studio.”

“Is Dad paying for the CD?”

“No.” Now that she didn’t have the deductible for the surgery, she’d decided to pay for it herself. “I can’t afford extra sessions.”

“Tell him you want to do it yourself.”

“I can’t. He’s trying to help. This curry’s amazing.”

“I know.” Hannah grinned, her bravado back. “You know, Lizzie, you’re not a teenager anymore. He’s still treating you like you are. It’s your album.”

“Maybe he’s right that they’re not the best songs, not our sound.”

“It’s a great album.” Hannah’s expression was fierce. “So what if it’s not your same sound? Life changes. Don’t let him make you doubt yourself because you didn’t let him help pick the songs.”

“What does that have to do with it?” She chewed one of the sprigs. Lemongrass.

“Oh, Lizzie.” Hannah shook her head, an indulgent look on her face. “He likes being in charge.”

“He likes helping us.”

“On his terms.”

“How would you know? You haven’t been around for the last fifteen years.”

“I had a different idea about my future than he did.”

The comment hung between them. Was that what he meant about Hannah getting with the program “Don’t tell Dad, but I had help choosing the songs. A woman I met in Carmel. She’s the sister of the artist who painted his painting.”

“Can she help with the mixing?”

“I don’t know.” Liz stirred the curry around on her plate. If the mix wasn’t handled right, all their work selecting the songs wouldn’t make it a great album. She had no idea whether Jac had mixing experience, but if she did…Hope bubbled up. Even if she didn’t have mixing experience, Liz could imagine what a help Jac’s keen ear could be.

“Did you like working with her?”

“I barely know her, but she’s brilliant, and musically we think alike.”

“You don’t have to know a lot about someone to click with them. Do it. Ask her to help. I dare you.” Nobody beat Hannah in the cocky-grin department.

“How do I tell Dad I don’t want his help? I hate that face he makes when he’s disappointed.”

Hannah imitated it.

“You’re bad. I wouldn’t have a career without him.”

“And he wouldn’t have one without you.”

“What—”

“Never mind.” Hannah patted her arm. “Have you talked to Kevin lately?”

“About?”

“Karen.”

Was she that tired or was Hannah not making sense? “She’s over the flu. I saw her at the restaurant last night.”

“She didn’t have the flu.”

“At Dad’s birthday? Sure she did.”

“That’s what Kevin told everyone. She refused to go. I heard them arguing.”

“Why would she—”

“The trip they didn’t go on because Kevin had to work at the last minute? It was their anniversary.”

“Oh, shit.” Anniversaries weren’t something they celebrated as a family, but Liz had forgotten to get them a card. “He works too much.” She covered her mouth as she yawned. Bed. Soon. Hannah gave her a funny look again. “What?”

“It’s about priorities.” They ate in silence for a while and then Hannah asked, “Are you going to Carmel tomorrow?”

“I wasn’t.”

“Oh.” She scooted rice kernels around on her plate.

“Cooking lesson with benefits?”

“Yeah.” Hannah grinned.

“Don’t you want to find someone to settle down with?”

“Not my style.” Hannah made an icky face. “I didn’t get that Randall ‘find true love young and mate for life’ gene.”

“You’ve just never fallen in love. When you do—”

“Love doesn’t always come neatly wrapped up in happy-ever-after-forever.”

“I wouldn’t trade what I had with Teri, even though it wasn’t the forever I wanted it to be.”

“I know.” Hannah squeezed her hand. “Speaking of settling down, what do you think about Dad and Rebecca?”

“What about them?”

“Don’t you see the way she looks at him?”

“She’s like family.”

“My point. They make a cute couple.”

“Mom’s only been gone two years.” Her dad and Rebecca? No.

“That’s a long time not to have someone to cuddle up to.”

“Long if you have the relationship attention span of a mosquito.” Liz looked at the pictures of her and Teri on the bar top between the kitchen and living room. Fourteen years of memories she cherished.

“Don’t be upset with me, Lizzie.” Hannah’s voice and expression turned serious. “I left everything behind. Keeping myself distracted helps me not think about what I lost.”

Maybe she’d been too hard on Hannah. “If you promise to clean up the condo, I’ll go.”

“You’re the best sister ever.” Hannah threw her arms around her and kissed her cheek. “We need to take you shopping.” She tugged the shoulder of Liz’s blouse.

“Not hard when I’m the only sister.” She ignored the fashion scolding. Teri had given the blouse to her. So what if it was a few years old?

“Details, details.” Hannah brushed her hand through the air. “Mango-lime mousse for dessert.”

Liz’s phone rang as they were clearing the table. Reluctantly she answered.

“I was thinking about ‘Spring Time,’” her dad said. “We should bring up the bass and drums, give it more punch.” His voice punctuated the word. “It’s your most popular song. It needs to be showy.”

Liz propped her elbows on the counter, trying to hang on to her shredded patience. Showy. His second favorite word next to momentum. It’s “Spring Time,” she wanted to say. A delicate melody invoking new growth and the optimism of the season, not a march. “Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

“Sure, sunshine.” He sounded disappointed. “This mixing is exciting stuff.”

Hannah was shaking her head when she ended the call. “Chicken,” she said as she laid mint leaves on the desserts.

Hannah didn’t understand. Her dad was a big part of the band’s success, and she didn’t have it in her to disappoint him. She tried to imagine “Spring Time” with more punch. She grimaced. How could she let him be part of the mixing process but get the finished album she wanted?

Liz collapsed into bed an hour later, resting the cast on Teri’s pillow. She flexed her fingers. They were puffy again, and she’d had to take pain pills this week after a week of not needing them. What if she’d made the wrong decision about surgery? What if it never healed? What if those New York shows were the last time she played? She hugged the pillow and tried to corral the terrifying thoughts. Trust your instincts. Think long-term. God, she hoped Jac was right.

“For you,” Hannah said, entering without knocking as usual and holding out Liz’s cell phone. “Sexy voice.”

“Hello?”

“I’ve been assigned to call you,” Jac said. “Susanne just got word she’s filling in for the lead in her school play tomorrow night. Peg’s trying to rally a full house for her. Can you come?”

“I’d love to. What time?”

“Peg said to come for dinner.”

“Um, I’m mixing tomorrow. I can’t get down that early.”

“Play’s at eight. Meet us there. How’s mixing?”

“Slow going.” She didn’t want to think about what Jac would say if the mixing ruined the album.

“You’ve never done a live album before. It’s different than a studio recording.”

If only it were that simple.

“You have good reverb on the master. Bleed will be a bigger challenge than a studio recording. Your biggest problem will be getting definition from each instrument and balance among the tracks without over-refining it. What you lose in perfection you gain in energy, spontaneity, and that magic of a live performance you want listeners to experience.”

“You have mixing experience.” Jac’s expert ear…working with someone she didn’t have to explain everything to.

“Some.”

“Will you help me?” She had no idea how she’d handle her dad, but it had to be perfect, and she wouldn’t get that with him. “I could use a fresh set of ears on it.”

“I thought you liked your sound engineer.”

“I do, but he mostly does studio albums. And it’s Dad’s first time mixing.”

There was a long inhale, a pause, and then a longer exhale. Jac’s eyebrow was surely reaching for her hairline, but thankfully, she didn’t point out the obvious.

“I won’t come to San Jose.”

“I’ll bring it to you. Thank you. See you tomorrow.”

She ended the call and picked up the picture on the nightstand. She and Teri in Provincetown, a few days’ vacation in between shows last summer. They were wearing matching sweatshirts and grinning for the selfie. “I want it to be perfect.”

She’d have to figure out a way to work on it with Jac and let her dad help. She flopped back on the bed and held the picture to her chest. “I’m trying, sweetie. I’m trying.”

Liz bolted from the car the second her dad pulled into his driveway. She sprinted to the music room. “It looks good,” the doctor had said as he put up the X-rays on the view box. “We won’t know how much soft-tissue damage…” She’d tuned him out as she put her ring and watch back where they belonged and moved her hand in circles. It was stiff, but the black line between the bones was now a thickened white line he called a callus. Healed.