Making a Comeback (21 page)

“And my teacher did.” Jac cringed. Twenty years she’d studied with him. Twenty years his opinion had been the only one that mattered. She’d woken in a haze of pain in the dark hospital room. His face in the glow from the monitors, constricted with rage. His eyes pinpricks of contempt and judgment. He hadn’t needed to say a word.

She covered her face. Max nudged her leg. He needed her reassurance and she had none to give him. “I knew better than to fall in love with Maria. I knew better than to let something be more important than the music. I didn’t care. God help me, I didn’t care. I let my emotions rule me. I lost the career he gave me. I killed someone. I deserve the blame.” Tears were everywhere. Spilling out of her eyes. On her hands. On her chin. Sliding down her arms.

“It’s all right.” Liz was holding her again and it felt so good, like Liz could hold her together.

She wasn’t strong enough. She wasn’t. Her emotions were running away with her again and there would be consequences and she couldn’t help it. She wrapped her arms around Liz and burrowed into that place she’d wanted to be since dancing with her. She pressed her face into the crook of Liz’s neck and let it be all she felt. Warm skin. Her perfume mixed with the smell of the ocean. Pulse skipping against her cheek. Liz’s hands rubbing her back. Soothing words. The world was alive with the sensation of Liz. When her tears stopped, Liz’s hands stopped. Gradually, gently, she was deposited back to reality. She dried her eyes and blew her nose. She drank wine. She waited.

“Who’s this teacher?”

“The one I moved to New York to study with when I was twelve.” The flight to New York with her parents for the audition. All nerves as they walked up the steps to his apartment off Central Park. Her parents waiting while she was ushered into a windowless room. Putting her trumpet together with shaking hands as he stared at her from his wheelchair. Taking her hand and kissing it when she was done.
Excellent. Now we will make you divine.
“I wanted to be the greatest trumpet player in the world.”

“You got your wish.”

“It was an honor to be his protégé.” How proud she’d been. “He said it would take total dedication, that I’d have to give myself to the music and only that. Distractions were for those in the orchestra, not those in front of it. He was right. I almost lost my career before it started.” All he’d done for her, and in the end she’d failed him.

“What do you mean?”

“My first professional performance. The Boston Philharmonic Youth Orchestra.” Did any of this matter? The press would dig out the details of the accident. The scandal of being in a lesbian bar. The scandal of being responsible for Stephanie’s death.

“Jac?”

“At the private high school I went to for kids like me.” She reached for Max. Loyal. Loving. He wouldn’t blame her. “No one liked me much except one of the girls, an artist…we became friends. Instead of practicing, I’d sneak off with her. She was fun and it was exciting and I felt different when I was with her. It affected my concentration. The rehearsals were a disaster. The conductor yelled at me. My teacher was furious. I’d embarrassed him and he threatened to send me home. When he found out why…the girl wasn’t at school the next day. I never saw her again.”

“Oh, Jac. You didn’t do anything wrong. You acted like a kid.”

“I wasn’t supposed to act like a kid. I was a professional musician.” The scorching rebukes for weeks afterward.
Don’t waste my time if you’re not serious. How dare you let anything be more important than the music! Music! Your life is the music now!
Conductor’s baton tapping against his perfectly creased black pants. His face so red she’d been afraid he’d have a stroke. The long, grueling practice sessions for months after.

“He sounds harsh.”

“He made me what I am. What I was. Classical isn’t like jazz. It’s rigorous. He opened doors for me, created opportunities I wouldn’t have been offered without him.”

“He fed off your immaturity and made you conform to some ridiculous idea that music is somehow separate from life. We get emotion from life and feed it back into our music.”

“When he played…there was so much emotion in it…like it was coming from inside me—joy, sadness, excitement, love. I would shake listening to him.”

“That’s how I feel when I listen to your albums.”

“He taught me well. He taught me to find the emotion in the composer’s notes and translate it through my trumpet so it was accessible to an audience. He taught me to become the music. He said that in order to do that I’d have to sacrifice my emotions and give myself completely to the music.”

“Whether I play Brubeck or Bach, Ellington or Beethoven, I’m not trying to channel them. I’m trying to find what’s personal in their music for me.”

“He said emotions left to wander free outside the structure of the music were dangerous. He was right. When I fell in love with Maria, my feelings for her became more important than the music, and look what happened. I lost control. A woman died.”

“I’d bet your love for Maria went into your music and gave it qualities it didn’t have before. My love for Teri was always at the core of my music as well as my life. Love enhances our relationship to everything, including music.”

Was that true? If anyone but Liz had said it, she could discount it. Those months she was with Maria, critics had raved about a new maturity in her playing. Her teacher was pleased. She’d never connected it with her love for Maria. She’d been terrified he’d find out about the affair. She was breaking the rules again. So many rules—how you held the trumpet, how you controlled your breath, how you practiced, how you dressed, how you ate, how you answered questions from the press. Devoting yourself to the music. Saving your emotions for the music. “An innocent woman died because I let my emotions take control.”

“She died because of snow and slick roads and driving when she shouldn’t have.”

“She wouldn’t have been in that car if I hadn’t lost control. I used her.” Liz didn’t understand. “She’s dead!”

“So are you!”

It hit her like a slap. She flattened her head against the recliner. Liz. Her face so close she felt her breath. Jac gripped the armrests so she wouldn’t reach out for her.
Don’t lose control. Don’t do something foolish.

“Locked up here with self-imposed guilt…” Liz’s voice was gentle, soothing. “Hiding from your teacher’s judgment…judgment you didn’t—”

“It’s the life I deserve.” The guilt yanked harder.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

The whisper wormed its way inside her. Peg had told her that a thousand times. And now Liz. Was it true? The words burrowed deeper, sidled up to the edge of that whirlpool of regret and guilt. “That’s not what the press will say. You don’t want to be associated with me when it comes out.”

“I already am associated with you because of the album. I’m not Maria. I’m not leaving you.”

“You should.”

“Haven’t you paid a high-enough price?”

Coaxing, inviting words. A lifeline. Dare she reach for it? For the absolution Liz was offering? Liz, who’d been through tragedy and loss of her own?

“Hanging onto guilt gives you the security of thinking you could have changed the outcome. I want to believe that if I’d noticed Teri was tired…” Liz’s voice broke. “If I was responsible, then I can do better next time. I can save someone I love. I can keep myself from hurting the same way. It’s easier than believing it wasn’t my fault, that it was beyond my control. The accident was just that. You loved and you got hurt and something terrible happened. It’s not your fault.”

Guilt pulled hard, handcuffing her to that night, to the darkness. Liz cupped her cheek. She wanted to grab her hand. Life. She wanted to let Liz unlock those handcuffs and pull her from the darkness.

“What are you afraid of?”

Longing washed through her. A new pain. This is what she was afraid of.

“I was afraid of playing again without Teri. I was afraid of making a CD and keeping the band together. I was afraid of going on without her. I’m not any more, because of you. I couldn’t feel anything but sadness and loss. Now I have a future because of you. What are you afraid of, Jac?”

“You. I’m afraid of you. You made me feel again.” Oh, God, had she said that out loud? “Music. You made me feel music again. I’m afraid I’ll end up hurting you.”

“I don’t see how that’s possible, but I’ll take my chances. You helped me live again. I want the same for you.”

Jac sucked in air and reached for Max as Liz backed away. She wanted to argue that her life was fine the way it was, but she knew that was no longer true. Liz had changed everything. Liz had brought music back into her life. Liz had brought love back into her life. The guilt was still there, but she resisted giving in to the current that was trying to whisk her back to that night. She’d been a part of what happened, but was she to blame for it? She was no longer certain, and that scared her. The guilt felt safer.

Liz opened the French doors and cool air trickled into the room. “Come on. It’s a beautiful evening and I’m hungry again.”

Jac didn’t move. She had no more control over her feelings for Liz than she’d had over her feelings for Maria, and it terrified her.

“Don’t let Malcolm or your teacher speak for everyone. Give the interview. Tell the truth. If I’m wrong, you keep yourself locked up here. If I’m right, and the accident is seen as just that, with two victims, you start living again. I dare you, Richards.” Liz took her hand and tugged. Max nosed her other hand as if in agreement with Liz.

Part of her wanted to stay right here, in her safe and ordered world, away from the judgment that scared her more than isolation. But there was Liz’s hand, strong and sure, and the offer of friendship she desperately wanted. Jac took a deep breath and stood, each step like heaving herself away from the binding weight of guilt. For this one night she didn’t want to be alone.

“Jac! Wake up!”

She was on her back. Why couldn’t she see anything? A scream. She jerked. The car. Stephanie. She had to get to her. Where was the car? The dark was pierced by an orange blaze and a blast of sound and hot air. She tried to get up, but her legs wouldn’t obey. She tried again, concentrated on pulling them up to her chest. Had to get up. Her legs moved, and searing pain in her back sent her tumbling back into the darkness and the scream that wouldn’t stop
.

“Jac!”

She had to get up. Her feet weren’t on the ground. Where was the ground? She fought her way up. Stood. Arms wrapped around her as she fell forward. She hit the ground and pain sizzled through her back and down her legs. “Noooo!”

“It’s all right.”

Max licked her hand, then her face, and Jac knew where she was. And whom she was lying on. Last night. Dinner. Coming back here to talk some more. Sleepy. She must have fallen asleep. Liz must have slept on the couch. Her head was on Liz’s chest. She tried to sit up and bit back a groan.

“What’s wrong?”

“My back.” No hot tub or exercises or muscle relaxer last night. Sleeping in the recliner. With her back already hurting, it had been a setup for disaster. She took deep breaths, trying to calm the panic and ease the pain. She hadn’t had nightmares in years. “I can’t do this.”
I don’t want to remember.
I don’t want to feel.

“What do you need?”

“Leave. I need you to leave me alone.” Jac rolled onto her back and bent her knees, trying to ease the pain.

“No.”

“I’m entitled to my privacy.”

“Okay. I’m officially assigning myself to see that you have it. Damn it.”

“What?”

“My wrist.” Liz sat up. “Some pair we are. Blind. Bum wrist. Bad back. Brokenhearted.” Liz giggled. It grew to a laugh and she kept laughing.

Liz’s laughter felt like a waterfall cascading over her, and Jac wanted to stand under it and let it wash away the fear and guilt and loneliness. She started to laugh. She didn’t want to. None of this was funny. “Ow.” Spasms seized her back, but she couldn’t stop laughing as tears rolled out the corners of her eyes.

“Oh, gosh, I haven’t laughed like that in so long I’d forgotten what it felt like. We have to be friends, Jac. Who else has been through what we’ve been through?”

“Go live your life. You don’t need me anymore.” She tucked her elbow against her side when Liz tickled her.

“Wrong answer.” Liz tickled across her stomach.

“Don’t.” She grabbed for Liz’s hand but missed.

Liz tickled the tops of her feet. “What? Did you say yes, I want to be friends with you?”

“Not fair.” Jac flopped onto her side and curled into as much of a ball as her back would allow. The pain mixed with the tickling into a confusion of sensation. Max was dancing around them, and she figured by Liz’s squeals that he was licking her face. “All right. You win.” They were acting like children. She wanted to be angry, but it felt good.

“Say it.”

“We can be friends.” Jac struggled onto her back, resting her hands on her stomach, catching her breath.

“Close,” Liz said, poking a finger into her ribs again. “I want to be friends with you. Say it.”

She’d never wanted to see someone’s face more than she did at this moment. She reached up, caught the ends of Liz’s hair. Soft. Thick. She put her thumbs in the indent of Liz’s chin and laid her fingers along her jaw. Her skin was warm and smooth. She moved her thumbs up to her lower lip. Warm breath puffed against her fingers as she went around her mouth. Twice. Liz was smiling and she ached to see her.

She put her fingertips on each side of Liz’s nose and traced her cheek—the fleshy part and the bone, the dip under her eyes. She moved to her forehead, across and back, then her eyebrows. And lastly to her ears, slipping her fingers under the cape of hair hanging over them. She wanted to cup her cheeks but didn’t. Her pounding heart reminded her she wanted to do more than that.

Setting her arms back on her stomach, Jac entwined her fingers to stop the trembling. “I want to be friends with you.” Warmth flowed thick and slow through her body. She was happier than she’d been in a long time. The guilt over the accident was still there, but she was willing to let there be something else, too.