Making a Comeback (22 page)

“It’s been a long three days,” Liz said, lying on her side with her head on Jac’s shoulder. “You’re not still planning on running away to your parents in Hawaii, are you?”

Last night’s plan of escape. “No. I’ll be lucky if I can get off the floor.”

“I was serious about you staying with me.”

“I may take you up on it, but I need to deal with the reality of my life. I was responsible for someone’s death, and that’s not going away.”

“It was an accident.”

“One I could have prevented.”

“Has imprisoning yourself for the last decade brought Stephanie back?”

Jac tensed and pain shot up her back. “That’s not the point.”

“Isn’t it? Famous trumpet player living as a recluse in seaside town? Will shutting yourself off from the world for the rest of your life bring her back?”

Jac’s chest rose and fell in a staccato rhythm as breathing became hard and tears filled her eyes. “Got Kleenex?” she asked, trying to be funny, but the words caught in her throat.

“Settle for a T-shirt?” Liz turned Jac’s head into the crook of her neck.

Jac’s chin touched soft cotton, and her nose fit into a nook below Liz’s ear. She pressed her hand against her stomach, willing the sob to stay put. Max lay next to her, his body stretched along hers.

“It’s okay. You’re human.”

The sob gathered in her belly, climbed up through her chest, forced its way out her mouth. She grabbed for Liz as other sobs chased it—the new, fresh sobs about her lost career, then the heartbroken sobs about Maria, and finally, the old, angry, guilty sobs for Stephanie. “She was twenty-two,” she choked out in broken syllables. “Only twenty-two. I would have traded places with her.”

“I know. Me, too.”

Jac touched Liz’s cheek. She was crying, too. They held each other for a long time until no more tears remained. Friendship and love tangled together, so much more powerful than what she’d felt for Maria. She rolled to her back and wiggled her butt on the floor.

“How bad does it hurt?”

“Not as much as before.” When it was this bad it never improved without weeks of chiropractic and massage, ice and anti-inflammatories.

“Shall we get you up?”

Liz moved away, and the loss made her heart fall in on itself. Of course Liz wasn’t hers. She rolled onto her side. The pain was bearable.

“Give me your hand.”

She did, and Liz helped her to her feet.

“How is it?”

“I can manage.”

“Wrong answer. Friends don’t get all ‘I can do it myself’ with each other. We’re gonna have a lot of tickling before I get you trained.”

“Now that’s something my teacher never tried. You know what I want? A shower.”

“Um, you’re on your own for that.”

“Could you make coffee? Unless you want to go home.”

“I was invited for brunch, but I need to go home and shower, too. No coffee until I get back or you know what will happen.”

Jac liked the teasing. Maria never—She cut off the thought. Halfway down the hall she stopped. “Liz?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.” She started toward her bedroom, but Liz stopped her and wrapped her arms around her waist. A hug from a friend. So simple, but the wonder of it wasn’t a small thing. Max nudged her leg and she put her hand on his head. Liz covered her hand. Friends.

*

“I’ll be on time, Kev.” Liz held the phone to her ear as she forked two more pancakes onto her plate. It was hard to hear him over the conversation. Roger opened another gift, and more laughter erupted when he held up the apron that said
Whine Time.

“I’m going to strangle her. She didn’t get the damn tickets.”

Liz didn’t have to ask who the “her” was. She rubbed butter on the pancakes and poured syrup over them. “Did you look for tickets?” Every year they got her dad concert tickets for Father’s Day. This year was supposed to be Pat Metheny at the Mountain Winery.

“Sold out.”

“I’ll pick him up a shirt and tie in Carmel.” Why couldn’t Hannah ever be responsible?

“We always give him concert tickets.”

“Sometimes always doesn’t happen.”

“They hold tickets back for VIPs. Can Jac score us some?”

“Jac? Why would you—”

“Dad told me she’s that blogger.”

Liz clenched her jaw. He’d promised he wouldn’t tell anyone.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Jac was laughing at something Roger said. She looked younger. She looked happy. What a terrible burden she’d carried, believing she was responsible for someone’s death. Liz understood guilt. She’d always wonder if they would have beat the leukemia if they’d come home and started treatment sooner. She knew that wasn’t any more logical than Jac blaming herself for the accident, but the guilt was there, sticky and hard to shake. She thought back to the tide pool and Jac’s radiant smile. She wanted to give her more moments like that.

Liz walked around the table to where Jac was sitting. “Can I shamelessly impose on you?” She explained the problem.

“I’ll make a call tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s what friends are for.”

Liz kissed Jac’s cheek. Friends who trusted each other and had shared much. Peggy caught her eye and lifted her cup. “Thank you,” she mouthed, and then laughter erupted again as Roger opened another gift. She had friends. She had a life. She checked her watch. She could get used to the new band. And if she didn’t hurry, she’d be late for her family’s Father’s Day party.

Liz walked into her dad’s backyard, just a bit late. It had been hard to drag herself away from brunch and from Jac. Peggy had assured her she’d keep Jac busy so she wouldn’t go back to worrying about the press. Tomorrow she’d call her journalist friend about interviewing Jac.

“Sunshine,” her dad called. His skinny legs stuck out below Bermuda shorts, and he wore the Diana Krall T-shirt from the concert they’d taken him to last year. He was pushing Kevin, Jr. in the swing.

“Not so high,” Karen called, holding the back screen door open.

“It’s all right,” her dad called back, pushing him higher. Robbie kicked his legs up wildly in the adjacent swing.

“Kevin, I want to talk to you,” Karen said.

Kevin shoved out of the chair, set the
Wine Spectator
magazine on the table, and drank the rest of his wine before walking to the house. His shorts and Polo shirt were rumpled like he’d slept in them.

Liz sat in the third swing. Her thighs squished together, and she wrapped her arms around the chains.

“I helped Regan get the CD orders mailed out yesterday,” her dad said, giving her a push. “And posted three videos on YouTube.”

“Thanks.” She should have done those things, but all she’d wanted to do was celebrate with Jac.

“Okay, big guy, you ready? On three.” Kevin, Jr. went sailing out of the swing. His squeal of delight turned to a scream of pain when he landed facedown on the ground.

Karen burst through the screen door and ran to him. “Let me see,” she said, taking his face in her hands. “His chin’s bleeding.”

Liz hopped off the swing and knelt next to him. She fingered the scar under her chin. Same swing.

“He’s a champ,” her dad said, patting the boy’s back.

“He’s an eight-year-old.” Karen gave Liz’s dad a withering stare, holding her son as he cried.

“Let’s go find a superhero Band-Aid,” Kevin said. A look passed between Kevin and Karen before he carried his boy to the house.

“Robbie, come with me,” Karen said, holding out her hand. “Mommy needs your help with something important.” She let the screen door slam behind her.

“He’s tougher than she thinks. He’ll be fine,” her dad said. “I have a surprise for you.” His expression had an odd smugness. “Let’s go to the study where we can talk.” When they were inside his study, he turned on the desktop computer and angled it toward her. “
Chron
review.”

“I don’t read—”

“Read it.”

She sat behind the desk and read. The first paragraph lavished praise on the album—one of the best of the year, a must-see band with a bright future. That was good. It singled her out for her composing, and the reviewer analyzed some of her songs. Okay. Then raved about her performance. That made her uncomfortable. It hadn’t been her best.

The album was co-produced by—
Liz’s heart vaulted into her throat.
Jacqueline Richards, under the name Jac Winters.
No. How—She jerked her head up. Her dad was grinning. Liz put her hand to her throat. “Oh, no.” The review continued about the influence Ms. Richards had on the album, said she was the voice behind the blog
Jazz Notes
, now lived in Carmel, and finished by speculating on whether this signaled she would be returning to the stage herself.

“I didn’t recognize her either. Odd that she didn’t tell you.”

Liz ignored the ping of guilt for keeping that from him. She pressed her palms to her cheeks as she stared at the screen in disbelief, willing it not to be true. Oh, God, this was going to undo Jac.

“You got lucky, sunshine.” He grinned again, a too-smug grin. “And you have me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I overheard a woman telling her friend she couldn’t believe she’d run into Jacqueline Richards. I recognized the name. Imagine someone that famous in my club.”

Liz listened with growing dread.

“I asked if she was still here and she said no, but then told her friend she didn’t know she was blind and went on about knowing her at Juilliard.” Her dad looked like he’d just filled in the last word on a
Times
crossword puzzle. “You should have seen the
Chron
reviewer’s expression when I told him Jacqueline Richards came to your show. When I told him she’d produced your album, I thought he’d fall off his stool.”

The reporter yesterday was because of her dad? “I told you about Jac in confidence.” Her voice rose.

“It’s important to have a good relationship with the press. You won the publicity lottery, sunshine.” That grin again.

“You sicced the press on someone you know nothing about?” Blood rushed to her face as she shoved out of the chair and faced him.

“She’s a public figure.” Irritation tinged his voice.

“She’s my friend, Dad.”

“Not if she didn’t tell you who she was.”

Liz braced her hand on the desk, dizzy as understanding dawned. Her words came out slowly, as if she had to invent each one. “You told him about Jac in hope of a favorable review.”

“You were so close last year and lost your dream again because of Teri’s illness,” he said, as if consoling a child. “I don’t want you to lose it again. She’d agree with what I did.”

“No, she wouldn’t.”

His expression hardened. “Teri understood the game.”

“We got gigs and great reviews because of our music.”

“Grandma was as good as you, but how many people came to her living room to hear her perform?”

“That’s not fair.”

“I’m good enough to play professionally. Do you see me on my own stage? Talent isn’t enough. Timing. Breaks. Publicity. Teri understood that.”

“It’s my band now.”

“You keep doing what you do best and let me handle the rest.” He put his arm over her shoulder and guided her to the door.

Liz scurried upstairs to her bedroom. She needed to think. She felt sick to her stomach. Oh, God, she’d have to tell her. Jac would never speak to her again. The look of panic on her face when the reporter confronted her. Her heart-wrenching story last night about the accident. She was in the hallway, headed downstairs for her phone, when she heard Kevin and Karen in his old bedroom.

Karen’s voice was low but furious. “Do not let him put them on those swings again. He does what he wants without caring about consequences.”

“He does a lot for us,” Kevin said, sounding irritated.

“No. We do a lot for him,” Karen shot back.

The door opened and Kevin barged into Liz, his mouth a hard line. She steadied herself with a hand to the wall below a picture of her at the piano as a child. He hurried down the stairs as Karen appeared in the doorway.

“Are you and Kevin okay?”

“We’re seeing a marriage counselor.” Tears pooled in Karen’s eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Their marriage had always seemed solid.

“What your dad did to your friend? It’s not right.” Karen gave her a quick hug before heading down the stairs.

Liz slunk into her bedroom and collapsed on the bed. No, it wasn’t right. Would Teri have agreed with him? The thought shot her to her feet. Of course not. She needed to call Jac. How was she going to explain this? Two steps into the hall she stopped and looked at her dad’s closed bedroom door at the end of the hall. Other voices. A memory she’d forgotten. High school. An English test the next day and she’d come up to get her notebook.

“It’s an important gig,” her dad said, his voice loud even through the closed door.

“She has a test tomorrow,” her mom countered.

“I’ll quiz her on the drive. We agreed we’d do whatever it took to help her get her dream.”

“Her dream? Are you sure about that?”

“Do we have to force her to practice? She deserves her shot, Alice.”

“Does that have to include taking her to bars?”

“I won’t let anything happen to her. He’s a big name. It was a lucky break his piano player got sick. I told him I’d give him a little something if he let Liz solo a bit. She’ll get reviewed. It adds up. She’ll get noticed by bands looking for pianists.”

“She has a band.”

“They’re all right for another year.”

“They’re her friends.”

“She can have friends or she can have the career she deserves. I wish I could talk her out of going to UOP. It’s an unnecessary detour.”

At dinner her mom acted like nothing had happened. She’d received great reviews for that show and it had led to other offers. Was she naive about the business?

When she went back downstairs, everything seemed the same. Rebecca was scrubbing potatoes in the sink. Kevin was in his chair on the patio, reading his magazine. Karen was kicking the soccer ball around on the lawn with the boys. Her dad was pulling weeds from between his prized tomatoes. And yet everything wasn’t the same.

Car doors slammed, and a minute later Sammy and Regan walked into the backyard. “Hey, Pops,” Sammy said, high-fiving him. “Awesome review,” he said to Liz, bending his tall frame to hug her.