Sing Me Back Home (15 page)

“That was then. Wyatt and Dylan don’t hate you now.”

Maya wasn’t sure about that but she didn’t argue. Jack looked at his watch. “We’d better get going. We still have several stops to make.” He put his hands on her waist to help her out, but instead of putting her down, he boosted her up, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her.

She kissed him back, then pulled back to look down at him. Taking his face in her hands, she smiled at him. “Does this mean we’ve made up?”

“What do you think?” he asked.

“I think yes,” she said, and kissed him.

*

“What are you
doing, Dad?” Gina asked him when she came in his study Sunday afternoon. She plopped down in the other easy chair and watched him quizzically.

“Playing the guitar.”
And doing a mighty crappy job of it
, Jack thought irritably. Who knew the song would be so hard to play? It hadn’t seemed so hard years ago when he first played it.

“You’ve been playing the guitar a lot lately. What’s up with that?”

He struck a sour note and winced. How was he supposed to sing if he couldn’t play the melody worth a shit? “Nothing’s up. I’m playing the guitar. That’s nothing new.”

Gina looked at him skeptically. “You haven’t played this much, not in a long time. And you haven’t sung in like, forever.”

She was probably right. It had taken him years after Brianna died to even pick up the guitar, much less play it. But he’d started playing again about a year ago. Recently, he’d started singing a little along with it. Man, was he rusty.

“What’s that song? It’s pretty. I’ve never heard it, have I?”

“I don’t know.” He told her the title. “It’s an old one. By Rod Stewart.”

She gazed at him blankly. “Who’s Rod Steward?”

God, I’m old
, he thought. “Never mind.”

“It’s pretty,” she repeated. “But you sound like you’re practicing. Why are you practicing?”

“I’m not practicing. I’m just messing around.” She didn’t say anything, but the look she gave him said loud and clear that she didn’t believe him. Her next question made him sure of it.

“Didn’t you say you and Ms. Parrish were going out tonight?”

He went back to playing the chords and struck another off-key note. Great, he was getting worse, not better. “Yes.”

Gina gave a peal of laughter and clapped her hands together. “You’re practicing for Ms. Parrish, aren’t you? You’re going to sing to her! Woo-hoo, go Dad!”

Damn it, he could feel his face heating. “Are you finished?” he growled.

“Do you want me to help? I can tell you if it sucks or not. You know, like a music critic.”

As if he weren’t already nervous enough. “Thanks,” he said dryly. “I’ll take my chances.”

“You look nervous. Why are you nervous?”

Jack sighed and put aside the guitar. “Come here,” he said, and patted his knee.

Gina sat on it, looped her arms around his neck and said, “Okay, Dad, spill.”

“Once upon a time—”

“Dad! What’s going on?”

He laughed and told her.

*

“I hope you
don’t mind going to the Cookhouse again,” Jack said after he picked up Maya that evening.

“Why would I mind? The food is great and I love the atmosphere.”

“Good. I want to take you to Beck’s Place sometime, too. It’s more upscale and dressier, and they’ve got a chef who’s great. But I’ve always had a soft spot for the Cookhouse. And I wanted to bring you here tonight.”

When they walked in, they were told there would be a short wait on the table. Jack said they’d wait outside and led her through the doors near the plate glass windows to the porch overlooking the Yellowstone River. Small outdoor lights illuminated the porch, and as the night wasn’t totally dark, the river was barely visible. The sound of water flowing shut out other background noise. Rushing water and vegetation mingled in a sharp, crisp smell. There was no one else on the porch. They both stood looking out at the river. Jack put his arm around her and she leaned against him, happy to be with him again.

“I’m glad we’re not mad at each other anymore,” Maya said.

“I was never mad at you,” Jack said.

“That’s all right.” She looked up at him with a smile. “I was mad enough at you for both of us.”

He laughed and kissed her.

The hostess came out and told them their table was ready. To Maya’s surprise, she led them to a table toward the middle of the room, closer to the piano, and nowhere near the cozy, romantic one they’d shared the first time they ate at the Cookhouse. “I thought they always seated you at the other table?”

“I asked to sit at a different table tonight. Fly is playing. We can see better from here.”

Yes, they could see better, but it was also much more difficult to talk, since the only time they could hear each other well was when Fly took a break. They ordered their drinks and dinner. When their wine arrived, they toasted each other and from then on talking and hearing anything over the piano grew progressively more difficult.

Jack didn’t seem to mind that every time either of them raised their voice to be heard, there was a lull in the music. Maya felt as if people were staring, and sneaking a peek around them, she discovered this was true. She began to wonder why in the world anyone would ask to be seated at this table. In fact, she realized as she looked around, their table seemed to be in a special place, particularly close to the piano. After a while, Maya gave up trying to communicate, sat back and ate her food, drank her wine and listened to the music. Jack continued to try to make conversation, not very successfully.

Fly had a large and varied repertoire. He played everything from songs that had been popular in her grandparents’ day to current hits. The only genre he didn’t play, she noted, was Rap. Probably not Hip Hop either, she suspected.

She couldn’t imagine why, but Jack seemed nervous. He wore a baby blue button down dress shirt, jeans and boots. Typical attire for many of the men around Marietta. Though his shirt was open at the neck, she noticed him tugging at it and running a finger underneath the collar, as if it were choking him.

When the waitress asked if they wanted dessert, Maya declined. At this point, all she wanted was to get away from the noise and pray that her headache would subside when she did.

Jack patted her hand and squeezed it. “This is nice, huh?”

Yes, nice and loud
, she thought, but she smiled and nodded.

“Are you sure you don’t want dessert?” he said loudly.

Maya shook her head, marveling that he could be so clueless. She excused herself to go to the restroom, thinking that surely by the time she returned, he would have paid the check and they could leave.

No such luck. Jack wasn’t at the table when she got back.

‡

M
aya sat down
and began searching in her purse for some aspirin. She had just pulled out her emergency supply, gotten out a couple of pills and swallowed them when she heard Fly say, “My friend Jack here has a special request for his lady.”

She jerked up her head and stared at the older man. Beside the piano, Jack sat in a chair, holding a guitar and looking extremely uncomfortable.

“Take it away, Jack,” Fly said with a grin and a flourish.

Jack said something to Fly and then adjusted the microphone on the stand in front of him. “This”—he started to say, wincing when feedback reverberated throughout the room. A number of the other diners laughed. Jack laughed too, adjusted the mic, blew into it, tested it, and said, “Take two.” He looked more relaxed, but Maya’s heart had started to pound the moment she heard Fly’s first words.

“This is for Maya,” Jack said. “It’s a song I hope she remembers.”

Fly started on the piano, Jack joined in with the guitar, strumming a few recognizable chords before he began to sing Rod Stewart’s version of
Have I Told You Lately That I Love You
.

“Our” song,
Maya thought with her heart melting.
We danced to that song at our high school prom
. Maya blinked back tears and put a hand over her heart, which beat faster by the minute. Never in her life had a man sung a song directly to her. Jack sang and played the guitar in high school, but he’d never done what he was doing tonight. A song. Just for her.

She couldn’t have said what the music sounded like to others, but to her the song was perfect. Jack looked at her and sang to her as if she were the only person in the room, the only woman in the world. Her heart turned to total mush.

When the final notes died away, he set the guitar aside and walked directly to her. Her heart slammed against her ribs. She had to remind herself to breathe. He took her hand and pulled her up, then knelt down on one knee in front of her, still holding her hand. She choked up and couldn’t have spoken if she tried.

“Maya,” he said. A look of consternation came over his face. “Wait a minute.” He patted his pockets, pulling something out of his front jeans pocket.

“Oh, you’re not—you can’t be—are you—” she started to say.

“I hope I am, because if I’m not, I’m making a total fool out of myself,” he told her. He cleared his throat and started over, holding a beautiful diamond ring in his hand and looking at her with love. “Maya, have I told you lately that I love you?” he asked.

“Oh, Jack, only you.” She laughed and said, “Why yes, you have.”

“Maya, will you marry me?”

She nodded, unable to speak for a moment. “Yes,” she whispered, then said it again, louder. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Jack slid the ring on her finger, then stood and took her in his arms. “No doubts?” he asked.

“Not a one,” she said, and threw her arms around his neck. “Now, kiss me.”

He grinned and kissed her, a sweet kiss, full of love and promise.

The restaurant erupted into laughter and applause. The noise faded away as they stared into each other’s eyes, and it was only the two of them standing together.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you, too,” he told her, and kissed her again.

*

Maya and Jack
told both the girls that same evening. Gina had already known of her father’s plans to ask Maya to marry him, but Carmen hadn’t. However, Gina was over at Carmen’s when they came home and when they broke the news, neither of them was surprised. Gina had texted the news to Carmen before she even came over.