Perfect Rhythm

by Jae

  Home… That term didn’t seem to fit New York anymore. But then, where was home? It couldn’t be Fair Oaks, could it? She had fought so hard to escape the town.

  She stepped out of her father’s room and pulled the door closed behind her so her mother wouldn’t hear. “I don’t know yet. It’s only been two weeks.”

  “But you’ve been gone for six weeks. That’s a lifetime in the music industry; you know that.”

  “Yeah, I know, but I can’t just run off. I still need to take care of a few things here, like handling the insurance companies, taking care of financial matters, and sorting through his things.”

  “I’ll send someone to do it,” Saul said. “Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll hire the best financial adviser in all of—”

  “No, Saul.” Leo paced to the kitchen and back. “No. This isn’t a problem you can solve by throwing money at it.” It was what Holly had told her on that first day—and she’d been right. “My mother doesn’t need a financial adviser. She needs her daughter.”

  Saul’s teeth were audibly grinding together. “For how much longer?” he finally got out.

  “I don’t know. A week…a month… I really don’t know. Grief doesn’t exactly stick to a timetable, you know?”

  “I’m aware of that. Please don’t think I’m unsympathetic, Jenna, but people here need you too. You’ve got obligations.”

  “Frankly, they don’t hold a candle to the obligations I have here.” If she was honest, it wasn’t just her obligations that kept her in Fair Oaks. There was also Holly.

  Saul huffed out a sigh. “I’ll see what I can do to hold them all off for a little longer. But at some point, you’ll have to come back.”

  “I know. Thanks, Saul.” She ended the call.

  When she took a step toward her father’s room, her mother stood in the doorway. Her expression made it clear that she had overheard at least part of the phone call.

  “Mom…”

  “It’s okay if you fly back.” Her mother’s voice was soft but somehow still managed to hold a firm undertone that revealed how much she meant it. “I know you have been gone for much too long already.”

  “You need me here,” Leo said.

  Her mother patted her arm. “I’ll be fine. I have Holly and the rest of town looking after me. Right?” She glanced behind her.

  Holly stepped up to her and put both hands on her shoulders in a silent gesture of support. She nodded but didn’t look Leo in the eyes.

  “Maybe,” Leo said, her voice a little scratchy, “I need to be here for myself too.”

  A smile creased her mother’s face, and Holly looked at Leo for the first time since the conversation about her leaving had started. Amazing what warmth those blue eyes could exude.

  Leo got caught in that gentle gaze.

  “Then stay,” her mother said. “I’m always happy to have you home for however long I can get you.”

  Holly whispered something under her breath. Had it been “me too”?

  Her mother wiped at her eyes before turning around. “Come on, girls,” she said over her shoulder. “Let’s get back to work.”

  Leo followed her back into her father’s room and went through the rest of the drawer.

  At first, she had thought he had shoved that bow tie into the top drawer and then forgotten about it, but then she pulled out programs of his first concerts, a broken violin string, her grandparents’ wedding picture, and tickets to movies her parents had seen together more than thirty-five years ago.

  While the rest of her father’s things were all practical—clothes, books, his sheet music, and neatly sorted bank statements—this drawer obviously held all the things of sentimental value.

  Who knew her father had a nostalgic side?

  She carefully put everything into the “keepers” box.

  The last item left in the drawer, stored at the very bottom, was some sort of photo album. She pulled it out. There was no year or any other kind of label on it. She opened it to the first page. Not a single photo. Instead…

  She gasped.

  Staring back at her was a grainy black-and-white version of herself—or rather of Jenna Blake. Her father had obviously cut out a short newspaper article about her very first concert after leaving Fair Oaks. The headline said, Hometown girl opening for New York band Reckless.

  She held her breath as she turned the page, then the next one.

  The album documented every stage of her career—her early attempts to get a foot in the door by playing at festivals and open mics, reviews of her debut album, a photo of her holding up her first Grammy Award, her picture on the cover of Rolling Stone, and a music critic’s opinion on her first number-one single, in which her father had highlighted the words stellar breath control and flawless technique. He had even found a short press release announcing that she had signed with Clio Records.

  Holly stepped next to her and touched her elbow. “What is it? You look a little pale all of a sudden.”

  Leo couldn’t speak, so she just held out the album.

  Holly took it and flipped through it.

  Leo’s mother joined them, and they looked through her father’s Jenna Blake collection together.

  Once she had studied each page a second time, Leo finally found her voice. “Did you know about this?”

  Her mother shook her head. “I had no idea. I never even mentioned your career around the house because I always thought…”

  “Yeah, me too. I thought I was a total disappointment to him.”

  “You weren’t.” Holly gently tapped the album. “This is proof. He was proud of you and everything you achieved.”

  Leo still stared down at the pages, which blurred before her eyes. Why hadn’t he ever told her? Why let her assume he was disappointed in her all these years?

  She would probably never get an answer to these questions, and that hurt like a thorn that had dug in beneath her skin.

  As if sensing it, Holly stroked her forearm and up to her shoulder.

  She gave Holly a shaky smile. Finding the album was still a good thing. She slid her fingers over the open page and then closed the album.

  But when she put it into the “keepers” box, her mother took it back out. “No. That doesn’t go there.”

  “It doesn’t?”

  Her mother shook her head and pressed the album into her hands. “It belongs to you.”

  A sudden onslaught of grief and joy rose from deep inside of Leo and poured out of her in the form of tears. She pressed the album to her chest as if it could hold back the flood of emotions.

  Her mother and Holly held her, forming a human huddle of comfort.

  After a second, Leo stopped trying to get a grip and just let the tears come. When they finally dried up, she blew her nose. Wow. She had thought she was done crying for her father, but it had felt strangely freeing.

  “Let’s stop for today,” her mother said. “I’m in the mood for baked potato soup and a BLT.”

  “You want to cook? Now?”

  “No. I want to invite my two favorite girls…women to lunch at Ruth’s Diner.”

  Leo stared at her. Her mother hadn’t wanted to leave the house in the past two weeks. Apparently, she was ready to head out into the world again, and her appetite had returned too. Maybe this had been a freeing experience for her as well.

  “What about the paparazzi?” Leo asked. A few of them were still in town, even though they hadn’t dared come too close. If they had taken any photos, it had been through telephoto lenses.

  Her mother shrugged. “I don’t think a photo of three women having lunch is what they’re looking for. They’re probably after inheritance battles, grief-induced benders, and illegitimate half siblings suddenly showing up.”

  Leo gave her a surprised look. “Since when did you become an expert on
the tabloids?”

  A hint of red entered her mother’s cheeks. “Well, I might not have started an album like your father, but I followed your career too.”

  Leo’s mouth went dry. “You did?”

  Her mother nodded. “So, shall we?”

  Gently, Leo put the album down and nodded.

  Her mom hooked her right arm through Leo’s and the left through Holly’s and dragged them toward the door.

  Leo threw a glance over her shoulder, back at the album, before allowing herself to be led out of the house.

  A few days later, Leo was in the middle of slicing an avocado for an LGBTA sandwich—Holly’s new favorite lunch—when she realized she was humming. A melody floated around in her head.

  She paused and cocked her head to listen. It sounded strangely familiar. For a moment, she thought it might be a ballad she had recently heard on the radio.

  No. It was the elusive melody that had popped into her head a few days ago, the way it had often happened in the past, back when she had still written her own music.

  Now she was ready to open herself up to the melody and the emotions that came with it.

  She dropped the knife, wiped her hands on a dish towel, and rushed upstairs, all the while humming the melody so she wouldn’t lose it.

  Her guitar had sat untouched in her old room for the past six weeks, but now her fingers itched for it. God, how wonderful it was to get that feeling back!

  She knelt down in front of her battered case, which she had kept out of sight in one corner of the room. Carefully, she lifted out her guitar and touched the place where the gloss had worn off around the sound hole. It wasn’t the guitar she used during concerts. This was her very first guitar. Her father had bought it for her after weeks of begging, and it had been one of the few things she had taken with her when she’d left Fair Oaks.

  She settled her fingers into the familiar positions. As soon as she felt the fretboard beneath her fingertips, she realized how much she had missed this.

  Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she tuned the guitar, tinkered with the chord progression for the intro, and then grabbed the nearest piece of paper to work on the lyrics to fit the tune.

  The first two verses and the chorus came to her with amazing ease, pouring from her mind as if she were merely taking dictation. If songwriting had always been like that, she would never have stopped.

  Some time later, she paused and shook out her hands. Her calluses had softened after weeks of not playing, and now her fingertips stung from the strings, but she welcomed the pain. It seemed to deepen the elation coursing through her.

  She stared at the pages she had written. From the chaos of words and notes on the paper, a love song stared back at her.

  Wasn’t that what she had wanted to get away from?

  But this wasn’t one of the streamlined, commercial songs about love. She hadn’t written it to land another number-one hit; she had written it to express her feelings. This one came straight from her heart.

  It hit her with the force of a rock star smashing his Les Paul at the end of a concert. She was in love with Holly!

  Her offer of “no commitment, let’s just enjoy each other’s company while I’m here” wasn’t all she wanted anymore. She didn’t want to give up what they had once she left. She wanted to share her life with Holly.

  Pen and paper slid from her fingers. It had been ages since she had truly been in love, and even then, there had always remained a speck of doubt about whether she was appreciated for herself or for her fame and money. With Holly, everything was different.

  Somehow, they had to find a way to make it work, even if she didn’t have any idea yet as to how.

  A car door slammed in the driveway.

  Leo looked up as if awakening from a deep trance. That couldn’t be Holly already, could it? She glanced at her wristwatch. Jesus, it was after one already!

  The key Leo’s mother had given Holly jangled in the front door. “Leo? Sharon?” Holly called from the hall. “I hope you didn’t cook. I brought pizza.”

  Leo chuckled to herself. Well, that was a good thing since the LGBTA sandwiches sat half-prepared on the kitchen counter. She put the guitar on the bed, got up, and hurried downstairs to greet the woman she was in love with.

  Wow. That sounded surreal—and great. She could only hope that Holly would return her feelings once she told her.

  Holly paused in the hall with the warm pizza box in her hands.

  Upstairs, a door creaked open, and then Leo nearly skipped toward her. Her cheeks were a little flushed, and her olive-green eyes seemed to shine from within.

  God, it was good to see her so happy, whatever had caused it. Holly smiled reflexively.

  “Hey, you. What are you up to?” She leaned across the pizza box to kiss Leo hello. As always, she could have gotten lost in the sensual feeling of Leo’s lips against hers, but this time, Leo broke the kiss after a few seconds.

  “Come with me.” She held out her hand, palm up.

  Holly let go of the pizza box with one hand. As soon as she entwined her fingers with Leo’s, she was dragged toward the stairs. “Um, the pizza is getting cold.”

  “We’ll reheat it in a minute.” Leo detoured to the kitchen, took the pizza box from Holly, and put it on the counter. “But first, there’s something I’ve got to show you.”

  “All right.” Holly followed her upstairs. “Where’s your mom, by the way?”

  “Over at the neighbors’. Knowing her, she’ll be gone for a while. We’ve got the house all to ourselves.”

  “And the pizza.”

  Leo flashed a grin over her shoulder. “Are you, by any chance, hungry?”

  “Let’s just say I doubt there’ll be leftovers. Whatever you want to show me, it’d better be quick, or I’ll start nibbling on you.” After the words were out, it occurred to her how sexual they might sound to Leo. Sometimes, when she said things like this, Leo stared at her with this heavy-lidded gaze, as if she wanted to devour her. It was strange to know Leo was experiencing something Holly never would. Her fantasies, if she had them, always stopped at kissing.

  “Don’t worry,” Leo said. “I just want to play you something; then you can eat.”

  Holly pulled them to a stop in the upstairs hall. “Play? You’re playing your guitar?”

  Leo nodded, beaming as if she had won another Grammy. “Yeah. And not just that. I’m working on a song. My muse seems to be back.”

  “Oh, Leo. That’s wonderful.”

  They came together in a tight embrace. Leo’s body, pressed to hers, seemed to vibrate with excitement.

  Maybe it was part nervousness too, Holly realized when they finally continued to Leo’s room. The hand holding hers was damp.

  “Please keep in mind that it’s a work in progress, okay?” Leo closed the door behind them. “I’ve got the first two verses and the chorus so far, but I want a third verse, and the lyrics need a bit more work in a couple of places where I might have one syllable too many, so…”

  Amazing. Leo must have performed a thousand concerts throughout her career, but now, about to play a new song with just Holly there to listen, she seemed as nervous as if she had never performed in front of an audience.

  Holly lifted Leo’s hand to her mouth and kissed it. “I’m sure I’ll love it.”

  “I hope you will,” Leo said in a whisper. She directed Holly to sit on the bed and then picked up her guitar.

  Holly leaned forward to give her and the new song her full attention.

  Within the first few notes, she could sense that this song was different from Leo’s last album. It wasn’t a polished piece designed to appeal to the masses; it was a return to Leo’s musical roots—powerful, raw, and full of emotions.

  At any other time, she might have watched the graceful way Leo’s fingers moved along the in
strument. But right now she couldn’t take her gaze off Leo’s face. Her expression was completely open and vulnerable, as if she was baring her very soul as she sang out the lyrics, and her smoky, emotion-filled voice made goose bumps rise all over Holly’s body.

  What used to be a place to hide

  Is now a spot to be truly me.

  With just the stars as our guide

  I’m finally free.

  Feels like home for the very first time,

  Up on the roof.

  No fame,

  No game,

  It’s just us here,

  Up on the roof.

  You listen to my words and hear my soul

  And you hold me all night.

  With you I feel whole.

  Everything feels finally right.

  Holly’s breath caught. The song…it was about them, about what Leo felt for her—trust and comfort and, if she wasn’t mistaken, love. Her heart drummed against her ribs, outpacing the gentle rhythm of the song.

  When the last notes faded away, Leo lowered the guitar. She licked her lips and slowly raised her gaze to meet Holly’s. “What do you think?”

  Holly slid off the bed to kneel on the floor in front of Leo. With the guitar still between them, she wrapped her arms around her as well as she could.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

  “Yeah? So you don’t think the lyrics are a bit too…I don’t know…mushy?”

  Holly firmly shook her head. “I love them.” She sucked in a lungful of air. Say it. “And I love you too.”

  Leo stared and then blinked.

  Oh God! Had she misinterpreted the message of the song? She started to slide her hands off Leo’s shoulders. “Shit. I shouldn’t have… The song and the look in your eyes… I thought…”

  Leo put the guitar on the floor and threw her arms around Holly, stopping her retreat. “No, no, don’t go. I should have taken my own advice and told you what I felt days, hell, weeks ago, but I guess I wasn’t ready to face it, and now it poured out in a song.”

  Holly held her breath and gazed into her eyes. “So you…?”