by Robin Brande
“I suppose it might get old after a while,” Janie said, “but for now I still like it a lot.”
They talked about the states where she had worked. She told him a few stories from her most recent jobs in North Carolina and Massachusetts before that. About some of the wins, and the most difficult losses. And about the various outdoor sports she’d tried.
“What about you?” Janie asked. “Sarah said you’ve started working as a composer?”
Nate gave her the short version. He showed her on his phone a clip from one of the TV shows he’d scored. A one-minute chase scene with his driving, tense instrumentals in the background.
“You know, I’ve never thought about it when I see a scene like that,” Janie said. “That there’s actually a real person out there writing the music for it.”
“Good,” said Nate. “Then we’re doing our job. You shouldn’t consciously notice.”
“You play so beautifully,” said Janie. “I can’t believe you did all that by yourself. You must feel so proud when you see it. Isn’t wonderful to love your work?”
The comment took him aback. Usually people only seemed impressed that Nate could make a living—a good one—with his music. But Janie understood the heart of it.
“I do love it,” he said. “I can’t imagine doing anything else.”
He glanced around them then, checking to see where his brother and Sarah were. Joe was across the room, still holding Ella, and talking to a couple of guests. Sarah was still in the kitchen, spooning more tortellini into a bowl.
“How trustworthy are you?” Nate asked.
“The best,” Janie answered with conviction. She leaned in, feeling very conspiratorial. She could smell a faint whiff of soap coming from his neck. There were so many repugnant smells in the hospital, her nose always alerted her when a place or a person smelled clean. Her nose especially appreciated the scents of baking cookies and and freshly-brewed coffee. Sarah’s and Joe’s house had a wealth of good smells right now. Janie added Nate’s neck to that list.
Nate pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I don’t suppose you have earbuds?” he asked.
“No.”
“That’s okay, come with me.” He threw away their empty plates, then clasped Janie’s hand and led her across the living room and down a darkened hallway beyond it.
“Guest room,” Nate explained as he turned the knob on a closed door. He flipped on the light. The room was small and sparsely furnished. Just a queen-sized bed with a ruffled lavender skirt and floral bedspread; a bedside table with a clock and a small lamp on it; a flat-screen TV hanging opposite the bed on the wall.
“This is sweet,” said Janie.
“Not exactly my taste,” Nate said, “but the bed is really comfortable.”
“You stay here?”
“If I’m babysitting late. It’s a drive.”
Janie tried hard to conceal her smile.
“What?” said Nate.
“I just think it’s… nice,” she said with a shrug. “That’s all.”
But that was a lie. Maybe I’m not so trustworthy after all. Because what she really thought was that she admired a man who showed up to help his family. She imagined Joe and Sarah probably appreciated having a few nights off. Joe was running the law firm and managing their two associates by himself while Sarah was on maternity leave. Sarah still worked from home on some of their bigger cases.
It was part of Janie’s plan to free up of more of her cousin’s time. Janie would watch the baby a few days a week so Sarah could go back into the office. She looked forward to doing it—not only to help Sarah, but also to spend as much time as she could with sweet little Ella.
So yes, the fact that Nate, too, had volunteered to babysit for his brother and sister-in-law raised him in Janie’s eyes. Especially now that she could picture this rugged-looking man going to sleep in this very girly room.
Nate sat on the bed, holding his phone horizontally. Janie sat beside him.
“I don’t want to play it too loudly,” Nate said. “It’s still supposed to be a surprise.”
He cued up the music and pressed the arrow to play.
From the first few notes, Janie’s heart seemed to swell. Harp and violin, now the guitar.
And then Nate’s low, gravelly voice.
“They say that only fools will wait…”
Nate watched Janie’s face. She had closed her eyes from the beginning. Her head was bent forward a little now as the song flowed on and he could see a line creasing between her eyebrows. She almost looked like she was in pain.
And then her lips moved. It was the second chorus, a repeat of the first, and she knew the words by now. She was mouthing them to herself as Nate’s voice sang it to her on the phone.
Right... on… time.
My heart had given up,
But you’re
Right… on… time…
Then the third verse, and the chorus once again. Janie did feel pain. The pain of something so beautiful it was hurting her just to hear it.
Nate’s music was beyond anything she had imagined. Better than she could believe. The song was haunting and romantic and sad and hopeful and by the end, uplifting. Every time the violin came in to play a duet with his guitar, it made her want to weep. And then here came the harp again and now that chorus once more and Janie couldn’t help herself. The amount of love in this song made her heart feel too large and exposed. She reached beside her on the bed and clasped Nate’s hand.
And then the song was over. Nate started to take the phone away.
“No,” said Janie. She let go of Nate and took command of the phone. She pushed the arrow to play one more time.
As each verse unfurled, as Nate sang such romantic, personal lyrics, Janie knew she was getting a glimpse of the man that she might never otherwise have. Party manners, just like she told Joe. You can only keep them up for so long. But this song cut through that, got to the heart of things—her heart. Janie felt like a layer had peeled off of her just in the last few minutes, a layer she didn’t even know was there.
A sense of loneliness that maybe she had been running from by constantly moving from place to place.
Telling herself it was all so fun and exciting, such a big adventure.
Sitting in a tiny floral room next to a man who could make beautiful music like this—maybe that was something that needed exploring, too.
The last chorus played. Janie sang along. She could hear Nate humming the tune beside her.
And then the song ended. Janie sat holding the phone in silence.
The silence stretched on. Finally Nate had to ask. “Do you like it? It’s for their anniversary.”
Janie’s breath caught in her throat. She turned to him and smiled, tears shining in her eyes.
“It’s the worst,” she whispered. “It’s no good. I hate it. It doesn’t make me cry.”
She swiped her fingers under her eyes. “And it definitely doesn’t make me want to kiss you.”
She leaned forward and he was no fool. He slipped his arm around her back. Her lips were warm and tasted of both salt and sugar, and her eyelashes were still wet with tears.
She laughed at one point, a watery sort of laugh, and Nate drew back with a questioning look.
“I’m just surprised,” Janie said. “That’s all. This wasn’t what I was expecting to be doing tonight.”
Nate glanced at the bedside clock. Half an hour to midnight. Too late to work on the song anymore. But not too soon to welcome a new year.
Janie looked at the time, too. “We should go.”
“Where?”
“Find Sarah and Joe. Aren’t you going to play the song for them?”
“No, it’s not finished yet,” Nate said. “I’ll give it to them tomorrow.”
“It’s finished,” Janie said. “It couldn’t possibly be more gorgeous. And their anniversary’s almost over.” She grabbed his hand. “Come on.”
Janie thought she could feel a palpable
excitement among the guests now that the minutes were ticking closer to midnight. She felt a thrill of anticipation herself. Janie loved fresh starts. She gave them to herself every thirteen weeks.
But this start might be something new altogether.
She could see Sarah and Joe off in the corner, talking privately to each other while they leaned in close. Maybe reminiscing about their wedding. They must have put Ella to bed. This bit of time was just for them.
Nate could have made an announcement to the party, had people gather round, could have transferred the song to the living room speakers. But somehow Janie already knew he wouldn’t do that.
This moment wasn’t about him.
She stayed out in the living room by herself while Nate took Sarah and Joe back to the guest room. Five minutes went by, then a few minutes more. Janie wondered if they listened to the song more than once.
When Sarah emerged she looked like she had been crying, too. Joe said something to Nate and then gave him a brotherly-looking hug.
Sarah’s eyes met Janie’s.
Janie nodded, I know.
The three of them split up. Sarah started passing around clear plastic cups and Joe filled them with champagne. Nate wove back through the crowd to where Janie waited for him.
“She hated it, too,” Janie guessed.
“She forgot to say that part.”
Janie clicked her tongue. “Here come the witches…”
Joe filled both of their cups and kept moving down the line. Then as one the crowd began to count.
“Ten, nine…”
“To a new year,” Nate said.
“A new year.” Janie tapped the rim of her plastic cup against his.
Then she slid her hand behind his neck and he wrapped his arm around her waist and the two were kissing even before the signal.
“…three, two, ONE!”
There was no need to wait.
They were already right on time.
Heart of Ice
BONUS PREVIEW
Heart of Ice
“It’s not too late.”
Annie smiled. “I’m going.”
Her cousin Shannon took another bite of airport hamburger and shook her head. “I can’t believe it. The first impulsive thing you do in your life, and you don’t even invite me along.”
Annie stole a cluster of fries. “Well? Want to come?”
“To the North Pole? No, thank you.”
“It’s not the North Pole. It’s Iceland.”
“Yeah, listen: Ice-land.”
“It’s a trick,” Annie explained. “Greenland is ice, Iceland is green.”
“I don’t care. You’ll freeze.”
“The lowest it will be is forty degrees. I’ve got clothes for that.”
“And not much else if that’s all you’re taking,” Shannon said, pointing to Annie’s single carry-on bag.
“I don’t need much. I don’t plan on going anywhere.”
“Forty degrees? That’s freezing for you. You hate the cold.”
Annie shrugged.
“What,” her cousin asked, “has gotten into you?”
“I’m just going,” Annie answered. “I’m not going to worry about it.”
Shannon shook her head. “I leave you alone for a week—”
“See? That’s what happens when you go on vacation and don’t write.”
“They don’t have e-mail in the woods.”
“Your loss. I would have told you about it much sooner—yesterday, at least.”
“Did you really just decide?” Shannon asked. “Just like that?”
“Yep. I know—it’s not like me. Strange, huh?”
Shannon eyed her cousin skeptically. “Is there more to this than I know?”
“Like what?”
“It’s the Mark thing, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not.”
Shannon raised one eyebrow. “Oh, that’s right—I don’t know you.”
Annie couldn’t help chuckling. Although she didn’t see her cousin often enough anymore, Shannon was still like a sister to her. They had both grown up as the only girls in households full of boys. From the time they were infants until they graduated from high school they spent part of every summer together, a united front against their brothers, an exclusive two-girl club for sharing secrets and sympathy.
When Annie’s mother died a few years ago, Shannon had taken the red-eye from Minneapolis to Phoenix, then rented a car and driven to Tucson, just to sit quietly by Annie’s side and listen to her cousin cry. When Shannon’s marriage had fallen into ruin, Annie flew up to help Shannon move to an apartment and rearrange the pieces of her life.
They were both 31 now, both single again. They shared their mothers’ good looks: ivory skin, gray-green eyes, dark brown hair that Shannon kept in short, soft curls and Annie wore in a sleek page-boy cropped at the neck.
“So,” Annie said, seizing control of the conversation, “did you have fun with...what’s his name?”
“David. Fun, but not so fun.”
“Not a camper, huh?”
“Not in the least.”
“But I’m sure he has other fine qualities.”
Shannon chewed thoughtfully. “Some.”
“Shan, do you really think taking a guy backpacking for a week is a fair test of his qualities as a boyfriend?”
“Yes. How am I going to know if a man measures up unless I can see him make a campfire?”
“That’s your brothers talking.”
“But they have a point.”
“So he failed the test, huh?” Annie asked.
Shannon jutted out her thumb and flipped it over. “Cute, but inept.”
“Out he goes?”
“Out he goes.” Shannon sat back and surveyed the gathering crowd of passengers. “Look at all these people,” she whispered. “Iceland must be the land of the blonds. People are going to stare at you everywhere you go.”
Annie scanned the ticketing area. It was true: Most of the people were fair-skinned and blond. “Good. Finally I’ll get to look exotic.”
“What do they speak there?”
“English. And Icelandic. And I think maybe Danish.”
“What do you even know about this place?”
Annie held up her guidebook. “Everything I need to know for now.”
“And someone’s going to meet you?”
“I take a bus from the airport, then someone from the horse farm will pick me up where it lets off.”
Shannon shook her head. She took another bite of burger. “And this horse farm thing. What’s it called?”
“Saga Farm.”
“Saga Farm, right. So where’d that idea come from? I thought you were afraid of horses. Every time I’ve tried to teach you, you hated it.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, but what if—”
Annie squeezed her cousin’s knee. “Stop it—I mean it. I’m going, so be happy for me.”
“I am happy for you,” Shannon said, beating Annie to the last of the fries. “Of course I am. And I’m really proud of you. I know this isn’t your kind of thing—a long plane ride—over an ocean, for heaven’s sake—going to a foreign country—I mean, where have you ever been before?”
“Nowhere. That’s the point.”
“And going by yourself,” Shannon continued. “I don’t get that. Where’d all this come from?”
Annie shrugged. “I just decided I’ve been too afraid of things. I’ve been letting my life slip by.”
“It’s because of Mark. Admit it.”
Annie sighed. “I don’t know, maybe. I guess that was just the last thing that helped me decide I needed this. So that’s good, right?”
“Yeah,” said Shannon, “it’s good you caught him groping Miss Biology in the teachers’ lounge. It’s good he’s been cheating on you for who knows how long. It’s good he’s a—”
Annie held up her hand. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, hoping to convince h
erself. “It’s over. I’ve moved on.”
Shannon bit the inside of her cheek. “Can I just say I hope they’ll be very miserable together?”
“I’m sure they will be.”
“Listen, I know you don’t want to hear this—”
“Then don’t say it.”
Shannon was never one to be put off. “I’m not excusing him—he’s a complete bastard—but you should know that not every guy is willing to date someone for four months without some action.”
“There was action.”
“Not of that particular kind. Come on, Annie. Don’t you think maybe there’s such a thing as going too slow?”
“No.”
“Hmm.” She pretended to take great interest in the rest of her burger. “So what are you going to do about next year? Keep teaching there?”
“I don’t know. I already told the principal I’ll be renewing my contract.”
“But school’s not for a month and a half,” Shannon said, “right? You can change your mind.”
“And do what?” Annie asked. “I’ve been there longer than Mark has. I’m not leaving just because of him.”
“But I thought you weren’t happy there this year anyway.”
Annie shrugged in resignation. “I don’t know, Shan. I don’t want to think about any of that right now. I want to go to Iceland. I want to be someplace where I have to wear a coat in the summer. I want to see where the Vikings lived and walk where they walked and learn to ride a horse and...” She leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “I just want to live a bigger life for once—you, of all people, can understand that, right?”
Shannon touched her forehead to her cousin’s and whispered, “You bet.”
* * *
What am I doing? Annie wondered. She was three hours into the six-hour flight, her legs cramping, her mind spinning. No going back. Just do this.
No wonder Shannon thought she was crazy. Annie had called her just two days before and announced her plans. She would fly to Minneapolis, meet Shannon in the airport for a few hours, then keep going to Reykjavik, the capital of Iceland.
All because of a story. Annie had left out that part when explaining to Shannon her reasons for going. But the truth was, if not for coming across that story, Annie would still be home sweating through another Tucson summer and fuming over her ex-boyfriend’s infidelity.