Not a musician myself, even I could tell that they were very good. Both played with confidence, singing the lyrics to each other.
I stayed in the doorway, listening. Ian, Mariah, Nina, Celia, and Margot sat within the room, their bodies still and transfixed.
The song ended with easy laughter from Jane and Sean. Sean began to play again, picking a series of flourishes before launching into a spirited rendition of Alabama Shakes’s “I Found You.”
They looked flushed and happy, and if they were not in love, love waited just around the corner. I should have taken the hint.
So why couldn’t I look away from Jane?
I studied her as she played along with Sean, adding counter melody with her guitar. Was it just physical attraction on my part? She made a beautiful picture, her face bright with joy, her eyes sparkling. With her fine bone structure, wide eyes, and dark curly hair, she seemed almost painterly. Not the sort of looks popular on magazine covers, but arresting just the same.
She did remind me of Lila; there was no denying the resemblance. But there was something…extra…about Jane. Almost like high school Lila, but grown and in Technicolor. Was it a fair comparison? Probably not. Lila had made her decisions and suffered when the man she chose failed her.
But Jane?
Hope still filled her eyes, especially now. Hope, but also determination and a drive for perfection. The way she played, the precision of her fingers, and the way she’d carefully brewed that cup of tea spoke of a woman with a fine sense of detail.
She was special. And judging from the way Sean sang to her, he saw it too. After his final chords, the group burst out in applause.
I joined in, striding forward and making my presence known. Sean raised a hand in greeting, and Jane smiled her wide smile, an expression I’d come to realize was uniquely hers—eyes open, taking everything in even as her smile beamed outward.
Ian gestured for me to take the seat next to him, and I obliged. “We’ve lucked into a home concert,” he said, face pink with happiness. “Sean here brought his guitar, but who knew Miss Jane would turn out to be the surprise star?”
“Jane is excellent at everything she sets her mind to,” Celia said, her voice full of warmth.
“Yeah,” Margot said. “Except not yelling at customers. She needs to work on that.”
Jane grinned at Margot, setting her guitar down. “She’s not wrong about that,” she said, shrugging off the praise.
“Have you ever set your mind to it?” Celia teased.
“I did, once,” Jane said, eyes wide in mock defensiveness. “It went badly.”
“But she was at the top of her class at Stanford’s music department,” Celia continued. “So I’d say she’s a talent.”
“Were you really?” Sean asked Jane.
Jane shrugged. “I can tell you anything you’d want to know about eighteenth-century chamber music.”
“What other instruments do you play?” Nina asked.
Jane waved a hand. “Piano, mostly. Strings and guitar. Give me enough time, I can find my way on a clarinet. But keep me away from any of the horns.”
“Bad,” Margot confirmed. “Mordor bad.”
“Our Ivo is taking piano lessons,” Mariah noted. “His teacher says he has a wonderful ear.”
“Play us something,” Ian instructed, gesturing to the instrument behind Jane. “Usually it’s just Ivo who plays. Four-note melodies, over and over again.”
“Oh, all right,” Jane acquiesced, but she didn’t sound put out about it. She swung a long, shapely leg to the opposite side of the bench, lifted the cover, and placed her hands on the keys.
I’d expected something classical, the kind of show-off piece a musician might pull out as a party trick.
Instead, her fingers coaxed a series of bluesy open chords from the instrument, the melody to “The Nearness of You” slowly taking shape.
Her movements were confident, even languid. She was a musician who knew what she was doing and understood that she didn’t have to show off in order to be taken seriously.
The song wound its way into my head, and I knew I’d hear it even underwater during my next lap swim.
The rest of the group burst into happy applause at the end, but I found myself wishing for just another moment of quiet to absorb the music.
A smile spread across her face, and I felt a tightness in my chest.
Mariah directed the group to slices of cheesecake on the sideboard and encouraged everyone to take a plate. Jane handed plates to her sisters, Sean, and then me. I ducked my head in thanks.
“One of these days,” Nina said, “I’m going to steal your housekeeper away. This cheesecake is divine.”
Celia nodded her head in agreement.
“I had an e-mail from my cousin’s girl,” Nina continued. “She’s coming through town, some sort of event planning to get ready for South by Southwest. She asked if I had recommendations for hotels, and naturally, I just told her to come stay at mine.”
“You have a hotel?” Margot asked, eyes wide.
Nina laughed. “My husband bought one, ages ago, and the sweet thing just runs along. The hotel, not my husband; he died several years ago,” she clarified. “Anyway, I thought we could have her over for lunch or dinner this week.”
Mariah squinted. “Do I remember her?”
“I don’t know, dear. She was at the family reunion in Tulsa, the one in ’08.”
Mariah thought and shook her head. “I think we were in Aspen and couldn’t make it.”
“You’ll have a chance to catch up because she’ll be here for a while, organizing for the tech portion of the conference, if I remember correctly. She’s the social media director for a finance start-up, something like that.”
Celia’s head snapped up, hard enough that I noticed, but she remained calm. “What’s her name?”
“Lyndsay Stahl. Sweet girl, Lyndsay. I haven’t seen her in years, but here’s hoping she’s got some spunk.”
Sean rose from his seat. “I’d best be off,” he said, and I couldn’t miss the look of disappointment on Jane’s face. “Walk out with me?” he asked her, tipping his head to the door. “I might get lost in the dark.”
Jane’s expression softened. “Of course,” she said, her eyes crinkling.
They walked out together, their steps in sync.
“Look at those two,” Nina said, when they were barely out of earshot. “The children would be gorgeous.”
Watching them slip out the grand front door, I cringed but couldn’t argue.
11
Tea! Bless ordinary everyday afternoon tea!
—AGATHA CHRISTIE
Jane
“It’s so loud in there,” Sean said as we stepped outside into the night air.
I cleared my throat. “I shouldn’t complain. My cousin’s been very generous, giving the three of us a place to land for the time being.”
“One of these days,” he said, “I want to hear what brought you to Austin.”
“It’s a long story, really. One story built into another.”
He turned to me, and once again I marveled at the way his features aligned to create such a stunningly handsome face.
“How about I take you out tomorrow?” he asked. “I’ll take you somewhere nice, and you can tell me all about it.”
“Better be somewhere nice with a lot of food, because I’m not kidding around when I say it’s a long story.”
“We can always get ice cream after. I wouldn’t dream of bringing you home hungry.”
I smiled up at him. “No?”
“Never. How ’bout I pick you up tomorrow at seven?”
“I’d like that.”
For a moment I thought he’d kiss me, but he didn’t. Instead, he tipped his hat, wished me good night, and climbed into his white pickup truck.
I almost swooned. Would have, if I were the swooning type.
Instead, I walked back to the casita. My plants needed watering now that the su
n had gone down, but I got distracted once I checked my e-mail and found three new orders.
Celia and Margot found me sorting teas ten minutes later. “So?” Margot asked. “What did Sean say?”
A smile stretched across my face. “He wants to take me out tomorrow. For dinner and ice cream.”
“Tomorrow?” Celia asked. “He doesn’t have anything to do on a Wednesday night?”
“I don’t either, so I can’t throw stones.”
“I’m happy for you,” Celia said. “Truly.”
After her own heartbreak with Teddy, her words meant a lot to me. I thanked her and reached for the cardigan I kept on the hook by the door. “I’m going to water the plants, if you’d like to come out with me.”
“No, thanks,” Margot said. “I’m tired. I’m going upstairs.”
“Is that code?” I asked. “For going upstairs to Skype with Jasmine and Emma?”
Margot paused on the stair, looking sheepish. “Maybe.”
“Maybe yes?”
“I mean, it was my first real day of school and everything…”
“Go Skype,” I told her. “But Internet off at ten thirty, okay?”
I got a nod of assent before she raced upstairs.
Celia followed me outside, unrolling her long sleeves until they once again covered her wrists. “Where’s Sean taking you?”
“He didn’t say, but he did say ‘nice.’ I don’t even know that I own nice date clothes.”
“You can borrow something of mine.”
“Aw, thanks. For permission, I mean. I’d planned on wearing something of yours.” I shot her a cheeky grin before turning my attention back to the hose bib. “I prefer having permission, though. It’s better than theft.” I turned the water on, letting it sputter for a moment before turning the stream to the base of the first plant. “I’m surprised you guys were able to get out tonight. I thought you’d still be a hostage at the big house.”
“Keep your voice down and stop complaining. They’re being lovely to us.”
“They are. I told Sean as much. I just wish that loveliness meant they were a little less in our business.”
Celia looked over the plants, pulling off the occasional dead leaf. “You think everyone’s in your business. Your piano sounded nice. You should play more often.”
“It did feel nice to play again.” I pointed at the soil beneath the second tea plant and squeezed the sprayer trigger.
“And your gentleman friend played well too.”
I batted my eyelashes. “Why yes, my gentleman friend is very refined that way,” I said with an exaggerated southern accent. “But you’re right—he did play well. Add that to his pro side of the list: handsome, talented, good taste in books and film…and music, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
Happiness, strange and unfamiliar, unfurled within my chest. “I really like him, Celia.”
“And he’s taking you out tomorrow.”
I couldn’t stop my grin, though I didn’t try either. “He is.”
Celia nodded toward my plants. “They seem happy. I think they like the sun.”
“Me too. The plants and I like it here.”
I watered a few moments longer, my mind wandering. A scene from earlier pinged back into my consciousness. “Wasn’t Teddy doing some work for a finance start-up?”
Celia nodded. “He did.”
“And their big reveal was going to be South by Southwest, right?”
“I think that was one of the plans, yes.”
I waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t. “Sorry,” I said. “If you don’t want to talk about it, just say so.”
“He’s good at his job, that’s all. Teddy is my past.”
“And you haven’t heard anything from him?”
“We haven’t talked, no.”
In this day and age of electronic media, I found that difficult to believe. But I kept my mouth shut and changed the subject.
Wednesday night, I tried on every potential ensemble that could be created with our combined closets.
“You’re lucky,” Celia said, folding a cardigan. “You look nice in everything.”
“You’re sweet,” I told her. “He’s…well, he’s Sean. I just want to look…special.”
“My cardigan with the feathers would have done that for you,” she answered innocently.
“I don’t even know why you brought that thing.”
“It looks cute on me.”
I rolled my eyes. “What’s disgusting is that you’re not wrong. With my hair, it makes me look like one of the bad dates from Notting Hill.”
Margot looked me over critically. “You should put some product in it. Pull it back.”
“With this humidity, I think the product is a given.”
“I think you look surreal,” Celia said. “But nice.”
“Funny. I’m not wearing the feather cardigan.”
“Suit yourself.”
I scanned the closet again. Part of me thought about being safe, wearing Celia’s best black dress, but safe didn’t appeal to me. So I reached for a brightly patterned dress instead, an easy sleeveless silk dress that pulled over my head and tied in the back. I wrapped a fringed shawl over my shoulders, and with Margot’s close supervision, worked enough product into my hair to conquer most of the frizz. Any remaining strays would, hopefully, be concealed under cover of darkness.
A little fuchsia lipstick, and I threw my wallet into a tiny purse.
And waited.
Celia and Margot waited with me; it would have been foolish not to, seeing as how the casita only had two rooms—the bedroom loft and the downstairs that served as living, kitchen, and dining room. After what felt like the length of time required for a Terrence Malick film, a pair of headlights became visible at the end of the long drive to the casita.
“Either that’s him,” Celia noted, “Or whatever you ordered from Amazon is here.” I couldn’t look, not yet, but there was no denying the slam of the truck door outside.
Margot raced to the window. “Jane, he brought you flowers! Seriously, this is the most romantic thing ever.”
“More than the last time he brought flowers? Those weren’t half bad.” I rose, peering out the window. Sure enough, a white pickup truck was parked a little distance away. Sean strolled toward the casita, and even from here I could tell he looked good. He wore jeans, the kind that were hand-finished by well-paid nuns, a black button-down, and a black sport coat. And the bouquet of flowers was in his hand.
I waved at him through the glass. He waved back with the hand not carrying flowers.
They were, I noted with pleasure, not the sort of flowers found at a Kroger, but a beautiful arrangement of irises—unusual and perfect.
I told him so once he made it to the door.
“Just like you,” he replied, and my heart puddled at my feet again.
A wave at Celia and a giggling Margot, and we were off, with Sean giving me a hand as I climbed into the passenger seat of his truck.
“I should think about hydraulics,” he said, eyes twinkling. “This truck is too tall for you.”
“You could do that,” I teased back. “Hook it up to a remote control.”
We laughed and joked as we headed to town, crossing over the Colorado River as we headed east.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
“You don’t know Austin at all, do you?”
“I know it’s in Texas. And it’s hot, like, most of the time.”
He laughed and shook his head. “You’ve got a long ways to go.”
“The city is my oyster,” I countered teasingly. “But maybe I’ve been waiting for you to show it to me.”
“Clever girl. It’s true, I know it backwards and forwards.” He turned from North Lamar onto West Fifth Street. “Tonight I’m taking you somewhere with a lot of history. It’s the Driskill Hotel, and the restaurant is one of the best in the city.”
“I’m sure for tonight
, it’ll be the very best.”
He grinned. “President Johnson brought Lady Bird there for their first date in ’34. But it’s been a destination since the twenties.”
“That’s amazing.” I gave him a side glance. “You totally looked that up on Wikipedia before you came.”
He cleared his throat. “Well now, that would be telling.”
When the building came into view, I gasped. Four stories tall with lights blazing, it took up nearly the entire city block. “It’s beautiful,” I said, taking it in, the earth-brown exterior with elaborate white trim, pillars included. “If Celia were here, I’d bet she could tell us what architectural style it’s built in. She studied architecture before switching to finance.”
“Old?” he guessed. “Old and Texan?”
“Very funny.”
“We’ll find someone to ask.”
He pulled up, letting a valet take his truck away to places unknown. We made our way through the grand front doors and turned left to the entrance of the Driskill Grill.
The maître d’ met us at the front, and Sean gave his name for the reservation; a bluesy jazz combo played inside.
“What would you call the hotel’s architectural style?” Sean asked the man before we set off toward our assigned table.
“Romanesque Revival,” the man answered solemnly, and we followed him inside.
“Romanesque Revival,” Sean repeated to me. “All these years in Austin, but one night with you and I’m learning something new.”
“Wikipedia, man. I’m disappointed in your incomplete research.”
He laughed, and we entered the dining room. I saw people watch us as we walked to our table, and I didn’t blame them. Sean was six feet plus of all-American handsome, and my dress featured every color in the rainbow and a few new ones.
We examined our menus, Sean insisting we order anything that caught my fancy. I picked the blistered shishito peppers, the crispy soft-shell crawfish, and the osso buco for the main course; Sean picked the wild boar chops and the plate of artisanal cheeses.
“I’m not going to eat for a week,” I declared as I tucked into the osso buco and Sean sliced his wild boar. His knife glided through with ease, and I marveled at the play of flavors on the end of my fork.
Jane of Austin Page 10