“You’ve been lucky, Mr Power,” observed the nurse, taking her gloves off. “That’ll fade in no time at all.”
“Thanks,” said Jake. “Next stop, Dr Brent’s clinic.”
“You take care now,” she called as he stepped out of the cubicle.
When they walked round to the orthopaedic clinic, the waiting room was empty. While Lori took a seat, Jake went up to the reception desk. The young nurse on duty looked up and said, “Mr Power?”
“Yes,” he replied with a smile.
“I’ll show you through. Dr Brent’s waiting for you.”
“Morning, Jake,” greeted the doctor as Jake entered the small office. “Take a seat.”
Closing the door behind him, Jake sat in the chair beside John’s desk. The doctor was typing an email and, as he hit send on it, he turned his attention to his patient.
“How are you?” he asked as he brought Jake’s case notes up on screen.
“Fine, I guess,” replied Jake awkwardly. “Ribs still hurt like hell. Shoulder’s not too bad.”
“Lost the hospital sling, I see,” observed John with a wry smile.
“Sorry,” muttered Jake, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
“Right, let’s take a look at you. Do you need help with your shirt?”
“I can manage, thanks,” replied Jake, unfastening the buttons. He winced as he moved his injured shoulder to slide his arm out of the sleeve.
“Stand up for me, if you don’t mind,” requested the doctor.
He examined Jake thoroughly. As he tested the range of movement in Jake’s shoulder, he scribbled a few notes on his notepad, then said to Jake to put his shirt back on. Without being asked, he helped the rock star to get his injured arm into the sleeve then returned to his seat at the desk while Jake fastened the buttons.
“Well?” asked Jake, slipping his arm back into the makeshift sling.
“You’re doing much better than I expected,” commented the doctor as he typed up the notes he had taken. “The swelling and bruising to your ribcage is more or less gone. It’ll take another couple of weeks for all the muscle damage there to settle. Have you had any further trauma to that area?”
“I threw up the other day,” confessed Jake, embarrassed to admit it in front of the doctor. “Hurt like hell.”
“I bet it did.”
“Dropped me to my knees.”
“What caused the nausea?” asked John.
Running his hand nervously through his hair, Jake looked at him. “I went back out to the intersection with Gary’s young brother. The kid needed to see where his brother died. I don’t know what happened. One minute I’m staring out at the traffic. Next thing I knew, I was chucking up on the grass verge.”
“That’s a common reaction,” said the doctor softly. “Might have been a bit too soon to go back out there.”
“Maybe but I had to face it sometime.”
“I suppose so,” agreed John. “And there’s been no nausea since?”
“None.”
“Good. And have you been using your shoulder or have you kept it supported?”
“I’ve used it a bit. Not too much,” Jake confessed.
“How much?”
“I’ve played a bit of guitar, that’s all. It’s what I do!” stated Jake, his tone harsher than he meant. Quietly, he added, “I played at the funeral service yesterday too.”
“That must have been hard.”
“Toughest gig I’ve ever played,” answered Jake, feeling his emotions slipping out of control at the memory of playing in the chapel.
“I’ll bet,” agreed John awkwardly. The doctor typed something into the computer. On his desk, the printer began to whir as it printed off two sheets of paper. “Ok, I’m guessing here but, I’d say you don’t want to trail out here for physical therapy twice a week. You’ve dislocated that shoulder twice before in the past five years, so you know the score. Here’s the exercises that I want you to start off with. Take it slowly. Don’t rush it. Stick to the pain management regime for another week. Keep that arm supported. That shoulder doesn’t feel like it’s ready to take the weight yet.”
“Thanks,” said Jake, taking the printed sheets from him. “What about playing my guitar?”
“If I say no, you’ll play anyway,” countered the doctor with a smile. “Be sensible. Listen to your body. Short, and I mean short, practice sessions.”
“I’ve an album to finish recording,” laughed Jake. “We’ve a deadline to meet here and we’ve lost over a week already.”
“Do not use the pain medication to extend the practice times,” cautioned the doctor, handing him a script for more medication.
“I won’t,” promised Jake, genuinely meaning it.
“Ok. I’ll see you back here in two weeks,” said the doctor. “They’ll sort you out with an appointment at the desk.”
“Thanks, John.”
As Lori drove out of the parking lot, Jake suggested they find somewhere to have a quiet lunch. With a knowing smile, she said she knew just the place and turned the car towards Lewes.
“Is this place new?” asked Jake as he climbed awkwardly out of the car in front of the restaurant, swearing under his breath as he bumped his shoulder on the edge of the door.
“I’m not sure,” replied Lori, locking the car. “Grey’s mom told me about it the other week. She’d been here with one of her church friends.”
Surprisingly, the restaurant was busy when they entered but the hostess quickly showed them to a table by the window. Together they browsed the unfamiliar menu debating what to select and had only just made a decision when their server returned with their drinks. With their food order placed, Jake raised his glass of sweetened iced tea and said, “Here’s to you, li’l lady, for being so calm and patient with me for the last week or so.”
Blushing, Lori lowered her eyes not wanting him to see the tears welling up in them. She felt him reach across the table and take her hand.
“I mean it,” he said softly. “I don’t know how I’d have got through this without you.”
“You’d have found a way.”
“Maybe,” he conceded. “I wish I had half your empathy and patience.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, rock star. You were brilliant with Tom the other day.”
“I wasn’t so brilliant when we went out to the intersection,” he muttered, still angry with himself for being sick in front of the boy.
“You realise we have to drive through there on the way back from the studio,” said Lori calmly.
Jake nodded, then, in an attempt to lighten things, promised, “I won’t throw up in your car.”
“You’d better not!” she giggled. “If you do, you’re cleaning up the mess.”
“What was I saying about empathy?” teased Jake, kissing her hand. “I love you, Lori.”
“Love you too, rock star.”
Mid-afternoon temperatures were creeping up into the low nineties as Lori drove up the Coastal Highway. Over lunch, she had assured Jake that she had brought her laptop with her and had plenty to keep her occupied for a few hours while he met with Dr Marrs. It was almost three before she pulled off the highway and parked in a shady spot round the side of the main studio building. Both of them were mildly surprised to see Todd’s beat up truck parked beside Kola’s Harley Davidson. When they entered the reception area, they could hear someone playing guitar through in the studio. Instantly, Jake recognised the style of his protégé. He stood and listened for a few minutes, then couldn’t resist the temptation to comment any longer. Taking Lori by the hand, he walked into the control room. Hearing the door, Jim and Kola turned round and silently mouthed, “Hello.”
In the live room, Todd was totally focussed on the piece he was playing. Unaware of Jake’s arrival, he stood with his back to the window, lost in the moment until he fluffed a section.
“From the top,” called Jake, taking the teenager completely by surprise. “Don’t rush that progression. Slow
it down. Feel the music. Breathe through it.”
“Hi,” called back Todd, looking a little sheepish at having been caught practicing with the band’s guitars.
“Hello, Todd,” said Jake with a smile. “Now from the top, please.”
There was no doubting that the boy had talent. This time the entire piece flowed almost effortlessly, earning him a round of applause from his small, select audience.
“Right, put the toys away,” called Jake. “Could you re-tune that one back to the way I left it, please?”
“Sorry, sir,” apologised Todd, guessing that he had over-stepped the mark.
“No harm done,” assured Jake as he turned his attention back to the producer. “Damn, he’s good.”
“He’s amazing,” agreed Jim Marrs with a nod. “He’s been out here most of the last week practising. I’ve recorded some of it. He brought Kate out the other day. What a voice that girl has!”
“Two very talented youngsters,” observed Lori, shifting her weight and leaning heavily on her cane. “I’m heading back out to the lounge to do some work. How long do you need here, Jake?”
“A couple of hours, li’l lady,” he replied. “I’ll see how my shoulder holds up.”
“You’re here to play?” asked Kola with her usual bluntness.
“That was the plan.”
“But I thought,” she began, pointing to the sling.
“I know, but I need to try something,” interrupted Jake as Lori closed the door behind her. “I want to put an extra track on the album.”
“What did you have in mind?” enquired the producer, his curiosity suddenly aroused.
“Let me show you and then you can let me know if you feel this will work,” suggested Jake as he eased his arm out of the sling and headed into the live room.
“Are you sure you should be playing so soon?” asked Kola, noticing the grimace of pain that crossed his face as he crossed the room in front of the window.
“I’ll be fine,” he stated firmly. “Todd pass me the black Gibson will you?”
“Sure,” replied the boy, reaching round to the guitar rack behind him.
Jake settled himself on a stool and accepted the guitar from Todd, careful to lift it with his right hand. While the boy plugged in the leads, Jake ran through a few chords. Biting his lower lip in an attempt to disguise his discomfort, he adjusted the tuning, then nodded over to Jim and Kola. Todd moved across the room to sit on the couch in the corner.
The piece began slowly, a delicate, slightly French feel to it, then Jake launched into a powerful heavy riff. He played with his head bowed to hide the tears that were welling up in his eyes. All in, the song lasted just over three minutes, ending with a reprise of the French air. By then end of it, he was spent, his shoulder screaming at him.
“Are there any lyrics to that?” asked Dr Marrs from the control room.
“No,” replied Jake, massaging his shoulder gently. “I couldn’t find the words. I think the music speaks for itself. What do you think?”
“I like it,” admitted the producer. Jake sensed a “but” was coming. “In fact, I fucking love it!”
“Can we tag it onto the end?” asked Jake, feeling a sense of relief wash through him. “It needs a drum track and a bass line too.”
“I disagree,” stated Dr Marrs bluntly. “It's raw as it is. Full of pain. Filled with emotion. It’s perfect as a guitar solo. Do you feel up to playing it again and I’ll record this one?”
“Sure,” agreed Jake, praying silently that the pain meds he had swallowed before he got out of the car would kick in soon.
Out in the lounge, Lori had fetched herself a coffee and was sitting at her laptop, working her way through her emails. With that mundane task dealt with, she brought out her sketchbook and began to play with some ideas that were forming for the Silver Lake album artwork. The imp had to be central to the design or at least a strong feature of it. She could hear Jake playing and recognised the music as the piece he had been working on in the basement over the last few days; the piece he had played for Tom when he visited the house. It felt good to know he was back in the studio, but she fretted that it was too much too soon.
Two hours became three and there was still no sign of Jake coming out of the studio. Todd had come out shortly before five, saying he had to go back into town to fetch Kate from work. When it reached six thirty, Lori packed up her stuff and went over to the control room. Quietly she slipped in, closing the door behind her. In the live room, Jake was putting the guitar back on the rack. His face was pale and there were deep lines of pain etched across it.
“He’s just coming, Lori,” said Jim warmly. “He’s ok.”
“Is he?” she asked sharply. “He looks exhausted to me.”
“He is,” muttered Kola. “But he wouldn’t stop till he was done. The track’s amazing. So raw. So much pain to it.”
Sliding the sling back into place with an audible sigh of relief, Jake came through to join them. Putting his good arm around Lori’s shoulder, he whispered to her, “I’m fine. Yeah, I’m sore, but I’m fine. Don’t look so worried.”
“If you say so,” she sighed reluctantly. “Let’s get you home.”
Switching everything off, Dr Marrs asked, “Are you coming out tomorrow?”
“I don’t think so,” answered Jake. “I’ll probably leave it till Thursday.”
“Maddison was wanting a meeting on Thursday to re-jig the schedule. Has she called you?”
“I’ve not checked my phone” confessed Jake. “I left it back at the house.”
“Ok. Talk to her first then let me know,” suggested the producer. “I’ll work on this tonight, after dinner. I’ll email it over to you when I’m done.”
“Thanks, Jim,” said Jake sounding weary. “See you guys later in the week.”
As soon as he sat down in the car, Jake leaned back against the headrest and sighed. Every inch of his body ached. His injured shoulder was throbbing. From the driving seat, Lori looked over at him and shook her head.
“You’re worn out,” she stated plainly.
“I’m not about to argue with you, li’ lady,” he said, pain creeping into his voice. “That was tough.”
“Do you need any pain meds?” she asked softly.
“I’ll survive. I don’t want to take any just now,” he replied, closing his eyes and allowing the pain to wash through him. “Let’s just go home.”
As she pulled out onto the highway, Lori could feel her own emotions fluttering. It had turned into a beautiful evening and she was looking forward to getting back to the beach to relax on the deck with a glass of wine. Beside her, she was aware of Jake fidgeting. The closer they got to the intersection with Route 9, the harder she prayed that the traffic lights would be in their favour. With the junction in sight, she asked, “You ok?”
“Not really,” confessed Jake quietly. “Just keep driving.”
Luck was on their side. The lights were green and Lori drove smoothly through and on towards home. Another ghost laid to rest.
♫
With two glasses of wine in her hands, Lori limped out onto the sun deck. On one of the sun loungers, Jake was stretched out, stripped to the waist, his injured arm resting across his tender rib cage. At first Lori thought he was asleep, but, when he heard her footsteps, he opened one hazel eye and smiled.
“There you go, rock star,” she said, passing him the glass.
“Thanks.”
“How’s your shoulder?” asked Lori as sat down on the other lounger.
“Not so bad now. It’s throbbing a bit,” answered Jake wearily. “I was careful while I was playing. I sat down the whole time to keep the weight off it.”
Sipping her wine, Lori said, “Do you want to tell me about the track you were recording?”
“I played that riff to Gary a few weeks ago and he loved it, but I never did anything with it. While I was in the hospital, I kept hearing it over and over and over in my head,” began Jake halting
ly. Pausing to sip his wine, he continued, “I wanted to add a tribute to him to the record. I wrote the piece around the riff, but I can’t come up with any lyrics for it. I played it to Tom and he loved it. When I said to him about the lyrics, he asked if it had to have them. I admitted that I didn’t know. Jim agrees it works well as an instrumental.”
“Have the others heard it yet?”
“No,” said Jake. “I just hope they understand. I wanted to get drums and bass on there, but Jim over ruled me. He wanted it stripped back. Bare, I guess. Raw was the expression he used.”
“They’ll understand,” reassured Lori with a smile. “And if they don’t, Maddy will help them to.”
The kitchen in the house adjacent to JJL was excessively bright and modern. Its white wall mounted cabinets and stainless steel countertops contrasted starkly with the scarlet chairs and black hi-polish table. Coffee cups, a box of donuts and various electronic devices littered the table as Silver Lake gathered for their band summit. Gone was the “Mommy” Maddy; the “business” Maddy was back in full force. Once they were all assembled and had breakfasted on the donuts Grey had brought in with the coffees, she cleared her throat and began, “Ok, down to business, boys. We need to get this show back on track. The record needs to be finished and we need to salvage what we can from the shows Gary lined up.”
Her tone was harsh and direct, taking them all a little by surprise.
“Maddy, I don’t know when I’ll be cleared by the doctor,” Rich started. His voice was still more nasal than normal and a pair of sunglasses masked the bruising and puffiness around his eyes.
“I don’t want to hear excuses,” she snapped, casting a black look towards the guitarist.
“No one’s making excuses, Maddison,” said Jake calmly. “But, Rich, she’s right. We need to get this resolved today. Get a plan together. A timeline agreed. We have commitments to honour or there’s legal repercussions here.”
“How long do we have to finish the record?” asked Paul, helping himself to the last donut.
Impossible Depths (Silver Lake series Book 2) Page 22