“With the energy I take from all of the love around you today, from both those here and those who have come before you, I pronounce you man and wife.”
They shared their first kiss as a married couple. The audience faded from her view. She didn’t hear a thing until she surfaced midstream to what sounded like hand and chair percussion from something Paul Simon might have written in the eighties. Applause, whistling, and shouting forged, shaping the upbeat. When had she learned so much about music?
• • •
Sassa approached Brayden and Anna. They looked content, like they belonged together. She flashed on Brayden’s description of Anna earlier that year. Believe it or not, Anna had brown hair and was over forty. Chloe loved her. “Well, I’m married.' Smiling, she extended her hand and modeled her ring.
“Your vows were beautiful,' Anna said.
“The whole ceremony was,' Brayden said.
“Thanks.”
“It looks like Nick is getting ready to play a set,' Anna said.
“Some stuff from the new album.”
Nick’s band launched into “When Light Passes Through.' Sassa, Brayden, and Anna inched toward the stage, part of the throng. Many of the attendees nodded and moved out of the way as Sassa passed. One song had changed everything.
“That song,' Anna said after the band finished.
“Yeah, I know,' Sassa said.
Nick continued with his set of new songs for the as-yet-untitled new album. He waved to Sassa from the stage. In six years, they’d come so far, done so many things, gone deeper than either of them imagined possible. Like in her vows, they were deep at the bottom of things. She’d have to mention the name to him.
“By the way, we’re going to follow you soon.' Brayden wrapped his arm around Anna and gave her a little tug.
“Wow! Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
Anna reached out and cupped Sassa’s hand. “Thank you.”
“Why?”
“You softened him.”
“And him me.' Or maybe he had strengthened her, hardened her in a good way, taught her that good-byes weren’t deaths, that continuing down the path was really the only way forward. She wouldn’t have made it back to Nick without him.
“Want to be my best woman?” Brayden asked.
“Of course.” Sassa stepped toward Brayden and Anna and hugged each of them.
Chloe waved over to Sassa from the other side of the stage.
“Your daughter calls. See ya.” Sassa made her way over to Chloe. Why was it so hard to morph love? She’d done exactly that with Brayden and it couldn’t have turned out better. In letting her go, he’d accepted a new form of love. Then he accepted himself. And then he accepted Anna. One. Two. Three.
“Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)” blasted through the speakers. Chloe and Sassa huddled next to each other and danced.
“What good music,” Chloe said.
“Nick did the playlist. Thanks for being my maid of honor.”
“You’re happy.”
Sassa nodded. “I like Anna.”
“Me too.”
“Why the frown?”
“They’re getting married.”
“I’m going to be your dad’s best woman.”
“Oh. That’s good.” She gave Sassa a long hug.
They danced through a few songs. She’d only known Chloe for a few years, but it seemed much longer, like they were vessels for a connection she didn’t fully understand, like her sister and mother had banded together and willed Chloe into her life. She thanked them.
Nick pushed through the crowd to Sassa and Chloe. He kissed Sassa. “Hey.” He gave Chloe a big hug.
“Good DJ,” Chloe said.
“Yeah, he’s great. Looks like a spontaneous poetry slam over there. Want to go?” He pointed to a corner of the property where ten or so people had gathered around a large, four-foot-high, flat rock that created a natural rostrum.
Chloe rolled her eyes. “I’ll pass.”
“I’ll go. See you later, Chloe. Did you see that cute boy over by the juice bar?”
Chloe smiled and headed off toward the bar.
“I have a strong desire to press juice,” he said.
Sassa grinned and took his hand. They ambled over to the poetry slam. A musician friend of Nick’s leapt onto the rock and read haiku love poems. Another poet followed with more love poems directed toward Nick and Sassa. And another. Time passed.
Nick kissed Sassa right above her ear. “I’ll be right back.” He vaulted up on the rock and pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. He took a deep breath, shot a smile at her, and began.
“Walking. Today soft, persistent snow creates a parting ceiling, moving walls around us as we walk through the morning. Mostly we walk in silence, aware that we’re connected to some larger radiant web, to some ageless dance, that is ubiquitous on days like this. A car slowly rumbles by, its young occupants tangled in words. We speculate they’re trying to understand the push-pull of early love, of souls joined, stumbling awkwardly as they learn to move together and alone. We smile. Later as we turn onto the wooded path leading home, we see the same car stopped, but running. We try not to stare as we pass, but we can’t help but catch a few images through partially steamed windows. Light and dark hair intermingled. Breasts partially sweatered. A pleated skirt raised. At home clothes fall off. After all of these years, we still tremble. We make love in a way, known and unknown, that can only happen after years of walking.”
The ten or so listeners snapped their fingers. Nick jumped down from the rock and returned to Sassa.
“Where did that come from?”
“Painting a picture.”
“Ahh.” She kissed him softly, holding onto the images in “Walking” for a time. Finally, she said, “To trembling.”
A much older friend standing next to them said, “This reception reminds me of a Bleecker Street block party in the sixties.”
“Artists unite!” Nick shouted.
“Speaking of art, I’m hungry and it looks like dinner is ready,” Sassa whispered in Nick’s ear.
They wended over to their table holding hands and playing thumb war. After a short time, she won. Then she let go and let him win. They passed a small group of musicians jamming and stopped to watch for a moment. Three acoustic guitarists danced through an old Leo Kottke song. When had she learned so much about music?
Someone tried to hand Nick a guitar, but he passed. “Later.”
They reached Nick’s mom, sitting at a table filled with relatives.
“What did you think of the ceremony, Mom?” Nick asked.
“It was beautiful.”
“Hi, Mom.”
“Will you come for dinner soon?”
“Every Sunday.”
They made their way over to their table. Sarah, Matt, and Myrina joined them. She would have never gotten there without the three of them. What was it that had allowed her over years and relationships to find all of the pieces?
“The menu looks spectacular,” Matt said.
“And you did a parallel vegetarian menu,” Myrina added.
“We worked pretty hard on putting it all together.”
Sassa had constructed the menu, mixing and matching individual dishes. She and her chef friends had supervised the preparation of the food. Each chef had pitched in with one of his or her specialties. Everything she’d planned to serve during the party, including the beer and wine, was organic. Every meal consisted of a full-course vegetarian offering as well as traditional meat dishes. The team had concocted a full range of desserts, including a number of raw cakes and ice creams.
Matt put the menu down. “Sassa’s feast.”
After dessert, Nick finished his coffee and searched for Jackie. He’d seen her almost religiously every week since their plane ride except when he was living at the cabin. While they’d talked about many things in their sessions, from Sassa to his dad to what it meant to truly be home, their
conversation occasionally touched back on their commitment to dance when the right opportunity arose.
“I’ve been waiting for this for a long time. Would you like to dance?” Nick asked.
“Sure.” Jackie slid off her pumps and took his hand.
He nodded to the DJ, who stopped the playlist, then gestured over to his band members, who returned to the stage and pulled out four drums from behind the amplifiers. They started drumming.
“Are you up for this?” he asked.
“Are you kidding?”
The drummers played an elaborate, ancient tribal rhythm. Nick and Jackie started dancing. He completely let go. His mind cleared. The drums took over, pushing, pulling, lifting, and contorting him. One leg jerked up and led him a few feet in one direction; then the other took over, reversing him. He circled around an imagined fire. Warmth radiated throughout his body. He danced around her, then she danced around him. Squatting, he rocked back and forth on each leg. She mimicked his movements. “Dancing Ground.” It really was much better to dance than to write about dancing, to get out of his head, to tap into something non-verbal, something old, something familiar.
The drums stopped, and he hugged Jackie. “That was a lot of fun.”
“You’re happy.”
“I’ve come a long way since that flight to Phoenix.”
“Observing has its place.”
“I like this place.” She’d been his witness. One of his guides. She’d given him permission to dream even bigger, to go after all that he loved. To honor the places along the way that had helped him. To love all of the other Nicks he’d been. “You know our work is done.”
“I know.”
“I’ll miss you.”
“We’ll find a new way.”
• • •
Toward the end of the night, Nick was standing with Sassa by the coal- fired pizza oven when Joe approached. For a late-night snack, she’d arranged to have two portable coal-fired pizza ovens on the property, which she hoped would produce pizza that rivaled Nick’s favorite pizza from Frank Pepe’s of New Haven.
“Great pizza,” Joe said.
“Have you ever been to Frank Pepe’s?”
“No.”
“We need to take a road trip one of these days.”
“About your wedding gift.”
“No need, Joe. If it wasn’t for you and your café, we wouldn’t be here.”
“That’s why I want to give you this gift. How do you like Nick and Sassa’s Infinite Wholeness Creations?”
“What?”
“I’ll put a few coffee and tea drinks on the menu in honor of the two of you.”
“Really?” Nick turned to Sassa. “What do you think?”
She grinned. “I’m okay as long the name is Sassa and Nick’s Infinite Wholeness Creations.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
CHAPTER 19
Months later, Nick and Sassa left the city early one summer morning and drove north. Nick didn’t divulge their destination. As they approached Loon Lake, he said, “I’ve found a compound that I want to show you.”
They pulled up to two buildings on four acres of land nestled in a southern cove of the lake. The main house had been built in the late thirties as a summer home for a Washington diplomat. Run down and dated, the current owners couldn’t afford to maintain it as a second home.
They toured the house with the real estate agent. The house consisted of five bedrooms, two reception rooms, four fireplaces, a kitchen with a pantry, a library, and a beautiful wrap-around porch, which was no longer safe to walk on. Every room required updating. There were simple needs like new paint and wallpaper in each of the bedrooms and complex remodeling projects in the kitchen and bathrooms. Astronomical heating costs justified their predisposition to go green. The roofline had good southern exposure and enough area to add substantial solar arrays.
They strolled over to the second building, a dilapidated barn that hadn’t been in use for years. He would demolish the barn and start over, reclaiming solid posts and beams along the way. The barn stood far enough from the house to comfortably host a music studio. He’d decided to keep studiomusicians-dot-com. His business had continued to thrive since he released Songs of Love and Loss, and increasingly new business came from all parts of the world. He could host the studio anywhere, including a compound in upstate New York.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“I love the lake.”
“And?”
“Are you up for all the work?”
“The seller is highly motivated,” the real estate agent offered. “It’s a buyer’s market.”
“Give us a moment.”
Even though the house required substantial renovations and the economy was down, the asking price sat at the high end of what they could afford, a reflection of the frontage the site had on the lake. They took a chance and offered eighty percent of the asking price.
Nick, Sassa, and the real estate agent drove toward the center of town to start the paperwork at the agent’s office. Along the way, Sassa noticed a sale sign on another house.
“What’s that place?”
“The Willard farm.”
“Let’s stop and take a look.”
After a quick phone call, the real estate agent knocked on the door and introduced Nick and Sassa to the Willards. They toured the property.
The small, ten-acre farm had a main house that was built in 1870. It contained a large kitchen and pantry that could be easily converted into a professional kitchen. The living room, dining room, library, and bedrooms provided ideal-sized serving areas for guests. Because of the house layout, each room allowed for intimate gatherings. There was ample land to grow fruits, vegetables, and graze a few cattle. The farm mapped within five miles of the lake compound.
“What do you think?” the agent asked.
“How much?” Nick asked.
“Considerably less than the lake property.”
They used the same strategy on the farm property and offered eighty percent of the asking price.
The next day both of their offers were accepted.
• • •
Nick and Sassa entered a whirlwind during the next nine months as they updated the house, rebuilt the barn to host the new studio, and converted the farm to a restaurant. Each room in the house had a fresh coat of white paint. The oak floors were sanded and refinished. The kitchen was remodeled, the centerpiece an eight-burner Wolf stove with a griddle and grill. The bathrooms were remodeled, all with energy-efficient toilets. LED lights were used throughout the house. Triple-pane, German-manufactured windows were installed. New insulation was blown into the walls. A metal roof was installed with solar panels. The barn was rebuilt into a studio, soundproofed, and set up with all of the studiomuscians-dot-com equipment. The farmhouse was converted to a restaurant. Organic crops were planted in the spring.
Sassa continued to work at the Green Angel restaurants in a reduced capacity for no more than twenty hours per week. FoodNation agreed to keep her on as the spokesperson for five additional years, as long as she did a cookbook once per year with an associated, short, US-only tour. She gave up all of her day-to-day responsibilities of running the restaurants, including the flagship in New York. She lobbied for and successfully placed her chef friend Sarah, whom she had stolen from DiPosto several years earlier, as the new executive chef at the New York Green Angel. As compensation, instead of a salary or royalties, FoodNation funded the start-up of Sassa’s restaurant with no additional strings attached. She named her new restaurant Evo.
Nick finished his second album, Deep at the Bottom of Things, before he and Sassa moved to their new home. The lead song on the CD, “When Light Passes Through,” kicked off twelve songs about Sassa. He posted a video of a live performance of the entire album online. The video, recorded in his NYC studio before it closed down, had over 200,000 thousand hits four weeks after placement on YouTube. Because he had his own label, he offered his fan
s the option to pay only what they believed the CD was worth. He took all of the generous contributions from CD sales and channeled it into the house and studio.
Almost nine months to the day after work started on the compound, Sassa and Nick planted themselves in their new home. Even though the day was oversubscribed with set-up work, a peacefulness infused their words and movements. Early that night, they settled on their sofa, exhausted, and napped for a couple of hours. At around 8:00, Nick woke up and, after watching Sassa sleep for a few minutes, nudged her.
“We did pretty well today, don’t you think?” he asked.
“We did.”
“Hungry?”
“A bit. Let’s try out the new stove.”
“First meal.”
“More like a snack.”
“I’ll open the wine.”
“What should we do after we eat?”
“Let’s find an intersection and go dancing.”
The Color of Home: A Novel Page 29