by Julie Blair
“And only one that has Teri soloing. She’s showy. It’s a big part of your popularity.”
“I explained that.” What would happen when they gave her the anesthetic? Would it be like going to sleep?
“Maybe I should listen to the recordings.”
“I like it.” Peggy and Roger loved it. Hannah loved it. She hoped Teri would love it. She tapped on her leg to “Spring Time,” giving her trembling fingers something to do. Plate and screws. A shudder rolled up her back. “Are you sure surgery’s the right thing?”
“It’s the best option.” He looked at her and his eyes softened. “I’ll be right there the whole time. I scheduled an appointment Thursday with the physical therapist Dr. Russell recommended. When are you mixing?”
“I need to call Mark.” Liz yawned. She’d barely slept last night even with Hannah cuddled up to her, rubbing her back whenever she woke up.
“Shoot for Friday.”
“He’s probably booked out several weeks.” Her mouth was dry, but they’d told her not to drink after midnight.
“Give me his number. I’ll call while I’m waiting. If he can’t get us in sooner I’ll find another sound engineer.”
“Mark’s done all our albums.” Why were they talking about this today?
He pulled into a parking space. The building looked solid, like a sure thing. The best option. How had her life come down to best options? He put his arm over her shoulder as they walked toward the door, and she tried to absorb his certainty.
Inside, she sat and he brought her papers to sign. She smelled coffee and it made her want to be in Carmel, sipping coffee, nibbling a warm chocolate croissant. Her phone rang and she took it from her purse. An 8-3-1 area code, but she didn’t recognize the number. She answered it.
“I was thinking about you,” Jac said.
The tightness in her chest loosened a bit. “A friend,” she said to her dad and hurried outside.
“I listened to the CD again this morning. If you have any doubts about it, drop them. It’s beautiful.”
Liz closed her eyes and absorbed the comfort of Jac’s certainty. Just what she needed.
“I have some ideas for the order to put them in if you want to talk about it.”
“Yes. If we can get studio time, Dad wants to start mixing this week.”
After a long silence Jac said, “Busy week for you.”
“Have you ever had surgery?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want to do it.” Her stomach hurt and the dread made her feel cold, the kind of cold where you’d never be warm again. “Everything’s happening too fast.”
“Trust your instincts, Liz, and think long-term.”
“They’re ready for you,” her dad said, holding the door open.
“I have to go.”
“Let me know the outcome.”
“Thanks for calling.” She clutched the phone to her chest. Trust her instincts. Was dread a normal reaction to surgery? Was she unreasonably scared because of what happened with Teri and her mom?
Her dad hugged her. “I’ll be right here, sunshine.”
She gave him her purse and followed the nurse through the door and down a hallway to a cubicle.
“Leave your clothes in the closet. Everything off, gown open in back.” The woman smiled as she held the curtain aside for her.
Liz’s hands shook as she traded her clothes for the flimsy blue gown. Her lungs sucked air in and out in shallow bursts as the dread became unbearable. I don’t want to do this…I don’t want to do this…Her whirling thoughts suddenly halted. Her eyes darted around the cubicle, but her focus was on the melody running through her head. The Carmel melody that she’d been getting bits and pieces of since the day she met Jac. Lots of it. She pulled in deep breaths and the dread backed off. How many times had a song come to her when she was trying to work out the answer to something? She trusted music. She trusted her instincts. She looked at her hand as she moved her fingers. It would heal. Dressed, she threw the curtain aside and hurried down the hallway.
“I’m not doing it.”
Her dad looked up from his crossword puzzle, and his face went from surprise to tight-lipped disapproval.
She bolted out the door into the rain and blustery wind and headed toward the car.
“You’re not thinking clearly,” he said, catching up and stepping in front of her. He put his hands on her shoulders. “I know you’re scared, but this is the best option.”
“I want to give it a chance to heal on its own.” Long-term. If it didn’t, then she’d have the surgery. She didn’t want an arm with a plate and screws in it. She held it against her stomach. It would heal.
“Everything we’ve worked for is at stake.” His hair flew about in the wind, and his brows were pulled so tight they almost touched.
“I know.” She was betting her career and her future on a healing process she didn’t understand. Music she understood. It couldn’t be seen on an X-ray, but it was all she knew and she trusted it.
“This is our last shot, sunshine.” He sounded almost desperate. “I want you to have your dream.”
“I know.” The melody returned, cheerful and insistent, and she let it be the good omen she needed. His expression changed from confusion to disappointment tinged with annoyance. He’d looked at Hannah many times with that expression. It hurt.
His jaw worked the whole drive home, and several times he shook his head. She kept her attention on the CD. Yes, she liked it.
“This is a mistake,” he said as he pulled into his driveway. He kept the engine running. “Surgery’s the best option.”
“Doctors aren’t always right.” Finally he turned off the engine. “I’m going back to Carmel.” A chance to rest up before the crazy last half of the semester, before the weeks of mixing the CD. Walks on the beach, working out the order of the CD with Jac, maybe helping Peggy in her garden.
“What about mixing?” He was frowning again.
Couldn’t they catch their breath for a minute and celebrate that the songs were picked before rushing to the next thing? “I’ll call Mark.”
“Tell him if he can’t—”
“I’ll take care of it, Dad.” If she hurried she could get to Carmel in time to walk with Jac.
“I’ve been researching band websites. I have some ideas on how to make ours really eye-catching. It’s our most important publicity tool.”
“I barely know how to manage this one.”
“I’ll do it.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
“We’re in this together, sunshine.”
Liz hugged him and went to her car. He was standing with his arms crossed as she pulled away. She hit the callback icon as she headed toward her condo to pack. Ten days in Carmel. Exactly what she needed. “I’m not doing surgery,” she said when Jac answered.
“Good decision.”
Her chest loosened and she clung to Jac’s approval. “I’m coming back to Carmel. Can I walk with you?”
“Don’t be late.”
She punched the accelerator, but her confidence faded before she reached the corner. If her instincts were wrong, it wasn’t just her dreams that would be lost. Her dad’s. Regan’s. Sammy’s. Teri’s. She flexed her fingers. It had to heal.
Chapter Twelve
Liz turned off the Yukon. The sound of the garage door ratcheting shut replaced the CD, a demo one of her San Jose State senior students had made. Vicky’s quartet had potential, but Liz would have to address their problems. Tactfully. Constructive critiquing was a delicate dance of honest feedback that encouraged more of what was working while suggesting ways to improve what could be better. She’d been lucky to have her grandma and dad as mentors—she’d never questioned their opinions. Until now.
Her dad had insisted on helping with the song mixing. It was the most important stage in the process and was always grueling, but this was a nightmare. Resting her head back against the headrest she closed her eyes, trying to mu
ster the energy to walk the ten feet to her door.
Please don’t let Hannah have someone over. Slinging her satchel over her shoulder she trudged to the door. Singing came from inside. Hannah showing off for whatever woman she was giving cooking lessons to tonight. She shoved through the door into the kitchen. “Can you tone it down?” Her anger deflated when she saw Hannah—alone, dancing around the tiny kitchen, pumping a spoon in the air and singing.
Hannah stopped in mid-twirl when she saw Liz. Holding the spoon like a mic, she continued her rendition of “I Will Survive.”
“Is disco making a comeback?” Liz flopped the satchel onto the small table tucked into the corner of the dining area, too tired to fuss about the shopping bags piled on the two chairs.
“No, but I am.” Hannah stirred something on the stove. It smelled delicious.
“You found a job?” Taking off her coat, she hung it on a peg by the door, next to Teri’s.
“Not yet, but I will. Survive,” Hannah boomed out. She had a beautiful voice.
“I remember watching you rehearse that song with Dad.” She set the bags on the floor and sank onto the chair.
“Yeah, my talent-show standby.” She did an over-exaggerated bow with a super-fake smile. “I’m better off as a chef than a singer. I’m really good at it and I’ve lived in some cool places. You got Dad’s dream life and I got Mom’s.”
“She wanted to be a chef?” Wiggling a finger inside the cast, she tried to reach the itch that had been tormenting her all day. Was the bone knitting together? Twenty-six days since she broke it. Another three weeks until the cast was removed. A new calendar count.
“No, silly. Don’t you remember all the travel magazines she subscribed to? She had a whole list of places she wanted to see. I’ve been to a lot of them.”
“She did? How come I don’t remember?”
“You weren’t around the house a lot. When you weren’t at Grandma’s or practicing, you were doing shows.”
“I liked playing piano more than anything else.”
“Good thing. You were their last hope.”
“Of what?” She yawned and laid her head on her forearm. She wanted to sleep till noon tomorrow, but they had a nine o’clock appointment at the recording studio.
“Here, taste.” Hannah delivered a spoonful. “New curry I’m developing for when the blacklist gets lifted.”
“Yummy.” There were definite perks to Hannah living here. “Blacklist?”
“He trashed my reputation.”
“Sleeping with your boss’s wife was kind of risky, don’t you think?”
“Just because he owns a bunch of hotels, his version isn’t necessarily the truth.” Hannah shoved a drawer closed. Silverware rattled.
“What do you mean?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Hannah said, her voice edgy. “I’m not giving up. I will survive,” she sang in a loud vibrato. “How’s the CD coming?” Hannah piled rice into a perfect mound on the plate and ladled curry over it, topping it with sprigs of something.
“Terrible. Three days in the studio and we only have one song mixed. Teri and I worked with Mark on all our CDs. It’s never gone this badly. At this rate we’ll be at Monterey before it’s done.”
“Let me guess. Dad’s not helping.” Hannah brought the plates to the table and went back for beers, pouring them into frosted glasses.
“He knows my music, but mixing requires a certain kind of listening. You have to be able to separate out each of our twelve tracks and hear what it needs to make it the best, while keeping in mind how it’s going to fit into the song as a whole.”
“Like a meal. You have to know each ingredient but also how the flavors work together.” Hannah grinned as she moved shopping bags off the other chair.
“Exactly.”
“He can’t do that.”
“He understands reverb, compression, EQ, etcetera, from a technical perspective, but he doesn’t have the experience of knowing how to apply them. We have to keep repeating a track over and over for him, and then what he likes isn’t what I like. I don’t want to offend him so I try to compromise. I’m getting so confused I’m starting to doubt my own perceptions. Mark’s so frustrated I’m afraid he’s going to tell me to take it to another sound studio.”
“Is Dad paying for the CD?”
“No.” Now that she didn’t have the deductible for the surgery, she’d decided to pay for it herself. “I can’t afford extra sessions.”
“Tell him you want to do it yourself.”
“I can’t. He’s trying to help. This curry’s amazing.”
“I know.” Hannah grinned, her bravado back. “You know, Lizzie, you’re not a teenager anymore. He’s still treating you like you are. It’s your album.”
“Maybe he’s right that they’re not the best songs, not our sound.”
“It’s a great album.” Hannah’s expression was fierce. “So what if it’s not your same sound? Life changes. Don’t let him make you doubt yourself because you didn’t let him help pick the songs.”
“What does that have to do with it?” She chewed one of the sprigs. Lemongrass.
“Oh, Lizzie.” Hannah shook her head, an indulgent look on her face. “He likes being in charge.”
“He likes helping us.”
“On his terms.”
“How would you know? You haven’t been around for the last fifteen years.”
“I had a different idea about my future than he did.”
The comment hung between them. Was that what he meant about Hannah getting with the program “Don’t tell Dad, but I had help choosing the songs. A woman I met in Carmel. She’s the sister of the artist who painted his painting.”
“Can she help with the mixing?”
“I don’t know.” Liz stirred the curry around on her plate. If the mix wasn’t handled right, all their work selecting the songs wouldn’t make it a great album. She had no idea whether Jac had mixing experience, but if she did…Hope bubbled up. Even if she didn’t have mixing experience, Liz could imagine what a help Jac’s keen ear could be.
“Did you like working with her?”
“I barely know her, but she’s brilliant, and musically we think alike.”
“You don’t have to know a lot about someone to click with them. Do it. Ask her to help. I dare you.” Nobody beat Hannah in the cocky-grin department.
“How do I tell Dad I don’t want his help? I hate that face he makes when he’s disappointed.”
Hannah imitated it.
“You’re bad. I wouldn’t have a career without him.”
“And he wouldn’t have one without you.”
“What—”
“Never mind.” Hannah patted her arm. “Have you talked to Kevin lately?”
“About?”
“Karen.”
Was she that tired or was Hannah not making sense? “She’s over the flu. I saw her at the restaurant last night.”
“She didn’t have the flu.”
“At Dad’s birthday? Sure she did.”
“That’s what Kevin told everyone. She refused to go. I heard them arguing.”
“Why would she—”
“The trip they didn’t go on because Kevin had to work at the last minute? It was their anniversary.”
“Oh, shit.” Anniversaries weren’t something they celebrated as a family, but Liz had forgotten to get them a card. “He works too much.” She covered her mouth as she yawned. Bed. Soon. Hannah gave her a funny look again. “What?”
“It’s about priorities.” They ate in silence for a while and then Hannah asked, “Are you going to Carmel tomorrow?”
“I wasn’t.”
“Oh.” She scooted rice kernels around on her plate.
“Cooking lesson with benefits?”
“Yeah.” Hannah grinned.
“Don’t you want to find someone to settle down with?”
“Not my style.” Hannah made an icky face. “I didn’t get that Randall ‘find
true love young and mate for life’ gene.”
“You’ve just never fallen in love. When you do—”
“Love doesn’t always come neatly wrapped up in happy-ever-after-forever.”
“I wouldn’t trade what I had with Teri, even though it wasn’t the forever I wanted it to be.”
“I know.” Hannah squeezed her hand. “Speaking of settling down, what do you think about Dad and Rebecca?”
“What about them?”
“Don’t you see the way she looks at him?”
“She’s like family.”
“My point. They make a cute couple.”
“Mom’s only been gone two years.” Her dad and Rebecca? No.
“That’s a long time not to have someone to cuddle up to.”
“Long if you have the relationship attention span of a mosquito.” Liz looked at the pictures of her and Teri on the bar top between the kitchen and living room. Fourteen years of memories she cherished.
“Don’t be upset with me, Lizzie.” Hannah’s voice and expression turned serious. “I left everything behind. Keeping myself distracted helps me not think about what I lost.”
Maybe she’d been too hard on Hannah. “If you promise to clean up the condo, I’ll go.”
“You’re the best sister ever.” Hannah threw her arms around her and kissed her cheek. “We need to take you shopping.” She tugged the shoulder of Liz’s blouse.
“Not hard when I’m the only sister.” She ignored the fashion scolding. Teri had given the blouse to her. So what if it was a few years old?
“Details, details.” Hannah brushed her hand through the air. “Mango-lime mousse for dessert.”
Liz’s phone rang as they were clearing the table. Reluctantly she answered.
“I was thinking about ‘Spring Time,’” her dad said. “We should bring up the bass and drums, give it more punch.” His voice punctuated the word. “It’s your most popular song. It needs to be showy.”
Liz propped her elbows on the counter, trying to hang on to her shredded patience. Showy. His second favorite word next to momentum. It’s “Spring Time,” she wanted to say. A delicate melody invoking new growth and the optimism of the season, not a march. “Can we talk about this tomorrow?”