Meant to Be Hers

by Joan Kilby

  When he got to the kitchen Annie and Taylor were storing the leftover food in the fridge. “You guys can take off. I’ll clean up.”

  “Well, okay,” Taylor said. “I have tutorial assignments to grade.”

  “I should get going, too,” Annie said. “I’ve got an early shift at the café tomorrow. Thanks for dinner.”

  Finn filled the kettle and measured out coffee. Too agitated to go back in the dining room, he started stacking dishes in the dishwasher.

  His mother entered carrying wineglasses. She set them down hard on the counter. “Can I have a word with you?”

  “Don’t you think you’ve said enough?” The tension inside flared to anger. “The life I’ve made might not be the one you wanted for me but it’s what I want. Why can’t you accept me as I am?”

  “You could have had a stellar career,” Nora said, unrepentant. “I wanted you to have opportunities, not get stuck in Fairhaven. I couldn’t let you throw away your future on playing rock music in a garage band.”

  “I didn’t get stuck here, though, did I? I made a career for myself on my own terms. Whether you agree or not, I’ve done okay.”

  “You’re not doing what you’re best at,” Nora insisted. “You’re not performing.”

  “Do you think I don’t know that?” Finn said. “You pushed me to follow your vision and I lost what I loved the most.”

  “When you ran out of town I was left to pick up the pieces,” she flung back. “Apologizing to all our friends who supported you, explaining that you’d been under a lot of pressure because you wanted the scholarship so badly—”

  “That’s a lie,” he snapped. “You shouldn’t have said that.”

  “I had to save face.” Her cheeks turned red. “For years I’d been telling everyone you were going to be a big success, a concert pianist, and make it on the world stage. You could have been someone.”

  “I am someone,” he said. “The name Finn Farrell means something in the music world, even if it’s not the part of that world you thought I’d be in.” He flipped a hand, tired of the circular argument. “Ah, forget it. You’ll never believe in me.”

  “I will when I see you perform again,” Nora said. “Until then you’re hiding your light under a bushel.”

  Hiding. Like a coward. Was that what she thought of him? “Okay, then. Next Sunday at Rhonda’s,” he declared rashly. “I’ll play at the open mike.”

  Carly had just entered the room and stopped dead. “Finn, are you sure?”

  “Why not?” He spoke offhandedly though his heart was racing.

  “What time?” Nora said.

  “One o’clock.” Be there or forever hold your tongue.

  “Nora?” Bob came into the room with their coats draped over his arm. “Everything okay? We should go.”

  “Yes.” Nora found a brittle smile. “Carly, thank you for dinner.” She gave Finn an awkward embrace. “It was nice to see you, son.”

  He returned her hug, but was too churned up inside to say anything.

  Finn let Carly show them out. He couldn’t believe he’d just committed to playing in public. When was he going to stop letting himself be manipulated by Nora?

  And yet, part of him wanted to play at Rhonda’s. To take that step forward. To prove to himself and to everyone that he could do it. If his mother showed up, then it would mean she’d taken a step forward, too.

  Carly was right. He still had a lot of anger. His choice was to let it eat away at him forever...or find a way to break free of his self-imposed limitations.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  WHEN CARLY RETURNED from driving Annie home she followed the crashing chords of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony into the living room. The lamp in the corner shed a glow that illuminated the grand piano and Finn relentlessly pounding the keys. Her heart went out to him after that acrimonious exchange with his mother.

  Carly slid onto the bench next to him, seeking his warmth after being chilled by the spring evening. And to give comfort if Finn needed it. She waited until he finished playing and then asked, “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, fine,” he said, starting another piece, quieter but no less dark and moody.

  “I’m sorry that didn’t work out better.”

  “Not your fault.” Finn ran a chord progression deep into the bass clef.

  “Annie’s moving in,” Carly said. “She’s going to talk it over with her mom. She helps look after her sisters but their house is tiny. There would be definite benefits to their family to have one less person living there.”

  “It’s only temporary,” Finn said. “Then she’s right back where she started.”

  “Change happens one step at a time.” Carly smoothed a fingertip along the polished wood below the keys. “Maybe the band will take her on and she can quit the café and move out on her own—”

  “And they all lived happily ever after,” he said sardonically.

  “Don’t be cynical, Finn, it’s not like you. Good things happen all the time, especially if you help them along.” Carly studied his profile and the droop to his mouth. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Positive.” He sounded dispirited though, and his fingers on the keys were heavy, as if playing was an effort.

  “It’s great that you’re going to play open mike,” Carly said. “And that your mom is coming to hear you.”

  His hands stilled abruptly. “If I can’t do it, it’ll just confirm to her that she was right all along.”

  “You can do it,” Carly insisted. “Start with me, an audience of one.” She rose and sat in a chair facing the piano, knees and feet together, hands folded on her lap expectantly. “I’m ready.”

  Finn gave her a long, inscrutable glance. Then he ran his hands over the piano in a series of ascending notes, over and over until Carly thought he’d forgotten she was there. Finally, he began to play a melody and then to sing.

  He played her a love song. His voice was soft and seductive, a young man extolling the beauty of a girl. The words and his soulful dark eyes melted Carly’s heart. Then the tone changed, became so yearning that she ached. With his rough-smooth voice soaring, he filled the room with such love and pain, heartache and longing that the hairs on her arms stood on end. It took her until the second verse and a phrase about a lighted bedroom window that she realized he was singing about her.

  The final notes died away.

  “That was beautiful,” she whispered, almost speechless because of the huge lump in her throat. “Thank you.” So he had felt something for her back then. She’d never been sure.

  “You were my inspiration, in case you didn’t guess. It was the first song I ever wrote, when I was sixteen.” He smiled a lopsided smile. “I’ve refined it since.”

  “Oh, Finn.” Carly rose and put her arms around him, pressing her cheek to his. She thought of all the years they’d lost and held him tighter. “You will smash it at the open mike.”

  “Maybe.” He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her. His mouth was hot and seeking, his tongue boldly exploring. Carly responded eagerly, her pulse skipping erratically as his hands moved over her, sliding beneath her top. He started to lift the hem, his gaze questioning. In reply, she pulled it over her head and flung it aside. Digging her fingers into his hair she drew his face to her breast, moaning when he loosened her bra and sucked a nipple into his mouth. Afraid she would tip him off the piano bench, she leaned backward and her elbows crashed onto the keys.

  “Upstairs?” she suggested but he was already standing and lifting her, letting her butt come down on the ivories with a crash as he slipped her panties off.

  “Right here will do fine.” His eyes burned as he unbuckled his belt. Before shucking his pants he found a condom and ripped it open.

  Carly spread her legs, planting her feet either side of him on the bench, and undid his shirt bu
ttons. Only the table lamp glowed but the curtains were open to the deep twilight sky. A car went past slowly and turned in a few doors down. She should draw the curtains but she was too keyed up and truthfully, the exposure added another layer of excitement to the rough and ready sex. He was pushing into her, eyes locked, one hand braced on the piano top, the other holding her right breast, squeezing her nipple. His breath came fast and hot and their bodies slammed together, the sound mingling with the ongoing crashing of piano keys.

  Taylor was upstairs. Would he come down to investigate or would he assume Finn was experimenting with atonal music? She thrust her hips against Finn’s, squeezing her legs, creating as much friction as possible. A vase atop the piano vibrated, wobbled and fell to the floor in a soft thud on the carpet. Sheet music slithered off the rack. Finn slammed his mouth onto hers as he pushed into her hard and harder and the tension gripping her core spiraled upward to a crescendo as his hands crashed down on a major chord. She clung to his shoulders, shaking with the force of her climax. He trembled beneath her fingers as he found his own release.

  “Not sure Irene had this in mind when she left you her piano,” she said weakly.

  Finn laughed under his breath and kissed her eyes, nose and lips. “As long as I keep it tuned she won’t mind.”

  * * *

  CARLY WOKE IN the pitch-black night, squashed into her single bed with Finn. Lifting her head she glanced at the bedside clock. Three o’clock. Wide awake, her mind active, she knew she wouldn’t get back to sleep. Careful not to disturb Finn, she slipped out of bed.

  She wrapped Irene’s shawl around herself and padded down the hall to her aunt’s room. With the bed stripped and the closet empty there was a lost feeling to the room. She curled up in the reading chair and reached for Irene’s most recent journal, skimming over mundane passages. When Finn’s name jumped out at her she slowed to read carefully. Irene had noted when a particular song made the charts. Carly marveled. She hadn’t realized that one was his, too.

  Pages later, in October of the previous year, Irene mentioned having a headache that had lasted two days. Migraine medication had helped but hadn’t completely eradicated it. She thought maybe it was a hangover from her birthday party on the weekend. Reading, Carly felt sick to her stomach. The headache got worse. Irene went to the doctor. Doctor sent her for tests. Carly flipped faster, scanning the pages. Blood tests okay. Headache persisting. Irene went for a brain MRI. In an entry dated December fifteenth, she wrote in stark letters pressed hard into the paper, I have a brain aneurysm.

  Carly’s hand went to her mouth. Her aunt had known about the aneurysm for six months before her death. That there was no hope quickly became apparent.

  The specialist says it’s positioned right next to a major nerve and so he can’t put something in to alleviate the pressure. Basically, there is no treatment. I will be walking along the street one day and it will burst. I will have a major stroke or die. I would prefer death.

  Carly closed the book around her finger. Oh, Irene.

  Her aunt had known at Christmas, which she’d spent with Carly and her father in New York. They’d seen a comedy at the theater, walked in the snow in Central Park and toasted the New Year with French champagne. Irene hadn’t said a word even though she’d known it could be the last time she would see her niece and her brother-in-law.

  Carly began to read again.

  My visit to New York was wonderful, everything I hoped. I’m so glad I got to see Carly and Randolph. Glad, too, that I didn’t spoil our time together by speaking of my condition. I don’t want them to be upset or worry. Today I meditated for two hours. It helps with the headaches. I’m coming to terms with this, to a level of acceptance I wouldn’t have thought possible after I was first diagnosed. I’ve had a good life. I can truly say that if I passed tomorrow I would die happy and fulfilled. Oh, there’s more I’d love to do, places I would visit, loved ones I want to spend more time with. But no matter if I lived to be a hundred, there will never be enough time. That’s just the way it is.

  Again Carly had to stop reading and breathe through the ache in her chest. It had been one thing to know some of the facts and to speculate about the rest, but to read Irene’s experience in her own words, in her handwriting, brought her situation home in a very personal, intimate way.

  She wiped her eyes and kept reading. Oh, here was her name, linked to Finn’s.

  I hope I can persuade Carly and Finn to come on the cruise with me. They haven’t met in many years. Frankie says I’m a meddling old matchmaker and should butt out. But I fantasize about them living together in this house and raising a family.

  An acute stab of longing made Carly pause again. She could imagine her and Finn together in this house only too well. Kids, dog, garden, the whole nine yards. At the same time it felt like a dream, something out of reach.

  Neither Carly nor Finn can spare the time for a cruise. Carly’s email was all about her new job. I’m glad she’s excited but I’m afraid she’s turned her back on what she’s really good at—helping people—and won’t be happy in the long run. I worry about Finn, too. So much talent gone to waste. In that, (and that alone), Nora is right. She’s too controlling and doesn’t even realize she’s driven him away. Finn will never get unstuck until he makes peace with her. Oh well, what do I know? One thing I’m positive about is that Carly and Finn would be good for each other. Maybe I can find another way to bring them together this summer.

  Carly closed the journal. In a horrible way Irene had brought them together.

  She turned off the lamp, closed her eyes and tried to meditate, hoping some of Irene’s peace would rub off on her. Wrapped in her aunt’s shawl, she would give anything right now to feel her aunt’s spirit envelope her with warmth and love.

  She couldn’t bring Irene back but there was one thing she could do for Finn—help him get back onstage where he belonged.

  * * *

  “FROM THE TOP, one more time.” Looking expectantly at Annie, Finn played the opening chords of a Janis Joplin song. He wanted her warmed up before they headed down to Dingo’s studio. “Why don’t you incorporate some of those dance moves you worked on.”

  “I’m not sure I can dance and sing at the same time.” Annie wore a tight, short skirt and a form-fitting tank top, bangles and high heels. She looked the part except for the way she slouched and pulled nervously on her hair.

  He bit his tongue so as not to remind her again to stand up straight and proud. Carly had coached her on that, too. “Use your body language to express the emotion of the song.”

  “I’m fat,” she said flatly. “I look stupid bouncing around.”

  “Fat?” Finn repeated, dumbfounded. “No way. You’re...curvy.” He would have said more but he didn’t want to creep her out or give her the wrong idea about his interest in her. He took his hands off the keys and sat back. “I know what you’re feeling. You don’t like everyone looking at you. It’s hard at first but you do get used to it. Then you get to like it.”

  Then you crave it.

  He’d forgotten that. But seeing the audition through Annie’s eyes, seeing her on the cusp of becoming a singer, it all came back. The validation, the reward for all the hours of hard work, and most of all, the rapport that came from connecting with the audience, even if it was only other students and their families. At times he ached to feel that again. He could only imagine how much bigger that connection would be if he was performing his own songs.

  “Don’t think about yourself or how nervous you are. Think about the people you’re singing to,” he said, passing on Irene’s wisdom. “You’re a conduit for the music. Concentrate on sharing that with the audience. Shut your eyes if it helps.”

  “I’ll try.” Annie closed her eyes and began to hum. Finn played the opening bars several times before she joined in. With her eyes still closed she swayed to the beat, her movements natural and un
rehearsed. Her voice soared, full and rich. She didn’t see the electrician carrying a spool of electrical cable stop in the hall to listen. Or Taylor, hurrying out with a briefcase, pause, spellbound.

  As the last notes sounded Annie opened her eyes and blinked, looking as if she wondered where she was. Noticing the electrician and Taylor, she blushed, then turned to Finn. “Was that better?”

  “Sing like that at the audition and you’re a shoe-in.” Finn shut the piano lid and rose. “Let’s go.” He grabbed his car keys off the hall table and sat on the chair to pull his boots on.

  Taylor walked Annie down the steps. “I don’t know much about music but I believe I’m seeing the birth of a new star. I wouldn’t be surprised if you went supernova.”

  “Are stars born or made?” Annie asked, teasing him.

  Taylor began to explain in all seriousness how stars had come into existence.

  Finn chuckled. Then looked up as Carly hurried down the stairs. She was wearing a blue jacket that brought out the color of her eyes. Her ripped jeans were no doubt designer but her feet were bare inside her ten-dollar sneakers. “Oh, good, you haven’t left yet. Where’s Annie?”

  “Outside.” He snaked an arm out to draw her in and buried his face in her neck. He needed to talk to her, tell her how wonderful she was and how much he wanted to be with her. Instead, all he could say was, “You smell great.”

  Laughing, she wriggled out of his arms. “I’ve got to give something to Annie.” And she hurried out to where Annie and Taylor stood talking on the sidewalk.

  Finn followed. Usually he was the one putting space between himself and a new sexual partner, wanting to take things slowly. With Carly, however, he felt an odd urgency to cement what they’d had, take it to another level of intimacy. Did he mean love? Surely it was too soon to be thinking along those lines. But sleeping together was starting to feel important, not at all like a temporary arrangement where they could say goodbye and walk away easily.