Meant to Be Hers

by Joan Kilby

  “I need to shower.”

  “Finn, is everything okay?” she asked, touching his arm as he passed her. She had a feeling that if he hadn’t seen her suitcases she would have been sitting on the table right now with him pushing into her, oblivious to the time.

  “Fine.” He lifted a hand as he walked away and let it fall—like an ax on a chopping block. “Everything’s fine.”

  If everything was fine, why did his voice sound so strained?

  “I’ll see you at the café,” she called after him as he ran up the stairs. Then the bathroom door closed and she heard the shower. Carly stood uncertainly in the foyer. “Break a leg.”

  * * *

  CARLY FELT A twinge of unease when she saw the sandwich board that stood outside Rhonda’s café advertising the open mike afternoon. Underneath someone had attached a handwritten notice in bold letters proclaiming the appearance today of Fairhaven songwriter, Finn Farrell.

  Yesterday Finn had seemed absolutely fine with playing in front of an audience, but today with the pressure mounting, she wasn’t as sure of him. Putting on a smile, she opened the heavy glass door and ushered Nora and Bob in ahead of her.

  Annie saw her and hurried out from behind the counter, all smiles. She led them to an empty table near the stage and whipped off the reserved sign. “We don’t usually reserve tables but my boss said I could for today. I kind of hyped Finn to them, talking about RockAround and how he’s rejoined his old band and is starting his comeback in his hometown.”

  “Great publicity.” Carly hoped Finn hadn’t gotten wind of that.

  “See the guy in the green shirt by the pillar?” Annie said. “He’s the arts reporter with the Bellingham Times. Dingo called him.” She took their lunch orders and added, “I’ve got to get back to work. Sunday is always busy but today the café is filling faster than usual.”

  Annie was right. The room was nearly at capacity already and open mike hadn’t even started. There was a definite buzz growing over Finn’s appearance. There would be many locals who had admired the child prodigy’s talent and had liked him as a youth. But no doubt there were also plenty of people who remembered his infamous epic fail. Maybe they were coming to see if history would repeat itself.

  “Excuse me, can we use this chair?” a man asked, his hand already on the seat she was saving for Finn.

  “Sorry, no, my boyfriend will be here any minute.” Carly glanced at Nora to see what the older woman made of that statement but Nora’s expression was impassive. Carly shrugged. She and Finn were sleeping together. They cared about each other. They’d promised not to lose contact again. Calling him her boyfriend wasn’t out of line but she couldn’t help worrying that she was jinxing herself. She and Finn hadn’t had that conversation yet.

  Nora checked her watch. “When is he coming?”

  “He should be here by now.” Carly checked the time on her phone. “He must have gotten held up.”

  “He’ll be here,” Bob said, but he didn’t sound overly confident.

  Nora’s chicken Caesar salad, Bill’s soup and Carly’s toasted panini arrived and for the next fifteen minutes they concentrated on eating. Finn still hadn’t arrived when they’d finished.

  “Where is he?” Nora said, glancing around.

  “It’s only quarter to one. Plenty of time.” Carly frowned. “It’s strange that Dingo’s late, too. I hope they didn’t have an accident.”

  “In a mile and a half?” Nora shook her head, lips compressed. “This is just like Finn.”

  “He’ll be here,” Bob said staunchly.

  “I’ll text him.” Carly wiped her hands on a napkin and sent a message. Everything ok? She listened for the whistle of incoming. A full minute passed. Two minutes. “He must be driving and can’t answer.”

  “Driving out of town,” Nora said grimly.

  “Now, dear.” Bob put a hand on his wife’s shoulder.

  Carly noticed that other people in the café were looking at the stage and checking the clock on the wall over the coffee machine, or glancing at their watches or phones. To Carly’s anxious ears the murmur of conversation sounded querulous.

  Annie came to collect empty dishes. “Where are Finn and Dingo?”

  “I don’t know,” Carly said. “I don’t have Dingo’s number. Do you?”

  “My phone is in my purse in the back room but I can get it—Never mind,” Annie said, straightening. “Dingo’s here.”

  The tall Aussie with the long ponytail strode across the front of the café and stepped onto the stage. The room erupted into enthusiastic applause. The panini suddenly felt like a rock in Carly’s stomach. Where was Finn?

  Dingo held up a hand to the audience to quell the clapping. “Thanks for your patience, guys. Sorry for the delay. We’ll get started in a minute.”

  He made his way to Carly’s table. Crouching at her side, he kept his voice low. “Where’s Finn? I’ve been waiting for him at my place. He didn’t show.”

  “What?” Carly squeaked. “He should have been there half an hour ago.”

  Just then, the door opened again and in walked Finn. Every eye in the room turned his way. His gaze scanned the room, found Carly and then he looked away. Her heart sank at his pale face and strained expression. Mechanically he walked up to the stage. He tapped the microphone and it emitted a static shriek.

  “Thanks for coming, everyone.” He dragged a shaking hand through his wild black locks. “Sorry to disappoint if anyone came to see me but I won’t be performing today. I—I can’t.” He sucked in a breath that was amplified by the microphone. His voice broke. “Please stay, though. There’ll be lots of great music.”

  With that he walked off the stage and headed for the exit. Carly pushed back her chair and ran after him. He was waiting for her around the corner in the parking lot. At least this time he wasn’t running away. Hands shoved in the pockets of his skinny jeans, wide shoulders hunched beneath his brown leather bomber jacket, he looked the picture of misery.

  “Talk to me,” Carly said, stopping a few feet away.

  “I’m not ready.” Finn gazed at her bleakly. “The Village Green yesterday was okay because it just happened. There was no one there when I began to play. The crowd grew in ones and twos. Even then there were no more than a couple of dozen people listening at any one time.”

  “Never mind.” She came closer and rubbed his arm. “Step by step, you’ll get there. Maybe the bar gig will be better.”

  “No, I’m going back to LA today, now.” He gestured to the Mustang parked behind them. “I’ll take Rufus. It’s not fair to leave him with Taylor and Annie. Who knows if one of them would be able to keep him when they move out.”

  “You’re giving up.” Anger burst into flame in her chest.

  He looked away. “I never wanted this anyway.”

  “That’s so not true,” she cried. “Where is the guy I was with yesterday? The one who believed in himself? Oh, he’s gone.” She flung a hand out. “Left the building. Because leaving is what you do. Letting people down is what you do.”

  “Carly,” Finn said in an agonized voice. “That’s not fair.”

  “Isn’t it?” It was bad enough that he’d bailed on open mike and wasn’t giving himself a chance to overcome his problem. He was leaving her, too. She’d spent years feeling lost and bereft and now he was doing it to her again.

  She walked over to Rufus, who had his head out of the car window, and put her arms around his neck, stroking his soft red coat. He licked her hand and she buried her face in his fur. “Goodbye, sweetheart,” she whispered, her eyes blurring. “Going with Finn is for the best. You wouldn’t like it in New York.”

  “Carly.” Finn touched her arm. “Let’s not part like this.”

  “Don’t.” She shook his hand off and turned away quickly to avoid seeing the pain in his eyes. She couldn’t go throu
gh this again. He might want to be friends, stay in touch, but when the going got rough, he took the easy way out. As for romance, what a joke. “We’re done.”

  * * *

  FINN GOT IN the Mustang and fixed his gaze fiercely on the road ahead. He should feel relieved that the ordeal was over. So what if he’d bailed on open mike? Those people in the café had already forgotten him and were listening to whoever was next on the playlist.

  Except for Carly. And Nora. Dingo, Annie, Taylor, the guys in the band. All his old friends. The woman at the hardware store he’d rashly told and who’d promised to come and watch him.

  The entire awful morning replayed in his brain.

  On his way to Dingo’s house he’d passed through town and seen the sandwich board with his name on it and the lunch crowd visible through the plate glass windows. That’s when the anxiety had started, the racing pulse, the ever-tightening band around his chest.

  Panicking, he’d kept going past Dingo’s street to Chuckanut Drive. He’d thrown a few rocks in the water at Teddy Bear beach, trying to psych himself up and failing. But he couldn’t leave without facing the people he was letting down. Nor could he leave without saying goodbye to Carly. Remembering the look in her eyes as she’d reamed him out made him groan aloud. We’re done. He couldn’t bring himself to even think about her.

  Now he sped up the freeway entrance and onto the I-5 South. He turned the radio to full volume to block his thoughts, hit cruise control and just drove. It was better this way. He was a songwriter, not a performer. It was a mistake to think he could change. Failing was what he did. It was who he was.

  And why should he put himself out there? He’d only been doing it for Carly’s sake. But she wasn’t going to stick around. Her life was back in New York. Her high-falutin’ job was waiting for her. No matter what he did, he would always be the boy from the wrong side of town. Sure, that might appeal to a teenage girl but not to a grown woman.

  Better to leave now before he ruined the RockAround gig for Dingo and the guys. And Annie now, too. His fist pounded the steering wheel at the thought of her disappointment adding to the pile. He could picture them all talking about him at the café, wondering what was truly wrong with him.

  Any small gain in reconciliation with his mother would be lost. No doubt she’d expected this. Her words from long ago continued to ring in his ears. A professional doesn’t buckle under pressure. The show must go on.

  Well, the show was going to have to go on without him.

  At Tacoma he headed for the coast. His troubles would only continue once he got to Los Angeles so he might as well take the longest route possible and think about where he was going in life. He tried but his mind was empty and desolate, like the fog-shrouded Oregon coastline. Mile after mile of narrow winding road sandwiched between looming dark forests and the thundering gray ocean.

  He drove until 2:00 a.m., stopping only for gas and to drive through a burger place. Finally he crashed at a motel halfway down the Oregon coast for a few hours’ sleep. At dawn, he made the mistake of looking at his phone and saw dozens of text messages and voice mails. Half of the messages were from Carly. He turned the phone off, not ready to talk to her, or anyone. If they hated him, he hated himself more.

  He bought a couple of breakfast sandwiches and walked down to the beach to sit on a rickety wooden jetty. Rufus wolfed down his sandwich and then sniffed around the piles of kelp mounded on the sand. Finn sat on the damp pier, legs dangling, and watched the waves rolling in from the horizon to break on the rocky point in a spume of white spray.

  What was he doing with his life? What had happened to that kid who had dreamed of becoming a musician? After fleeing Fairhaven as an eighteen-year-old he’d taken a job in a record store, barely able to afford to eat and pay rent in that fleabag of a first apartment. He’d hung around bars and music venues, gotten to know people. Finally scored a gig playing backup. Gradually he’d added songwriting to his repertoire and his reputation as a pianist and writer had grown.

  It was a safe route, one that paid the bills but didn’t put him under emotional duress. What was wrong with that? He’d fulfilled part of his mother’s wish for him and found a way out of poverty and into independence. He didn’t need to perform to survive, and even thrive. He had a perfectly adequate life doing what he did. It wasn’t fair for other people—Carly, his mother, Irene—to expect more from him. Why couldn’t they accept him as he was? If he was happy then what did it matter to anyone else?

  If he was happy.

  We’re done.

  Suddenly restless, he whistled for Rufus. The dog loped back, his long red feathers wet and coated with sand. Finn scolded him affectionately and wiped him down with an old towel he kept in the trunk.

  At the town’s single gas station he tanked up the Mustang and got back on the road. Sunrise lent a pearly glow to the smooth stone monoliths scattered along the beach. Around midday he’d had enough of the slow coastal road and headed east through the redwood forests to the freeway. Now he just wanted to be home and sleep in his own bed. At rest stops he stretched his legs and fueled up on coffee as he walked Rufus.

  Another ten hours and he turned into his driveway in Laurel Canyon. He washed down a sleeping pill with a slug of scotch and went to bed.

  * * *

  CARLY GOT TO the office early Monday morning ready to tackle the backlog of work that had built in her absence. Files were stacked in piles on her desk and her in-tray was overflowing. Her email, which she hadn’t opened in days, bristled with urgent flags. Excellent. There was so much to do that she wouldn’t have time to think.

  It felt good to be back wearing a suit and heels and having her hair and makeup done. This was who she was, professional and competent. She would throw herself into work, far away from messy emotional entanglements with unsatisfactory men.

  After skimming her emails for the most urgent, she found a message from her contact at Wallis Group. He said things were progressing and he hoped to have an answer for her by early in the week. In other words, anytime now. Quickly she looked down the list of emails but there was nothing else from him yet.

  She went back to the top and opened a résumé from a CEO of a tech company in Colorado who was looking to relocate to Silicon Valley. Impressive credentials. Impeccable work history. Yada yada. In less than thirty seconds her eyes glazed over and her thoughts drifted to yesterday.

  Finn had bailed on the open mike. She still couldn’t believe it. Sorry. Was that all he could say to everyone who’d believed in him and supported him? Everyone who’d put themselves on the line for him?

  She’d even put her heart on the line.

  He’d appeared to be making headway and then wham, he’d backslid. Well, she’d known all along it wouldn’t be easy. When he’d admitted to the audience at Rhonda’s that he couldn’t perform, she’d felt his pain as if it were her own. But he shouldn’t give up.

  He must still be feeling bad if he wouldn’t answer her calls and texts. She wished he would get in touch with her so she could find out where his head was at and talk some hope into him.

  Herb stopped by her door. “Carly, good to have you back. Everything under control out west?”

  “Everything’s fine,” she said, smiling. “It’s great to be back.”

  Her smile faded as Herb moved away. Was it good to be back though? Ever since she’d touched down at JFK she’d felt out of sorts, as if she’d left a limb back in Fairhaven. Or maybe her heart.

  She went back to skimming her inbox, deleting junk and answering emails that could be dealt with quickly.

  Leanne knocked on her door and came in bearing a small white box on her open palms like a ring bearer at a wedding. “Ta da! Your new business cards. Check them out, make sure your name is spelled right.”

  Carly lifted the lid and removed one. Carly Maxwell, Executive Recruitment Consultant.

&nb
sp; A tumult of mixed emotions swept through her. This was what she’d been working toward the past five years. All her plans and dreams were coming to fruition. Executive recruitment consultant, partner, senior partner. Who knows, maybe one day she would be CEO?

  So why wasn’t she over the moon?

  “They’re perfect, thanks,” she said to Leanne. Her computer chirped and she was relieved at the distraction. “Excuse me, this could be an email I’ve been waiting for.”

  “I’ll go see how your furniture order is coming along,” Leanne said and hurried off, her heels clacking on the tiled floor.

  Carly clicked into her inbox. When she saw the Wallis letterhead her pulse sped up. Quickly she opened and scanned the contents. Yes! She’d gotten the account. They were moving their entire recruiting needs to Hamlin and Brand and she would be their main contact.

  Then right on the heels of elation came the anticlimax. She would be locked into this kind of work for the foreseeable future. Locked into? This was what she’d wanted. Wasn’t it?

  She reached for her phone and brought up Finn’s number to send a text. Got the Wallis account. That sounded so impersonal but she didn’t know what else to say to him. Why hadn’t he responded to any of her texts? Yes, she’d said they were done but he’d sworn to be her friend. Her heart squeezed painfully. She wanted his friendship but she wanted his love, too.

  Without adding anything more to her message she hit send.

  * * *

  FINN WAS HALFWAY through a bottle of scotch at two in the afternoon when he got Carly’s latest message. He raised his glass to her success and sloshed alcohol onto the grass beside his sun lounger. Rufus padded over to see what the excitement was about.

  “She got the big account.” Finn scratched behind the Irish setter’s silky red ears. “I’m not surprised. She’s a smart cookie, and ambitious. Bet she’s doing a happy dance.”