Meant to Be Hers

by Joan Kilby

  Somewhere over the years, an essential part of himself had gotten lost. He had to get it back. He had to get Carly back. And Irene’s house. He had to find his way home to his family and Fairhaven.

  He was done hiding and being a coward. It was time to tackle that mountain. There was only one way to the other side. He couldn’t go around, he couldn’t go over. He had to go through the fear.

  Finn crawled over to his jacket and fumbled in the pocket for his phone. “Tom? Have you still got the name of that guy at the research center?”

  * * *

  CARLY WENT OVER her list of pros and cons for selling the house. It boiled down to a battle between head and heart. Selling was smart financially speaking because she could put down a deposit on a nice apartment in New York. Keeping the house, on the other hand, would mean she would retain her connection to Fairhaven, her aunt and Finn. Bonus points that Taylor and Annie could rent indefinitely.

  Not that she expected to see Finn again any time soon now that he’d backed out of the RockAround gig. In any case, she’d decided regretfully she couldn’t afford the time away from work to go to the concert even though she would have liked to be there for Annie. The girl’s latest flurry of text messages had been bursting with excitement, but also worry because the band still hadn’t found a keyboardist.

  Carly tapped her pen on the paper and returned to the problem at hand. Head or heart? If she were her client she would advise herself to follow her head. No one ever got into trouble by choosing the smart course of action. They might not be happy but they would be safe. At the same time, it was impossible to discount the precious memories and sentimental value of Irene’s home.

  Her phone rang. It was Sam. Shoot, he wanted her decision.

  “You have another offer,” the Realtor said. “It’s over your asking price by fifty thousand dollars.”

  “Wow.” Something had to be wrong with this picture. “I suppose they want a quick settlement.”

  “No, one hundred and twenty days is fine.”

  “What’s the catch?” Carly asked.

  “No catch.” Sam paused. “Well, maybe one. The buyer is Finn Farrell. He made the offer over the phone but he says he’ll be in tomorrow to put in a formal offer.”

  “Finn,” she repeated in disbelief. He’d just talked her into selling. So he could nab the house for himself? Why? After his disastrous no-show at Rhonda’s there was no way he’d want to go back to Fairhaven to live. Did he think it a good investment? What exactly was he thinking? Why had he made the offer without saying a word to her?

  “What should I tell him?” Sam said. “Will you accept? I don’t think you’ll do better.”

  “I... I need to talk to him myself,” Carly said. “I’ll get back to you.”

  She hung up and immediately called Finn. “What are you doing?”

  “I take it Sam contacted you?” he asked. “Financing is assured, there’s no problem there.”

  “I’m not worried about that.” Carly noticed he sounded a lot sharper than the other day. “I want to know why you want to buy it.”

  “Does it matter?” Finn said. “Isn’t the point that the house won’t be going into the hands of strangers? That’s what’s been bothering you the most, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but I don’t want...” She pinched between her eyes, suddenly struck by a horrible vision of him living there with another woman. “You’re not responsible for what I want.”

  “Just say yes and there’ll be one less thing for you to worry about.” When she didn’t reply Finn changed the subject. “I’m going away for a week or ten days. Before I leave, I’ll send you an e-ticket to the RockAround gig. Will you come?”

  “Are you going?” Carly asked.

  “I’m in the band,” Finn said. “So, yeah, I’ll be there.”

  Carly blinked. “I didn’t know you’d changed your mind about performing. Annie didn’t mention it.”

  “I only decided this morning. I’m flying up to Fairhaven this afternoon to talk to Dingo about it.”

  “Finn, it’s wonderful that you’re going to try again but...” Would he let her and everyone else down a third time? To fly across the country, get her hopes up again, only for him to back out at the last minute. She didn’t think she could take the disappointment again.

  “Trust me,” he said persuasively. Not just sharper but irrepressible. “You’ve always believed in me. Believe in me one more time. Because now I finally believe in myself. It’s going to be okay.”

  “The concert is only two weeks away,” she protested. “How are you going to get ready in such a short time?”

  “I’ve found an intensive therapy—or rather, Tom found it—that apparently works miracles,” he said. “Give me one more chance. In fact, marry me, Carly. I love you. We’ll live on South Hill and fill that big old house with babies, just like Irene wanted us to.”

  “Now I know you’re crazy.” She laughed even though she wanted to curse and her heart did backflips at talk of love and marriage. Typical Finn, making her amused and flustered all at the same time. What was she supposed to say to such an off-the-cuff proposal? She wouldn’t dignify it with an answer of any kind. “No one proposes over the phone.”

  “I’d rather do it in person but that isn’t possible right now. I’ll ask you again at the concert.”

  “I’m not going to the concert,” she said. “I have too much work to do.”

  “It’s a holiday long weekend.”

  “I need to get on top of things.”

  “Please, Carly,” Finn said, his voice becoming husky. He paused a beat. “The lightbulb wants to change.”

  Carly almost said yes, but she forced herself to keep silent instead. She wished him good luck and then called Sam back to tell him she needed time to think about Finn’s offer. If she lost the other offer, so be it, but she wasn’t saying yes to Finn until she was confident his words were genuine. She would give him a couple of days and then talk to him again when he wasn’t in such a strange mood.

  * * *

  FINN FLEW UP to Seattle that afternoon and rented a car for the drive to Fairhaven. Time was running out and he had a lot of talking to do before he headed to the medical center. He was nervous about that, but he’d made a commitment to Carly. If he let her down again there would be no coming back from that. Nothing was more important to him than her, not even the concert. He had to prove to her he was serious about changing.

  His first stop was Sam’s Realty with a check for the deposit on the house. The money wasn’t necessary until Carly accepted his offer but Finn wouldn’t be available when—if—she did accept so he gave it to Sam to hold in trust. Finn signed some papers, shook hands and headed across town.

  He parked in front of his parents’ house. It was after 5:00 p.m.; his mom would be home from work. Still, he didn’t move. He could feel the lick of fear breathing down his neck. Then he squared his shoulders. There was no going around this.

  Slowly he got out of the car and walked up the path to the front steps. He knocked and waited, shifting from one croc-skin boot to the other.

  The door opened. Nora crossed her arms over her chest. “What are you doing here?”

  He cleared his throat. “I’ve come to ask your advice on the direction of my musical career.”

  “Why would you want my advice when you stopped listening to me years ago?”

  “I can’t guarantee I’ll follow it,” he conceded. “But I’d like to hear what you have to say.” He paused. “And I want to apologize.”

  Nora’s expression remained impassive and for one horrible moment he was afraid she would turn him away. Finally she said, “Come in.”

  She led the way into the living room where the TV was tuned to a sitcom. She switched it off in the midst of a burst of canned laughter. “Your father’s bowling tonight. Do you want something to d
rink?”

  “No, thanks.” Instead of sitting Finn prowled the room. Family photos were arranged on the top of the upright piano in the corner. Joe in his navy uniform, his mom and dad dressed up for some function—in recent years judging by his dad’s gray hair. His aunt and uncle and their now adult children. The only photo of Finn was his high school graduation picture. Everyone had grown up, it seemed, except for him.

  He turned to Nora, who stood, hands clasped, waiting for him to settle. Taking a deep breath, he said, “I’m sorry for all the worry I caused you.” His voice broke. “For the embarrassment.”

  “Don’t be silly,” she said, almost crossly and touched a fingertip to her eye. “Dingo told us about your problem after the open mike. Oh, Finn, why didn’t you ever say anything?”

  He hunched one shoulder. “We weren’t talking to each other.”

  “We’re talking now. Sit down and tell me what’s going on with you.”

  “I’m going to go for it, with the band.” He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Songwriting is satisfying, being a studio musician pays the bills, and the Molto gig—if I got it—would be a career highlight. But none of those things give me the excitement I get from performing. From what I remember of that, anyway.”

  Nora’s brow wrinkled as she studied him. “I take it you’ve figured out how to get over your stage fright?”

  “Anxiety. Yes, I have,” he said. “There’s a guy in LA who cures some of the toughest cases using virtual reality therapy. I’m booked in for my first session with him tomorrow.”

  “I hope it works for you,” Nora said. “Does Dingo even want you in his band after what happened at the café?”

  “He’s the next person I need to see, to find that out.” Finn paused. This bit coming was the most important... “Back in high school, Dingo introduced me to rock music but I started our band. I want it back, to guide it, steer it to where I know it can go. What I can’t decide is whether to tell Dingo before the RockAround gig or afterward.”

  “It’s his band now,” Nora said. “You can’t dip out for twelve years and then expect him to just hand it over. At this point, you’re riding on his coattails.”

  “I get that,” Finn acknowledged. “But if I’m going to go into performing wholeheartedly then I want to start with a bang.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Finn. This is something you’ve got to work out with Dingo.”

  “Let’s look at it from another angle,” Finn said. “Which makes a bigger splash on the show bill—Finn Farrell and band, or band with Finn Farrell?”

  “What does your agent say?” Nora asked. “He’s the expert.”

  “I’m asking what you think,” he said. The dilemma was a no-brainer, really, and his mother would know that, but he was trying to include her in his process. Trying to show her he cared what she thought.

  “You should have top billing,” Nora said.

  “That’s what I think, too. I hope Dingo will agree.” Finn rose. “Sorry to make this so brief but I don’t have much time. I’ve got to go see him now.”

  Nora walked him to the door. “Let me know what happens.”

  “I will.” Finn hesitated on the porch. “By the way, I’m buying Irene’s house. Trying to, at least.”

  Nora’s eyebrows rose. “Are you going to live there?”

  “It depends,” he said. “On Carly.”

  “Oh, Finn, don’t get your hopes up,” Nora began.

  Finn held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear about how I’m not good enough for her or that I can’t give her the finer things in life. The finest thing in life is love. That, I can give her plenty of.”

  “I believe you. But she’s made a life in New York. She’s worked hard and is climbing the ranks in her company. Or so I gather from what she said at dinner at her house. Giving all that up would be a big sacrifice.”

  “I know,” he said. “I’ll be sacrificing my comfort zone. I might crash and burn, but at least I’ll know what I’m made of. I want to prove myself worthy of her.”

  “Oh, Finn. Of course you’re worthy.” She hugged him, her eyes moist. “I’m sorry, too, honey. I know I was hard on you growing up but I only wanted the best for you. I should have backed off, should have listened to you more.”

  He hugged her back. “I’ll make you proud, you’ll see.”

  She eased away and smiled through her tears. “I’m already proud.”

  How long had he waited to hear that from his mother? Funny. Now that he had, it almost wasn’t important anymore. Oh, he was glad she felt that way and it made him feel good to hear her say it, but the person he was trying to prove himself to was himself. “Thank you.”

  * * *

  “LET ME GET this straight,” Dingo said, hands on hips, an incredulous look on his long face. “You want to take over leadership of the band, renaming it Finn Farrell and the Dingo Pack.”

  “Or something better,” Finn said. “Let’s toss around ideas. I thought it would be good to have your name in there, too.”

  Dingo continued to give him a hard stare. “That’s not the issue.”

  “I know.” Finn raised his hands, palms out. “I have no right to ask for so much. But it was my band originally,” he reminded him.

  “Until you abandoned it and me.”

  Finn winced. “Fair enough. But times have changed. I’ve changed.”

  “Have you though?” Dingo demanded. “How can I be sure you’ll be onstage when the curtain goes up?”

  “All I can say is I’m taking serious steps to work on my issues,” Finn said. “This time I’m not giving up till I’m over it.”

  “So the rest of us are what? Your backup group?” Dingo said. “That’s not going to sit well with the guys.”

  “You’d all be integral to the sound,” Finn said. “Yes, I’d be the creative driving force but without you all I’m just a guy with a piano who sings.”

  “Like Elton John?” Dingo said sardonically. “Because he never made it big.”

  “I could go it alone and I will if I have to. But remember what we dreamed of back in high school, you and I fronting a band? I want you as my bandmate. You’re not only the best undiscovered lead guitarist I know, but my oldest friend. Leroy and Billy are both terrific musicians, too. Leith, as well. And Annie...we’ll be lucky to hang on to her once she gets known.

  “Speaking of Annie,” Finn went on before his friend could respond. “I want her to have a bigger role. You have to admit she’s got a unique voice.”

  “She does,” Dingo conceded. “As for Leith, he’s been wavering about joining the band. If you’re back, I reckon he’ll bow out.”

  “That would be too bad but I understand.” Finn paused before moving on. “I also want the band to play original music. No group makes it big unless they’ve got their own sound. I’ve got a backlog of my songs we can start with, but I’m open to collaborating.”

  Dingo paced away and back, head down. “Anything else?”

  Finn had asked Tom’s advice on the business angle. “I want to rebrand, get professional marketing and publicity, update our sound and look.”

  “Sounds expensive,” Dingo said. “We’re not making the bucks to warrant that kind of outlay.”

  “We will,” Finn said. “I’m positive we’ll recoup our costs and more.”

  “All that—if it happens—is in the future,” Dingo said. “We don’t have time to do all that marketing let alone learn new numbers before the RockAround concert.”

  “No, we’ll still have to do some covers and the marketing push will have to wait a bit,” Finn conceded. “There’s one song of mine I’d particularly like to do, though. We’ll work on that and as many others as we can nail before the gig.”

  “I don’t know,” Dingo said. “Even if we do start making a living from our music down the track, righ
t now the guys can’t afford to quit their day jobs. Leroy and I have families.”

  “It’s a risk, no question,” Finn said. “But I’m willing to throw everything I’ve got into this. I’ll use my savings to finance the band for the rest of the summer. I’ll sell my house in LA if I have to.” Dingo’s eyebrows rose and Finn went on, “I’m serious. We’ll record, we’ll tour, we’ll work our butts off. There are no guarantees but I’m willing to back myself. And us.”

  Dingo stood with his hands on his hips, shaking his head as if trying to absorb everything. “Just to be absolutely clear, you’re asking me to give up leadership of my band. And to hand over creative control and play second fiddle to get you onboard?”

  “I admit, it’s a lot to ask.” Some of the fizz went out of his enthusiasm. Dingo had lost trust in him and he could hardly blame him. Still he gave it one last pitch. “I’m in this for the long haul, not just for the RockAround gig or other one-off events. What do you say? Take this leap of faith with me?”

  There was a long silence. Then Dingo threw up his hands. “Why not? Let someone else carry the can for a while.”

  “Is that a yes?” Finn said, not quite believing.

  “I can’t speak for the other guys. I reckon they’ll want to wait and see how the RockAround gig goes,” Dingo said. “They don’t know you and your music the way I do. But...” He shrugged. “We’ve been struggling for years, eking out a living and frustrated because we know we could do better. If we do all right in Seattle I think they’ll go for it.”

  “Sure you’re not upset at me getting top billing?” Finn said.

  “I’ll be upset if you’re a no-show in two weeks time. As to the other...” Dingo shrugged. “You have a higher profile, a platform, if you like. And there’s something different about you now. I don’t quite know what it is but I’m willing to go out on a limb for you. Who knows, with you headlining the band we might go all the way to the top.”

  “That,” Finn said, embracing his friend, “is my master plan.”