by Gun Brooke
“Ah. Very gentlewomanish.” Mike gave Giselle’s hand a quick squeeze. “And I’m teasing you. You realize that, don’t you? I’m just so glad to see you so…well, so alive. Normally I glimpse that vitality in you only when you’re at the piano.”
Giselle hadn’t known that. Of course, she had lived her life the same way for years and convinced herself this was what she had to settle for. Tierney’s influence was altering her situation, day by day. Now, though, she’d had enough of them digging through her emotional state. “She has some voice, doesn’t she?”
Mike brightened. “Oh, does she ever. It’s very unusual, as it goes back and forth between being raw and unkempt to smooth and almost sounding like she had classical training.”
“I can promise you that she’s entirely a natural.” Not wanting to break any of the confidences Tierney had shared, Giselle didn’t mention the young woman’s rough start in life. “Not only does she sing well, but she can emote, and I suspect she has perfect pitch. She heard me play that song once, recognized that her lyrics could fit, and sang it back to me as if she’d practiced for a week. I’m not sure she realizes she has that ability, but I’m willing to bet money on it.”
“Coming from you, that’s not a moneymaking bet, so I’ll take your word for it.” Mike nodded emphatically. “I could tell Vivian was taken with her voice. Since Vivi lost more of her vision, she’s become even more auditorily sensitive. She can determine now whether it’s Perry or Mason barking. I think they sound entirely the same, but she’s always right, so what do I know?” Mike bent and scratched Charley’s head. “Our boys are getting old. They’re already on borrowed time. Great Danes don’t live very long compared to some other dogs. They’re quite rambunctious though, and our vet says that for the most part they’re doing well.”
“You must bring them next time. We can keep Charley from chasing them if they think she’s too much.”
“Sounds like a great idea. Vivian would like that.” Mike looked up at the house. “I wonder if she’s giving poor Tierney the third degree.”
“Like you did with me?” Giselle said, raising her eyebrows deliberately.
“Ha. Well, yeah, kind of.” Mike began to laugh. “Busted, huh?”
“I’ll say.” Giselle nudged Mike in a friendly way. “Should we go rescue Tierney before she decides her job doesn’t have enough perks?”
“Not a chance. Tierney won’t quit that easily. Even Vivian could ‘see’ the main reason for that.” Mike winked at her and laughed.
Giselle covered her eyes with her hand. “A mad dog, a high-maintenance cat, and crazy friends. Must be bad karma reasserting itself.”
Mike only kept laughing as they walked to rejoin the other two women.
* * *
Tierney put the salmon on the griddle, checked on the potato salad, and then fetched the pitchers of iced tea and lemon water from the fridge. Perhaps if she stayed busy enough, she could dodge the third degree. Sure, Vivian was lovely, but she was also curious. Curious, and protective of Giselle, no doubt. Tierney was certain that she would be out, headfirst, if Vivian thought she was taking advantage of her friend.
“Did Giselle corner you in there, my dear? I hope you had agreed to sing beforehand?” Vivian sat at the small breakfast-nook table, her head accurately following Tierney as she readied their dinner.
“Sure. Of course. I didn’t mind.” Tierney wasn’t entirely certain how she felt about singing in front of professional performers. And not just your average local talent, but the Vivian Harding. “I just hope you weren’t taken aback. I mean, it’s not easy to have to find something nice to say, just to avoid hurting someone’s feelings.”
“Excuse me?” Vivian blinked. “Are you saying you think Mike and I praised you so you, or Giselle, wouldn’t feel bad? When it comes to our career, we don’t risk it by being afraid of rubbing someone the wrong way. Granted, I believe in letting people down gently if they’re not good enough, for whatever reason. No need to hit them over the head.” Vivian smiled wryly. “A tactic I wish some of my former voice coaches and directors had adopted. You, my dear, have a remarkable voice and the incredible gift of writing lyrics that fit the melody. Clearly you haven’t yet been given the chance to break into the industry—if that’s what you want.”
Tierney knew she was standing there openmouthed. And she wasn’t sure what she wanted, not really. “For now, I want to help Giselle,” she said quietly. “No matter what, she needs me until this Frances comes back—if she does.”
“As far as I understand, if she comes back, it won’t happen very soon. But,” Vivian said thoughtfully, “are you saying you’re not aiming for a career in the music industry?”
Sitting down on the chair opposite Vivian, merely because her knees were growing increasingly weaker, Tierney gripped the top with cold hands. “Until now, I always assumed I’d need connections to have even a remote chance. I write lyrics and poetry because it keeps me sane. Well, more or less.” Snorting, Tierney clasped her hands. “I’m really as far down the social ladder as anyone can be. Who would listen to my words?”
Vivian nodded slowly. “I understand what you’re saying, but clearly Giselle listened and found you worth paying attention to. Worthy enough for her to coax you into singing for us.”
“So, not a commonplace occurrence?” Tierney briefly stopped breathing.
“Not all. Unprecedented, in fact. I’ve never heard her sound this enthralled with anyone outside her small circle of friends and colleagues.”
Her cheeks warming now, Tierney rose to turn over the pieces of salmon. “Really?”
“Really.”
Pivoting, Tierney scrutinized Vivian, seeing nothing but complete straightforwardness. She had to change the subject before she self-combusted, so she tossed out the first question that came to mind. “How did you and Mike meet?”
Vivian chuckled. “Had enough, dear?” Then her expression changed into something soft and warm. “Mike is my knight in shining armor,” she said, her voice low and intense. “I walked into her coffeehouse on the marina one day, shortly after finding out I was going blind. She was there, behind the counter, looking young, strong, and with a kind of sorrow about her that echoed my own. I quickly found out she had a strong protective side, and soon she kept showing up when I needed her the most. Fortunately, she seemed to want and need me just as much.”
“She seems to have the protective side figured out.” Tierney tried to find the words for what she meant to ask. “I mean, she helps you, but she seems to do it in a way that doesn’t turn her into a caregiver. I’m not sure I’m making sense.”
“But you are.” A gentle smiled passed over Vivian’s elegant features. She wore bright-red lipstick and her blond hair in a rolled-up braid. “Mike is my equal in every sense of the word, but it took me a while to make her see that. And to be totally honest, she had to persuade me about the age difference.” Tilting her head, Vivian pursed her lips. “Are you asking me this as Giselle’s assistant or as…well, from another perspective?”
Tierney grew cold. How could she be so careless? Vivian’s kindness had lulled her into feeling safe about sharing almost anything, but she had to remember that this woman was Giselle’s friend. Not hers. “Her assistant. Naturally. I’m not sure what other capacity I could possibly have here.”
“Of course.” Vivian reached out to Tierney. “Now I’m the one putting you on the spot. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come across like that—all busybody.”
Unable to resist the sincerity and, yes, honest charm Vivian exuded, Tierney took the proffered hand. “No need to apologize. I’ve often been told I’m overly sensitive.” Mostly by foster parents who seemed amazed their foster child didn’t take being locked in the basement as punishment very well.
“No such thing. Either a person is sensitive, or they aren’t. In my opinion, we fluctuate depending on our situation in life. I get the feeling your childhood wasn’t all that easy.” Vivian squeezed Tierney�
�s hand lightly.
“No. It wasn’t. But I was often my own worst enemy, and I paid the price for it a few times.”
“I would like to hear about that one day, if you feel like sharing. You interest me, and I know Mike feels the same way. She says you feel like a kindred spirit, and since her childhood was no picnic either…perhaps she’s right.” Pulling her hand back, Vivian changed the subject. “Food smells divine. Salmon?”
“Shi—shoot.” Tierney flew off the chair and headed over to the stove. She pulled off the griddle pan and placed the salmon on warmed plates. “I think we need to get the others and—”
“No need. We’re here,” Mike said from the doorway to the foyer. “The great smell made it easy to find you. Where are we eating? I can help you, Tierney.”
“Thanks. We’ve set the table in the conservatory.” Tierney handed Mike the two tall pitchers. “They’re heavy.”
“Hey! What do I look like? Boiled pasta?” Mike grinned. “You okay, Vivi?”
“I can find my way unless Giselle suddenly rearranged her furniture.” Vivian stood. “I won’t offer to carry anything though.” Vivian laughed.
They moved into the white and blue conservatory. Surrounded by glass on three sides, it was like sitting outdoors, but in more comfort. Tierney had picked a few wildflowers and placed them in a small vase as a humble centerpiece.
“So pretty,” Mike said and then described the table to Vivian.
“It’s Tierney’s doing, mostly.” Giselle turned toward the table but then stopped and scanned it. “Wait. We’re missing one plate.”
“Yes, we are.” Mike looked over Vivian’s head at Tierney.
“Tierney?” Giselle said, frowning.”
“I set the table for you and your guests, Giselle. That makes three.” Not sure what she’d done wrong, Tierney returned Mike’s glance.
“Go get a plate for yourself. Of course you’re eating with us.” Scowling, Giselle motioned for Tierney to hurry.
When Tierney returned holding a plate, a glass, and utensils, Giselle pointed to the chair next to her. “Please have a seat.”
Tierney watched Vivian and Mike sitting together and moaned inwardly. It was one thing to sit across from someone at a breakfast table, but this…Tierney yanked out the chair and sat down. She accidentally kicked the table leg, making the plates jump. “Oh, God. Sorry. I have big feet.” Tierney felt her cheeks color.
“No, you don’t.” Mike winked.
Giselle reached for her napkin and draped it over her lap. “This looks wonderful. Thank you for cooking, Tierney. That saved me a lot of time. And I rather dislike having to resort to caterers.”
“Unless it’s something you order off the menu from the Sea Stone Café,” Mike said. “And have it delivered by yours truly.”
“Of course.” Giselle looked like she was relaxing more and more.
“You’re still actively managing your coffeehouse?” Tierney asked, curious.
“Only when we’re in town. I have a great manager who takes care of things when we’re in the studio or on tour.” Mike arranged the food on Vivian’s plate and murmured something in her ear. Vivian nodded and began eating as if nothing was wrong with her eyes at all.
“Speaking of that. Do you have a date for when you go in to the studio next time? I know you said something about this fall.” Giselle cut through the salmon, and to Tierney’s relief, the inside boasted the perfect, slightly pink color.
“Actually, we’ll start in two weeks,” Mike said. “We have four tracks ready to be cut. You don’t have to stress yourself out, though. We’re taking a long-overdue vacation, Vivian and I, after that. When we get back, in late September, we’ll start recording your songs.”
“I’ll send them to you one by one so you can have your lyricist—”
“That’s just it,” Mike said. She made an apologetic gesture for interrupting. “I want to take Tierney’s lyrics to Manon and Eryn and have them listen. If they like them as much as Vivi and I do, perhaps we’ll commission more.” She looked over at Tierney. “What do you think? Interested?”
Tierney felt trapped by her rampaging emotions. To have established artists interested in her texts was amazing, but what if accepting such a chance pulled her away from Giselle, who needed her? “I, uh…It’s flattering, but—”
“Don’t turn them down,” Giselle said. She gave Tierney a pointed look. “If the rest of your lyrics are good enough, this could become your stepping stone to a better future. After all, your employment here is temporary.”
The thud in the pit of her stomach had to be her heart breaking from its moorings. Rapidly, her untethered heart fluttered like a fish pulled up on the dock. “But…”
“Tierney.” Giselle’s voice held some caution but mainly sounded kind.
Slowly slumping against the backrest of the wicker chair, Tierney held on so hard to her utensils, her knuckles whitened. “So, late September. Sounds fantastic. Count me in.” This would give her about eight weeks with Giselle.
Trying not to devour Giselle with her eyes, Tierney assumed her trademark broad, sparkling smile even as a tiny, unwelcome voice inside her head kept repeating, “Eight weeks to last you a lifetime.”
Chapter Twelve
Exhausted after a day of music mixed with too much introspection, Giselle stretched her arms toward the ceiling. Her muscles ached, especially after playing one of the more passionate and up-tempo pieces. A hot shower had helped some, but sitting at her vanity, treating her face and décolleté with her Exquisite moisturizer, Giselle examined her face closely. What did Tierney see when she looked at her? Granted, the light makeup she wore every day out of habit helped her look more awake. Younger, in a sense. Not that it mattered. It never had. Perhaps she should be grateful she had been involved with a few people before the agoraphobia and anxiety disorder had placed her in a lifelong harness that pulled her away from…from civilization, to be blunt.
She wasn’t being overly dramatic, even if a few people had suggested that. They weren’t in her life anymore, as their negativity and general shaming weren’t doing her any good. Instead, looking back at the girls she’d flirted with and come close to having a physical relationship with, Giselle found it bittersweet as well as fortunate to have lived through that period of her life at all, while she still had the chance.
Now, at thirty-eight, some days she felt much older. Compared to Tierney, who was, what—in her mid or late twenties—she felt ancient. As exuberant as Tierney was on the surface, she had an old-soul darkness sometimes. She wanted to ask Tierney what her past had been like. It surprised Giselle how much she wanted to know every little detail about Tierney. What had happened to her when she was very young to have her end up in the system? No matter what it was, it hadn’t seemed to snuff out her spark. Not the spark that looked fake and too glittery, but that fire in Tierney that allowed her to train Charley—and yes, reach Giselle when anyone else would’ve been hard-pressed to do so. It was as mindboggling as it was puzzling.
Giselle wasn’t so naive that she thought another person could ever cure her of her deep-rooted anxiety, but she had to concede that Tierney got under her skin like nobody else had ever done. Yes, her friends, whom she mostly knew through her line of work, had proved to be very understanding and accommodating. Tierney, though, had a way of gently coaxing her, and God knew this woman was persuasive.
Pulling off her robe, Giselle reached for a new nightgown, a cobalt-blue satin slip that reached her mid-thigh. After brushing her hair, she rubbed lotion on her hands, extending the fingers and balling them into fists repeatedly. Her first piano teacher had instilled this habit in her from an early age. Always tend to your hands, as they are your prize possession. It was true, but at age six, she’d found the advice hilarious.
She was about to slip into bed when she stopped, trying to remember if she’d made sure Tierney set the alarm before she returned to the guesthouse. Padding out into the hallway on bare feet, Giselle read the
setting on the console next to the front door. Locked and alarm set. Of course. Tierney was conscientious and careful.
A knock on the door made her jump. She pressed a button on the alarm console, and a video feed of the person outside her door came into view on the small screen. Tierney. Giselle opened the door, glaring at her late visitor.
“What on earth are you doing here at this hour?” She put her left hand on her hip.
“I’m so sorry for disturbing you, but it’s an emergency. I need to borrow your phone charger. Mine just won’t work. It must be broken. I was in the middle of a call and—”
“And this call can’t wait until tomorrow?” Giselle asked, knowing full well she sounded disdainful.
“No. No, it can’t. If it could, I would never disturb you at this hour. Please, Giselle. I think I saw you have an iPhone. My other cord doesn’t fit.” Looking panicky now, Tierney shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
“All right.” Giselle motioned for Tierney to step inside. Like herself, Tierney was dressed in sleepwear, in Tierney’s case a tank top and boxers. Tierney stared at Giselle as if she’d turned blue all over—wait, blue. Realizing she was wearing only her satin nightgown, Giselle hurried to the bathroom and grabbed her robe, pulling it on. Grabbing her phone charger, she went back to Tierney and handed her the cord, which attached to a plug. “Here you go. You can give it back to me in the morning.”
“There isn’t time.” Tierney sobbed and pushed the cord into the bottom of her phone and the plug into the closest socket. She sank down, her back against the wall. “Please, hurry.” She closed her eyes, her face pale and her lips tense.
Uncertain what to do, let alone say, Giselle followed her intuition and sat down in one of the small armchairs next to Tierney. Tierney flinched and punched in a number with trembling fingers. “Pick up, kiddo. Please.”