Making a Comeback Read online

  “Yes, I know there used to be feeders and a birdbath.” The once-beautiful garden had been reduced to just a few brave roses that survived the long absences between family visits. Grandma had poured herself into the garden after Grandpa died. Dad had opened the jazz club after her mom’s death. What was her widowhood project going to be? The dark thought sent her to the kitchen for coffee.

  She measured water for the Cuisinart and then poured half of it out. She was still making coffee for two. Opening the cabinet, she remembered she’d used the last of the coffee yesterday. She’d wait until she was home. Darn it. She couldn’t go home this morning. No way was she walking in on Hannah and Ms. One Night Stand.

  She went to the baby-grand piano in the corner of the living room. The ebony-finished Steinway was her grandma’s pride and joy, an extravagant wedding present from Grandpa. She’d left it to Liz but the condo was too small for it. She and Teri had hoped to buy their own home next year if the band took off. She lifted the keyboard lid and started “Spring Time,” the first piece she’d composed for the quartet she and Teri started while still at UOP. The first time she’d played it since Teri’s death. Her fingers slowed and then stopped under the weight of all the memories.

  Shutting the keyboard lid, she stared out the floor-to-ceiling corner windows to the garden. Glass shelves across the windows held her grandma’s cherished cranberry-glass collection. As a child she’d been entranced by the ruby color that glowed when the sun came through the windows, sometimes dotting the piano with red light. So many hours she’d spent at this piano under her grandma’s tutelage. This house held so many happy memories of her childhood. Coming over for a few days had been a good idea. For ten years she’d arranged her teaching schedule at San Jose State and her private lessons so she was free Thursdays through Sundays. Plenty of time for composing and performing. Now the weekends loomed long and lonely. Maybe she’d start spending them over here.

  Twenty minutes later, dressed in yesterday’s jeans and her last clean T-shirt, she closed the front door. She’d go to town for coffee and do some shopping. A new outfit for her dad’s party tomorrow might help her look forward to it. As she walked through the neighborhood of unique homes, most of them mere cottages that contributed to Carmel’s charm, her mind kept wandering back to Teri. She searched for a happy memory to lift her spirits, smiling when her thoughts landed on the first time she saw Teri.

  Sitting in the music-theory class on her first day at UOP, Liz had looked up to see a tall woman swiping a chunk of dark hair off her forehead as she stood in the doorway. She’d smiled that dimpled smile and taken the seat next to Liz, chatting in the easy way she had. Within weeks they were inseparable friends. And then one night everything had changed. After a dorm party she’d insisted Teri stay the night in her room rather than drive home. Her skin tingled from the memory, and her heart beat with anticipation. Did you ever forget your first time?

  They’d tumbled onto her twin bed, Teri in Liz’s T-shirt, too small for her. When she’d teased Teri about the difference in their cup size, Teri had pinned her and rubbed her breasts over Liz’s chest, saying maybe some of hers would rub off on Liz. The joking had stopped when their nipples hardened. She’d tried to squirm away, embarrassed by her arousal. In an instant Teri’s eyes had switched from confusion to desire, roaming her face before she’d leaned down to kiss her. The kiss that had changed everything.

  They’d learned what to do slowly, tenderly, shyly at first. In the aftermath of her first orgasm with another person, floating in the warm enclosure of Teri’s arms, something inside told her this was where she belonged. She’d blurted out, “I love you.” A moment of panic had followed, but when Teri said the words back to her she’d thought her heart would fly out of her chest. They’d spent the rest of the night learning each other’s bodies in that way that only happens once. Her first and only love. Like her grandma. Like her dad. Like Kevin. She’d found her one love at a young age. And lost her fourteen years later.

  She waited for tears, but they didn’t come. Another odd quirk of the grief that was quicksand one minute and completely gone the next. Notes trickled across her mind as she walked past the Tuck Box, her grandma’s favorite breakfast place. She’d love a scone with their trademark orange marmalade, but she hated feeling conspicuous eating in restaurants alone. Maybe someday she’d have Jac’s ease. The melody persisted and she hummed it. It sounded like more of the one from yesterday.

  She bought coffee and wandered the downtown streets, popping in and out of galleries, soothed by Carmel’s casual beauty and relaxed atmosphere. Every patch of ground and planter box was filled with plants and colorful flowers her grandma would have known the names of. Bowls of water sat outside doorways for the dogs that were welcome to accompany their owners into shops and restaurants. It was impossible not to fall into the ambience where everyone was friendly and in no hurry.

  In Carmel Plaza she went into her favorite clothing store. Half an hour later she left carrying a bag containing her clothes, while she wore jeans a size smaller, a cheerful orange print blouse, and a yellow cashmere sweater too soft to resist tied around her shoulders. Realizing she was hungry again, she detoured back down Mission Street to Nielsen’s Deli. It was too beautiful a day to leave yet, and she could manage a sandwich by herself in Devendorf Park.

  *

  Jac leaned back against the park bench, stretched her legs out, and rolled up her sleeves. Her back was loose from the walk, and the sun was too warm and welcome after days of rain to pass up a few minutes’ relaxation before heading home. Conversations faded in and out as people passed on the sidewalk behind her. The man with the Aussie who chased Frisbees was clapping and encouraging his dog from the far side of the park. “Leave it,” she said to Max when his body tensed against her leg. “We’ll play fetch at home.”

  “Okay if I share your bench? It’s Liz from yesterday.”

  She stifled a groan as she scooted over. “I thought you were going home.”

  “Changed my mind. How’s your forehead?” Liz set bags on the ground and something on the bench between them.

  “Fine.” She turned her head away from Liz in case she had any ideas about inspecting it. It hurt, and she hoped it didn’t leave a scar.

  “I’m so sorry I knocked you over. Does Max chase Frisbees like that dog? Oh, darn. I did it again. There’s—”

  “I know what chasing a Frisbee looks like.” Blind wasn’t the same as ignorant. Or stupid. Or deaf. Or uneducated. Or any of a dozen other assumptions people made about her. Last Sunday on the beach some idiot had asked if she knew what color her dog was.

  “I don’t mean to say dumb things.” Liz’s voice was kind and mercifully absent any trace of pity. “Isn’t this sun glorious?”

  “Quite.” Jac weighed the pleasure of sitting in the sun against the annoyance of company.

  “Would you like to share my lunch?” Liz opened the bag on the bench.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Turkey and avocado from Nielsen’s.”

  “I had lunch.”

  “Bistro?”

  “Yes.” Why was talking so important to most people? She started to get up. She’d enjoy the sun on Peg’s patio. Alone.

  “I wanted to go there, but I hate eating alone.”

  Jac sat back and crossed her arms. Apparently she was now the solution to that problem. Ten minutes, then she was leaving no matter what. At least Liz had a pleasant voice—medium rhythm, not squeaky or too loud.

  “I spent last night listening to Grandma’s old Brubeck and Ellington records. I also listened to our CD and you’re right. It does have an immature quality.” Paper crunched as Liz unwrapped her sandwich.

  “I didn’t say you weren’t good.” A moment of fondness for Liz infiltrated her. Many musicians would have discounted her opinion. “There’s great musicianship. You hadn’t gelled as a group yet, and the album seemed a bit premature.”

  “We were in a hurry to get it out.” Liz�
�s voice flattened.

  That made sense. They would have been eager to regain the momentum their first band had. “Congratulations on your tour.”

  “How did you know?” Liz opened a tab, presumably on a soda can.

  “I follow jazz.” Impressive reviews. Too bad Liz had lost out again on the brink of major success. She couldn’t help feeling sympathy for Liz’s circumstances. Making a comeback would be a long, hard road. “Newport Jazz Festival. Boston. New York. Not easy places to perform.”

  “You’re telling me. It’s great because the audiences are savvy but—”

  “Hard because you’re always having to prove yourself.”

  “Yes. We recorded some shows last summer for a live album,” Liz said as she chewed.

  “That’s a risky move.”

  “Why?”

  “You don’t have a big-enough repertoire of studio recordings.” She pinched the edge of the bench. She’d never been able to keep her opinions to herself.

  “And?”

  “Most listeners prefer the polish of studio recordings.” Jac didn’t filter the sarcasm out of her voice. So many were over-manufactured, even faked with pitch correction. “When they think they know you and can ‘air guitar,’” she punctuated with finger quotes, “then you shake them up with a live album where you give your songs a fresh twist, and they’re hooked again.”

  “I wanted to do another studio album,” Liz said under her breath, her tone flat again.

  “Where did you record?” Just an innocent question.

  “Hotel Kitano in New York.”

  “Outstanding club. How many nights?” Okay, she was a little curious.

  “Four. Two sets a night.”

  “That’s a lot.” And would mean a lot of songs to edit down for the album. Not an easy task.

  “That’s what I said.” That telltale flatness in Liz’s voice again.

  “Good acoustics?” Just curiosity.

  “Excellent.”

  “Good engineer and plenty of mics?”

  “Highly recommended and yes, twelve tracks.” Her voice was strained, as if talking about it hurt.

  “You did it right.” Jac felt bad for bringing up a touchy subject.

  “If only I could pick the songs,” Liz said, chewing again.

  “You haven’t started engineering it?” Usually live albums were released quickly. Was that because of Teri’s death? She clamped her mouth shut. Not her business.

  “I should let you listen to them.”

  It would be interesting, but she didn’t intend to encourage a friendship with Liz. When it seemed that Liz had finished eating she said, “I need to be going.” She took Max’s harness in her left hand and stood. “Enjoy your afternoon.”

  “I’ll come with you.” The sound of paper being crumpled as Liz apparently gathered up the remains of her lunch.

  Jac clenched her jaw. Of course Liz would. When they reached the sidewalk she told Max, “Right.”

  “How did you know you were at the sidewalk?” Liz was a step behind her.

  “Grass changed to pavement.”

  “Should I walk next to you or Max?” At least Liz had the courtesy to ask.

  “Me.”

  “Because?”

  “It gives him room to maneuver.” At the corner, Max stopped. “Forward,” she said after a moment and stepped into the street.

  “How did you know it was safe to cross?”

  “There are stop signs on all the corners, and car engines sound different idling.” And Max would stop her if it wasn’t, but she wasn’t going to explain intelligent disobedience or encourage a discussion on the mechanics of how she dealt with her blindness. When they’d crossed the street, she turned right again.

  “How does he know when to turn?”

  “He doesn’t.” Fighting the urge to lengthen her already long stride, Jac kept her focus on the sounds and smells around her, and on shifts in shade and sun and wind against her skin that oriented her. Forty-five minutes and she’d be blissfully alone, napping.

  “So you have to know where you’re going.”

  “He’s not a GPS.” She moved away from Liz and whatever she was carrying that kept bumping her arm.

  “Sorry. Dumb question.”

  More people were on the downtown streets today, but Max guided her with only an occasional slowing in their pace. A dog sometimes barked nearby, but he never wavered. Yes, he was the perfect partner, totally in sync with her. Liz was quiet for a block and she felt bad for her curtness. Grief wasn’t easy to deal with. “Tell me more about your favorite composers.” No, they were not going to be friends, but Liz was more interesting than most people.

  She stopped half an hour later at the corner of Liz’s block. “Your exit, I believe.”

  “I’ll come with you. I want to say hi to Peggy.”

  Of course. They’d be great friends. As they walked, Liz talked about the jazz composition class she taught, and Jac resisted the urge to join the conversation. If Liz discovered how much she knew about music, it would only encourage a friendship. Finally her shoes crunched on the gravel driveway and she let Max loose. Ten minutes. Nap.

  “Liz,” Peg said from the direction of her studio when they were on the patio. “What a nice surprise.”

  Max grunted from the direction of the lawn. What a goof.

  “Oh, my gosh, that’s my album.”

  “I realized after you left yesterday that we saw you at Kuumbwa last year. Join us for dinner tonight? Roger’s grilling.”

  “I was going home today, but I don’t have to,” Liz said. “What time?”

  “Why don’t you stay?” Peg suggested. “I need a break from this canvas that’s frustrating me. We can chat while I do some gardening, if you won’t be bored.”

  “Grandma loved to garden. I feel bad so little of it’s left.”

  “Are you planning to restore it?”

  “I don’t know anything about gardening. Maybe you can teach me.”

  Max nosed Jac’s leg, his signal he wanted to play fetch. She took the tennis ball from his mouth and threw it toward the lawn. Wiggling her fingers at Peg, she headed for her cottage. When Max didn’t bring the ball back, she called his name.

  “He’s up here,” Liz said and then laughed. “He wants me to throw his ball.”

  Traitor. “Treats,” Jac called when she got to her door. He was there in seconds. Cookies for Max, then brushing and examining him. Peg kept an eye on him, but no one knew him as intimately as she did. If there was a lump or tender spot she wanted to know immediately. Losing Max wasn’t her only fear, but it was her worst.

  After changing into chenille sweats, she settled on her back on the king-sized bed, a pillow under her knees. Max did his three circles and snugged against her side, his head resting on her hip. She worked her fingers through his fur. “She’s not our friend, buddy.” Liz and Peg would get along just fine, and she’d be off the hook.

  Chapter Four

  Liz brushed her hands together to get the dirt off. She ran her fingers up the stalk of one of the lavender plants she’d planted and held them to her face. She loved the smell. “That was fun.” And rewarding. A section of bare ground along the flagstone patio was now filled with plants. She liked Peggy’s garden. A series of large beds hugged the patio and continued along the walkway to Jac’s. Crammed with fragrant and colorful plants, it managed to feel intimate.

  “It’s my sanity,” Peggy said, as they carried trowels and empty plant containers to the side of the house. “I’m forced to give up artistic control. The plants have a mind of their own and never fail to remind me that any creative endeavor is a collaboration.”

  “Like composing. I think I know where a song’s headed, and then it goes in a completely different direction.” Teri had always laughed at her for arguing with the piano.

  “A lot like life.” Peggy set the trowels next to a flat of seedlings on a potting bench.

  “Yeah,” Liz said, fighting the tug towa
rd sadness. They soaped their hands at the sink next to the bench. “Grandma used to start seeds every spring. Is it hard?”

  “Easy as open the packet, sprinkle them on soil, cover with more soil, and water.”

  “I could do that.” She ran her palm over the tops of the tiny plants. They bent over but sprang right back up. Something new. Something easy.

  They walked back to the house and through French doors into a large space that was a dining room and kitchen separated by a bar top. A mahogany-finished baby-grand piano sat in the corner behind a long dining table. “This kitchen belongs in a magazine,” Liz said, admiring the cheery yellow counters and walls with accents of white and blue. Large windows afforded a view past the garden to the ocean.

  “Do you cook?”

  “My dad would disown us if we didn’t. He owns a restaurant. My sister’s a professional chef, and my brother manages Dad’s restaurant.”

  “I want to show you something.” Peggy set a plate of chips and what looked like homemade guacamole on the bar top and went to the piano. She held up yellowed sheet music. “It has your grandmother’s notes on fingering in the margins.”

  Debussy’s Petite Suite for four hands. The spidery handwriting she remembered well. “When I first learned this piece I had to sit on a pillow to reach the keys.”

  “Wow. Child prodigy if you were playing it that young.”

  She’d been called that before but never gave it any thought. She’d always known she was meant for the piano, like when you met someone you knew you’d be best friends with.

  “Shall we?” Peggy set the music on the rack and opened it to the third movement. “This is my favorite.”