Making a Comeback Read online

  “Don’t.” She knew what was coming.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about Teri?”

  “It wasn’t my place.”

  “Just because you ferociously guard every detail of your life doesn’t mean everyone does. I feel bad it came out like that. She seemed to drink more afterward.”

  Jac said nothing because there was nothing to say.

  “And you knew about her band.”

  “Yes.” She didn’t tell Peg it was the second time Liz had lost her chance at fame because of Teri. Losing everything—the dark side of love.

  “You didn’t see how defeated she looked when she talked about it.”

  As if she needed to see what was clear in Liz’s voice—sadness, loss, fear.

  “Can’t you help her?”

  “A review of a two-year-old album won’t do her any good.”

  “Don’t play dumb with me. Can you at least help her with her CD? It might give her the encouragement she needs to keep going.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “Why don’t you?”

  She opened her front door. This conversation needed to end. “I don’t get involved with—”

  “Anyone. I know.” Peg walked away and then her footsteps stopped. “Don’t you miss it?” Peg’s voice held nostalgia she didn’t want to hear.

  Memories followed Jac to the hot tub, which did little to relax her back, and then to bed, where she dozed in a half sleep, fighting the tug back to a past she didn’t want to think about. Emotions surged and curled over each other like ocean currents—regret, guilt, and loss in an inseparable swirl. Max lay stretched out along her side, his undemanding presence comforting. No, she couldn’t afford to miss what was irrevocably gone.

  She finally got up and took a muscle relaxer. Getting involved was a bad idea. But…the chance to help a talented musician create an album that might be great. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to listen to the recorded material. If it was good…She tugged the down comforter up to her chin and clenched it. No. She did not get involved. Her life worked just fine, and opening it up for any reason wasn’t smart. It would only lead to disaster. It always did.

  Chapter Five

  Liz woke with a dull ache behind her eyes and a fuzzy taste in her mouth—revenge of the old cabs. And a cast on her left forearm. She pulled it from under the covers. Peggy had drawn colorful flowers on it, but Liz found nothing cheerful about this. Lucky, the doctor said. No displacement. It should heal on its own. Then she’d told him she played piano professionally. His expression changed and he’d suggested she see a specialist. She was too scared to ask him questions.

  She rubbed her finger where her wedding ring should be. It hadn’t been off since the day Teri put it on. She tried to bend her puffy fingers. Would she ever play again? She groaned and rolled over, burying her face in the pillow. How could she explain this to her dad? To Regan and Sammy? Maybe it was a blessing in disguise. She’d take a break for a while. Regan and Sammy should find another band. She’d tell them today at her dad’s birthday party. It would be better for everyone.

  Making coffee with one hand was a new adventure, but her fuzzy head demanded it. Cup in hand, she headed for the shower, a necessity just slightly behind coffee.

  She stopped halfway down the hall and looked at the cast. Darn. What had the doctor said? Wrap it in a plastic bag when she showered. She trudged back to the kitchen and tugged a Ziploc bag from a drawer. Not big enough. She pulled a trash bag from under the sink, slid it over the cast, and twisted the excess around it. All the rubber bands in the drawer were too small to fit over the cast. In frustration she took the bag off. A bath would have to do.

  As she waited for the tub to fill she wriggled out of her T-shirt. Hers, not Teri’s. She sat down hard on the edge of the tub, tears bubbling up along with the urge to laugh. How had what she slept in become so important?

  She lowered herself into the bath feeling numb and lost. Six months next Saturday—she knew without having to count, as if a calendar had been inserted into her brain labeled Before Teri and After Teri. When had counting the days gone to counting the weeks? And now she was up to months.

  She had to sit with her back lodged next to the faucet so she could rest her left arm on the edge. She closed her eyes, knees bent in the short tub. The last time she’d taken a bath, it had been with Teri resting back against her, the week before she died.

  She replayed the moment they knew they wouldn’t win the battle with the leukemia this time. For reasons the doctors couldn’t explain, Teri’s body wasn’t responding to the drugs. It had been late at night, and the hospital had moved into its night sounds. Crawling into the bed, she’d cradled Teri, stroking through her hair, desperate to give comfort.

  “Water?” Teri croaked.

  Liz held the straw to Teri’s mouth as she sipped and then spread lip balm over Teri’s lips.

  “Promise me something.” Teri’s voice was thick and slow.

  “Anything.” She kissed Teri’s head, damp with sweat from the fever.

  “Promise you’ll go on with your life.” And then in barely a whisper she said, “I’m not going to make it this time.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes and she hugged Teri tight as if she could stop time by the sheer force of her will and her love.

  Teri stroked her forearm. “I fell in love with you in the space of a heartbeat. Loved you every moment since. If I can’t have a long life, I’ve had a happy one. Because of you, baby.”

  Liz could barely swallow around the lump in her throat as she gave Teri more water.

  “Remember the happy times. Let yourself make new happy memories.”

  No. She wouldn’t have any happy times without Teri.

  “Promise you’ll keep playing.”

  She wouldn’t promise that. Not that. Music without Teri? Teri was the music. Unable to hold back sobs, she’d buried her face in Teri’s hair, run her fingers through it, kissed Teri desperately on her forehead, on her cheek, and then on her mouth, silencing words she couldn’t bear to hear.

  The next day she’d taken Teri home and called hospice. They’d had a few good weeks, laughing together, talking, and even making love. Friends and family had rallied around them, but all the love in the world hadn’t stopped the inevitable. She’d died in Liz’s arms in the quiet of the early fall morning.

  “I can’t do it. Not without you.” Holding her arm up, she slid down until her head was underwater, squeezing her eyes shut, seeking comfort in the warm water. Had her grandma cried in this tub for her lost love? Grandpa had died in his sixties, and she’d lived almost twenty years without him. She had no idea how to live without Teri. She got out of the tub. She’d never make it through her dad’s birthday party if she didn’t pull herself together. The doorbell rang as she tugged on a robe.

  “You forgot this last night.” Peggy had a foil-wrapped plate in her hand. “How’s the wrist?”

  “Broken,” she said humorlessly.

  “I feel awful about it.”

  “Not your fault. Let me get dressed. There’s coffee.” Of course she’d made enough for two again.

  “One-handed isn’t fun,” Liz said, joining Peggy at the ancient table on the patio, forcing her arm through a sweatshirt sleeve. She swallowed a pain pill with a sip of coffee and chased it with a big bite of cake.

  “We definitely need to do something with this garden,” Peggy said.

  She liked the way Peggy said “we.” She tried to ignore the throbbing in her wrist as Peggy talked about her kids—Jack, a freshman in high school and obsessed with skateboarding. Susanne, a junior and aspiring actress.

  When cake and coffee were gone, Peggy carried dishes to the kitchen. “Shall I wash these for you?”

  “No. If I’m going to be one-armed for a while, I might as well start practicing.”

  Peggy went to stand behind the piano, looking out the corner windows to the garden. “I can’t believe I’m back in this house.” She turned one of the cranberry-
glass bowls on the shelf. “I’d like us to be friends.”

  “Me, too. I’d like to be friends with Jac, but I think I annoy her.”

  “I annoy her. Don’t take it seriously. You two have a lot in common. You really should ask her to help you with the CD.”

  “I might not do it at all. I decided this morning not to keep the band together.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Peggy looked like she wanted to say more. Finally she shook her head.

  She walked Peggy to the door and then went back to the piano and played the right-hand part to the first song she’d written for Teri. It was sweet and full of their new love. Jac would say it was immature. She liked Jac’s decisive opinions.

  Notes ran through her head and she plunked them one-handed. Another bit of the melody she’d heard Friday. Some songs came all at once. She suspected this one would take its time.

  Chapter Six

  Liz tried to dampen her irritation with Hannah as she drove the two miles from her condo to her dad’s house through the downtown San Jose neighborhood that was a mix of pre-World War II homes and small businesses. She’d stopped at home to grab a blazer that would fit over the cast. Messy didn’t even begin to describe the state of the condo.

  She pulled to the curb in front of her dad’s house on the tree-lined street. The two-story house with the wide front porch had recently been repainted white with black trim, the only colors it had ever been. She was careful not to park under the canopy of the mulberry tree. Her mom hated the messy street tree whose berries stained sidewalks and cars purple in the spring.

  She let the CD finish, devouring the memories of the last night of their East Coast tour. A hot Sunday in July. The stunning boutique hotel on Park Avenue they’d stayed in that featured one of the top jazz clubs in New York. The accommodating staff that made them feel pampered.

  Four of the most amazing nights she’d ever experienced as a musician—playing out of their minds, high on adrenaline and hopes for their future.

  One of the best weeks of her life—sleeping late, making love, exploring the city new to her. They’d gone to three shows at the Village Vanguard jazz club, promising each other they’d perform there someday. She’d always have those memories. Private memories she wouldn’t have to share with the world on an album.

  The pill she’d taken at home was kicking in, and the pain that throbbed in time with her pulse was manageable. No one used the front door, so she walked to the backyard along the walkway that ran between the house and detached garage that had been soundproofed and converted into a music room before she was born. She tugged on the sleeve of the loose-fitting out-of-style blazer she’d pulled from the back of her closet. By the time she reached the back door that opened into the kitchen, she’d kicked herself into a good mood. Her dad’s birthday deserved her best showing. The smell of tomatoes and garlic greeted her when she stepped into the kitchen.

  Her brother, Kevin, looked up from opening a bottle of wine and tapped his watch. Four years older, he’d added pounds to his linebacker build and more gray to the thick chestnut hair they’d all been blessed with, but he was still handsome. “Please tell me you remembered the painting.”

  “In the car.” She held up her keys. “You’ll have to get it.”

  His eyes widened when he saw the cast. “What did you do?”

  “Tripped at Grandma’s.” She wasn’t going to tell them she’d gotten drunk and face-planted in the street. She tossed the keys to Kevin, who took a long swallow of wine and went out the way she’d come in.

  Rebecca looked up from stirring a pan of meat sauce at the six-burner stove. She wore an apron over jeans and a sweater in shades that complemented her red hair. “Oh, sweetie, does it hurt?” She was the longtime chef at her dad’s restaurant and practically part of the family.

  Liz nodded and softened into Rebecca’s hug. She gave the best hugs. “Where’s Dad?”

  “In the music room with the boys.”

  Liz needed to tell her dad she’d decided not to keep the band together before Regan and Sammy arrived. He knew what it was like to lose one’s wife. He’d be disappointed, but he’d understand.

  Oscar, a huge orange tabby cat, scooted into the music room when she opened the door. The once-scrawny stray, adopted by her dad years ago, considered the space his personal apartment. He jumped onto his usual spot on the back of the couch as if he were the audience.

  Her dad was sitting on his stool, front and center between the baby-grand piano in one corner and Teri’s drum kit across from it. Foot hooked on the rung, he was strumming his Gibson Super 400 guitar. He broke into a huge grin when he saw her. Robbie, Kevin’s oldest son, was sitting on a shorter stool, mimicking her dad’s posture. He was playing his new Gibson guitar and not doing a bad job of it. His younger brother, Kevin, Jr., was standing behind the drums, slapping the snares. Teri had always set him on her lap and let him play with her. Liz kept her arm behind her back until they finished.

  “Sunshine,” her dad said. “Join us.”

  She held out her arm and slid the blazer sleeve up to reveal more of the cast.

  His smile disappeared and his eyebrows pulled together as he stared at the cast. “What happened?” He set the guitar in the rack along the wall with the other dozen guitars in his collection.

  “Tripped. Colles’ fracture.”

  “Collies,” her nephews said in unison as they rushed toward her. “Like the dog?” the older one asked.

  “Not quite,” she said as they stroked the cast as if petting it.

  “Can I draw on it?” her younger nephew asked.

  “Go find your dad, boys.” He walked them to the door.

  She sat on the old plaid couch with the squishy springs, cradling the cast in her lap. She flexed her fingers. In some scary way she felt compelled to make sure they kept working. The knuckles were more swollen than this morning, but the doctor said she’d have a lot of swelling at first.

  “This isn’t good.” He sat next to her, staring at the cast. “We need to get you to a specialist right away. I’ll make some calls first thing in the morning. This is your career.” He walked back to his stool, hands in his pockets.

  “I know.”

  He looked like he was thinking and then said, “Seven months until the first date on your fall tour.”

  She forced herself to meet his gaze. “It would be best to let Regan and Sammy move on. Next year, after everything calms down, I can form a new group.”

  His jaw tightened and he ran a hand through his thinning hair, gray at the temples. “You don’t have that kind of time. This band. This year. It’s your last shot to make it big.”

  She wanted to argue. She didn’t. He was right. The music industry was fickle and she’d already had two opportunities. It should be simple—hire a new drummer and keep going. Nothing was simple without Teri. “It’s not fair to keep them hanging.”

  “I love them like they were my own kids, but they owe you. They’ll wait.”

  Again she wanted to argue, but again he was right. She and Teri had discovered the twins in a coffeehouse, playing the heck out of an old blues standard. Their raw talent was breathtaking. Impressed by what they’d heard, they offered the twins the opportunity to become part of their new quartet. It seemed symbolic—their own lives were starting from scratch after Teri’s battle with leukemia. Why not do the same with a band? It had worked and they’d been so close to achieving their dream. Again. “Maybe I shouldn’t start another band. Cassie has always said I could join—”

  “Absolutely not.” He crossed his arms. “You’re going to make it big with your own band. That’s what we’ve worked for.”

  “I can’t do it alone.”

  He sat next to her again and put his arm across her shoulder. His Old Spice was familiar and comforting, as was the soft knit of the long-sleeved Polo shirts he often wore. “You’re not alone. I won’t let you lose your dream.”

  “It hurts too much without her.”

>   “It gets easier. You’ll be glad you stuck with it. We’ll focus on the album. Without shows, it’s imperative we give your fans something to keep their interest.”

  “I’m still picking the songs.”

  “Closing night was your best show. We can use it for the album.”

  “I want to pick the best versions out of all the sets.” The album had to be perfect.

  “We need momentum, sunshine.”

  His favorite word. How did you get momentum from a dead stop?

  “It’s been long enough. You can’t let adversity get you down.”

  “I’ll get them picked this week. I promise.” Eighty-one songs to choose from. The enormity of it made her dizzy.

  “That album has to carry us until your fall tour.”

  “I know, Dad.”

  “We’ll get through this.” He squeezed her shoulder and headed toward the door. “I’m going to pop over and check on the restaurant. We’ll talk about this later.” The restaurant he’d owned for over thirty years was across the street and the jazz club next door to it.

  Liz looked around the room where she’d spent so much of her life. Dark paneling. Fluorescent lights overhead. Brown carpeting worn unevenly from where people stood or sat as they played. Shelves stacked with sheet music. Stools of varying heights and some folding chairs. Coat rack by the door. Not fancy, but oh…the music that had been created here. Surrounded by all the instruments, all the history, all the dreams born here, she felt very lost. She stroked Oscar for the three seconds he’d allow, the tip of his tail twitching.

  Getting up, she went to Teri’s drum kit and sat on the wooden stool. She toed her feet to the rung. “I broke my wrist.” She tapped her fingers on the floor tom, then across the hanging toms to the snare drum. How could she face someone else sitting here? Not Teri’s expressive brown eyes that anchored her. Not Teri’s dimpled grin that never faded when she was behind her beloved drums. “I can’t do it, sweetie. I can’t keep my promise. I’m sorry.” She fled the room that didn’t feel safe anymore. She’d have to convince her dad that letting Regan and Sammy move on was best. When she had her emotions under control, she returned to the kitchen, as much the hub of family gatherings as the music room.