Family by Design

by Callie Endicott

  “She hasn’t told me the details, but it sounds as if he’s doing okay. I insisted she take all the family time she needs, and also a long vacation. She hasn’t wanted to leave Livvie since my wife was diagnosed.”

  “I’m glad she’ll have a chance to relax.”

  Rachel knew how upset she’d be if her father or mother became seriously ill. They were in excellent health and their catering business was busier than ever, yet Simon’s wife had got sick in the prime of her life, so you never knew when something could happen.

  She talked to her parents and the rest of the family on a regular basis, and they all got together once a month for a meal. But maybe she should visit more often. She no longer lived in Southern California and was less than a half hour away if traffic cooperated. Her mom and dad might enjoy meeting for lunch or being taken out to dinner when they were available. And Grandma would love having her spend the night now and then.

  More than anything, Rachel didn’t want to end up regretting missed opportunities.

  CHAPTER TEN

  GEMMA RANG THE bell at the recording studio on Saturday, flustered from an argument with her mother, one that had delayed her departure for over twenty minutes. Helene felt she couldn’t manage alone and wanted her daughter to be with her 24/7 during Clyde’s recovery. It was nice to feel wanted, but he mostly needed rest.

  “I’m awfully sorry to be late,” Gemma told Matt when he unlocked the door. “It won’t happen again.”

  He shrugged. “No problem. Rachel mentioned your father was in the hospital. She was concerned you might be too busy to come in today.”

  “That was thoughtful of her, but I couldn’t miss the recording session,” Gemma said quickly. “Not under the circumstances. Everything is okay. Dad had an angioplasty and two stents inserted. He’s home now, recovering. His heart seems to have escaped damage, so the cardiologist is optimistic.”

  “And you’ve been helping.”

  “Trying to. It isn’t, um...easy with either of my parents.”

  She followed him to the control room. Unlike the previous Saturday, nobody else seemed to be working at the studio. Except for Pepper, of course, whose tail waved in a slow, graceful arc. She was a beauty, with long reddish-gold fur, a happy face and intelligent eyes. “You sound uptight about your folks,” Matt commented.

  “Dad doesn’t want to cooperate with the doctor’s orders, particularly about lifestyle changes. But it should be better when my oldest brother gets back. They always listen to Drake.”

  “Sounds familiar,” Matt said wryly. “Anything my oldest brother says seems to carry more authority, too. Even when he’s wrong. Frustrating, isn’t it?”

  Gemma blinked. It was good to be reminded that other families had similar problems to her own. “Yeah. Though in Drake’s defense, he’s also a cardiology resident at the U-Dub.” U-Dub was the nickname a lot of locals used to refer to the University of Washington.

  “You said he needs to get back. Where is he?”

  “In New Zealand. Hiking or backpacking or whatever they call it there. It’s a dream trip for him, but we haven’t been able to do more than leave messages on his cell phone. Surely he’ll have cell coverage soon. Mom usually talks to him a couple of times a week and she’s going through withdrawal.”

  Matt chuckled. “Cell coverage might not be the problem. If I was a cardiologist and had a chance to visit a place like New Zealand, I’d leave my phone at home. It must be a relief for him to get away from it all. Even from his parents.”

  Even from his parents?

  Gemma was so accustomed to her eldest brother being the favored child, she hadn’t considered how Drake felt about it. He’d often taken advantage of the situation as a kid, but he was an adult now, with heavy professional responsibilities. It was entirely possible that he needed a break, not only from his work, but from the demands their mother put on him.

  “I have to admit my folks can be overwhelming,” Gemma confessed. “They feel that being a nanny isn’t a worthy enough job for their daughter. They also don’t approve of me wanting a degree in childhood development. I spent two years in New York and only visited once—it just didn’t seem worth the drama.”

  “I wouldn’t waste energy trying to get their approval. They’re the ones with the problem.”

  “That’s easier said than done. You don’t know my mom and dad.”

  Matt leaned forward. “Yeah, but I know my parents. It drives them batty that I won’t let them take care of me. If Mom had her druthers, she’d be doing my laundry, shopping, cooking and who knows what else. She can’t accept that I’ve got Pepper and the access van and don’t need her looking after me. It’s her issue, not mine.”

  The conversation had been comfortable to that point, so it was almost a shock to be reminded that Matt was blind. He was so confident and capable that it was easy to forget.

  “Maybe she just needs to feel useful,” Gemma suggested. “My grandmother says that no longer being needed is one of the hardest parts of getting older. Not that my mom has that problem. She stays busy taking care of Dad.”

  * * *

  MATT HEARD A distinctly bitter note in Gemma’s tone that seemed out of character.

  “Has your father been sick for a long time?” he asked.

  “He...he drinks. A lot,” Gemma admitted flatly.

  Matt felt as if a light had turned on in his head.

  The previous week he’d offered to take her for pizza and a beer at a joint down the street from the studio as a thank-you for volunteering. She’d instantly refused and he’d figured it was her discomfort from being around someone who was blind, even though he’d made it clear the invitation wasn’t a date. But maybe the beer in the invitation was part of the reason. Some people couldn’t think about eating pizza without a cold brew, but that was the only reason he’d mentioned getting one.

  “I imagine alcohol could cause difficulties with him getting better.”

  “It already has. Mom actually sneaked a bottle of bourbon into the hospital for him. One of the nurses nearly had a meltdown when she found out. Dr. Roth wasn’t any happier, either, and it delayed the angiogram and angioplasty. Now Mom wants me to be the one to keep reminding Dad that he can’t have a drink.”

  Matt couldn’t imagine a mother trying to put her daughter in the role of enforcer because she couldn’t do it herself.

  “In that case, it’s time for your big brother to come home and take the heat,” he said.

  “I wish. Mom didn’t want me to come today,” she explained, “but Dad’s condition isn’t critical, he just has to take it easy and recover. Anyway, I shouldn’t have brought any of this up. I suppose I just needed to vent.”

  “Don’t apologize. I’m the one who introduced the subject.”

  Gemma laughed, a light, soft sound that Matt enjoyed. “That’s right. It’s all your fault.”

  “I have broad shoulders. But why don’t we get started on the recording? Afterward we could go for a cup of coffee from the Crystal Connection if you want to vent some more. It’ll be a good excuse to delay your return.”

  “I’d like that. I just wish they had a sitting area outside the shop.”

  Matt realized he’d unconsciously held his breath after issuing the invite to coffee, and now he let it out, annoyed with himself. It shouldn’t be important whether Gemma was willing to have coffee or pizza or anything else with him. He knew from experience that a number of women couldn’t handle being with a man who couldn’t see. It was a fact of life he’d accepted after a few difficult relationships.

  Difficult?

  He restrained a snort. With most women, things didn’t get far enough to be defined as a relationship, but a few had wanted to “take care” of him. He already had one overprotective mother, he didn’t need or want a girlfriend who acted the same way.

  “I don’t think
the Crystal Connection bothers with an outdoor patio because there’s an atrium in the center of the building,” he said. “You have to walk outside and around to the main entrance, but it’s open and has nice skylights.”

  “I, um, haven’t been in there. Just Moonlight Ventures, the Crystal Connection and your sound studio.”

  “The studio isn’t much to look at.” Matt chose his words deliberately. “By the way, I don’t expect people to modify their language around me. I still say things like ‘I’ll see you later.’ I may be blind, but those are generic terms. And in case you’re wondering, I know the atrium is a large, open space because of the way sound travels in there. I can also feel warmth on my skin coming through the skylights when it’s sunny.”

  “I didn’t... I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I just wanted to make myself clear so you wouldn’t be so uncomfortable.”

  * * *

  OH, YEAH, THAT’S going to help, Gemma thought.

  Granted, she was unsure how to act around Matt, but if she had any guts, she’d tell him she hadn’t modified the words she’d used, she was too busy figuring out other stuff. He seemed to have forgotten that a whole lot of communication was conveyed through visual clues...facial expression, hand gestures, body posture. She wanted to ask if he’d ever considered giving people time to adjust, but confrontation wasn’t in her skill set.

  “O-okay. I wouldn’t have said anything about the studio, I don’t know how these places are supposed to look.”

  Gemma deliberately skipped over part of the conversation, hoping they could go back to the camaraderie they’d shared when talking about older brothers being treated as though their word was gospel. Maybe all family members felt a loving exasperation toward one another, mixed with a few darker corners they preferred not talking about.

  “High-tech,” Matt muttered. “Studios are supposed to look high-tech.”

  “It does, and I can’t imagine knowing how to run all this equipment, or being able to match up the different tracks the way you do,” she said, still on edge. “Who knew it was that much work to produce a piece of music?”

  The previous week Matt had patiently spent time telling her how mixing worked and the way he could manipulate aspects of each track to get the desired effect.

  But they’d also talked about other things, like the books they enjoyed and the music they listened to. Maybe it had been easier because of all the bustle in the studio then.

  “I’ve had a lifelong fascination with acoustics,” Matt explained, “which makes part of the job easier. Go on into the live studio. I left the binder on the podium.”

  The book they were recording had been taken apart, with the pages enlarged, hole-punched and put into a binder.

  Gemma sagged in relief and immediately headed for the door.

  * * *

  MATT WISHED HE’D kept his big mouth shut.

  The previous week Gemma had done an incredible job cold reading the first four chapters. It wasn’t just her clear diction. She put warmth and energy into her voice, with a genuine, unselfconscious quality. The technicians installing the second studio had even stopped to listen until Matt’s assistant had pointedly cleared her throat and suggested they please get back to work.

  Matt’s mood lightened as he remembered. He’d gone to college with Tara and she wasn’t a person you messed with. The guys had finished the installation in record time.

  He’d been running tests in the new control room ever since. It was the latest technology, unlike the touchy secondhand electronics he’d bought when opening Tupper Recording. The older stuff worked okay, but the new setup would mean twice as many clients and taking fewer hours for the mixing and mastering process. Someday he might even decide to take his business further, producing CDs on a “Tupper” label. Or maybe he’d call it Northwind Recordings, unless that was too close to the name of an existing company.

  He’d left the mike turned on in the live studio and heard Gemma rifle through the pages in the binder.

  “Um, I’m ready when you are,” she called after a minute.

  Matt put his headphones on, made minor adjustments on the control board and switched on the recording. “Go ahead.”

  “‘Chapter Five,’” Gemma started, and he settled back in his chair. Rachel Clarion had guessed right that Gemma would be great reading books for the blind. She made few verbal slips and he rarely had to stop her to repeat a section, except when he detected an electronic glitch. Hopefully he hadn’t messed things up for the day—upsetting a reader right before they started probably wasn’t the best way to get a stellar performance.

  He’d only need to do minimal mixing and mastering along with adding a brief musical intro to the start of each recording. Other than that, his time on the project wouldn’t be demanding because of Gemma’s skill. Once, Matt had spent long hours regretting that he’d accepted the offer of a local celebrity, who hadn’t been able to get through a single page without stopping to say, “That didn’t sound right. Can we redo it?”

  If Gemma was interested in commercials or other voice work, he was sure she could get a decent number of jobs. He might even do his share of advocating for her, provided she decided to go that direction and he found the right opportunity.

  * * *

  IT WAS LATE Saturday evening before Simon found time to isolate the records of Olivia’s design collection. He told the computer to copy them to a portable hard drive, including everything from when she’d first started out, crafting her creations in a garage apartment in Bellingham.

  The graphics files were huge and copying would take a while, so he sat back and thought about how smart and dedicated Rachel was. She’d actually defended Miriam Timmons, and her attitude about Janine Jenkins was ambivalent. So it seemed questionable she had the killer instinct usually needed to be a top talent agent, or perhaps that was just his own perception about agents.

  He rubbed his face.

  After his wife’s death, his brain had been lost in a fog. Things had got better in New York and eventually he’d begun dating again, making it clear he wasn’t interested in anything long-term. In the back of his mind he’d figured he was over the worst of his grief.

  But was he?

  Olivia had been the love of his life, yet he hadn’t felt particularly guilty about socializing with other women. Maybe because those relationships hadn’t meant very much. Rachel was different and friendship seemed like a real possibility. Yet why should he feel guilty about something so innocent?

  “Daddy, can I come in?”

  “Of course you can, Livvie.” Simon held out his arms and she ran into them. “I thought you were asleep. Is something wrong?”

  She heaved a heartfelt sigh. “Just a bad dream.”

  “What about?”

  “Um...I don’t remember.”

  Simon touched her nose. “If you don’t remember, how do you know it was bad?”

  “It just was.”

  She snuggled against him, warm and trusting. If only he could protect her from all the ogres in the world, real or imagined. But he hadn’t been able to keep her from losing her mother, and unpleasant dreams couldn’t be stopped by daddies, locked doors or security systems.

  “Is it because Gemma isn’t here?” he asked. “Her father is going to be all right. I just thought she should have time with her family, or to do something else if she wanted.”

  “No.” Livvie hugged him tight. “I love you bunches and bunches, Daddy.”

  “And I love you, bunches and bunches, Livi-kin-kinnie. Tell you what, let’s go have a bowl of ice cream.”

  Livvie straightened so fast she nearly bumped his chin with the top of her head. “I told Rachel that we used to have ice cream at night. That’s okay, isn’t it? I never told Mommy.”

  Simon’s throat tightened. Olivia had known about the late-night snacks, but
Livvie had enjoyed thinking it was their secret.

  As parents, he and Liv had tried not to interfere with each other’s special time with their daughter. It was one of the reasons he’d never looked at the picture books Olivia had drawn. And now that he had seen them, he didn’t know what to think.

  Rachel’s comments about creative people crept into his mind. What did he know about creativity? He didn’t have an artistic bone in his body. Even before he lost his mother and was forced to deal with grim practicalities, doing art in school had bored him. And despite the years he’d spent with Liv, he’d never really understood that side of her, or the highs and lows she’d experienced as an artist.

  “What kind of ice cream do we have?” Livvie asked in the kitchen.

  Simon checked the freezer. “Strawberry and vanilla. How about some of both?”

  “Don’t we have mint chocolate chip? You like it the best.”

  He hadn’t eaten mint chocolate chip ice cream in over two years. “I like other flavors, too, though I don’t think the strawberry will be as good as Rachel’s sorbet.”

  “Uh-uh. Rachel can make anything.” Livvie’s eyes opened wide. “Even bread. It doesn’t have to come from the store or a bakery. She showed me how she puts flour and stuff together and it starts puffing up. She said it was yeast, but I think it’s magic.”

  Magic.

  Would she have said that before meeting Rachel? Over the past two years Livvie had grown solemn and serious. Sometimes she sounded like a grown woman in a child’s body.

  Simon had a sudden flash of his early childhood and how his mother had made everything seem more special. Somehow, he didn’t think it was just a mommy’s job to do that. But how did a pragmatic guy like him bring magic and mystery into his daughter’s life? While Rachel had created magic with yeast and culinary enchantment, he was a hardheaded businessman. Not much magic was needed to run a company.

  “Daddy, hurry up,” Livvie urged, hopping from one foot to the other. “I’m starving.”