by Gun Brooke
I pull on the faux-fur jacket, then place some painkillers in my clutch, along with a credit card and my driver’s license. A quick check in the hallway mirror reassures me the discreet makeup I applied after my shower is intact.
The drive to Vivian and Mike’s place is uneventful until I arrive. I park where another one of Vivian’s texts suggested and look for the path between the dunes. Cursing under my breath, I can’t find it. It’s supposed to be a wooden walkway with hand railings. Feeling ridiculous, I step onto the sand, hoping to see well enough in the dark to find it. The text should have suggested a flashlight.
“Hello there. Let me guess. You’re on your way to see Mike and Vivian,” an amused voice behind me states.
I turn around. A willowy young woman with curly, auburn hair stands a few steps away from me, beside another woman, this one blond, and a teenage girl. Next to the other woman, a black dog in a harness is pressed up against her leg.
“Yes, I am.” I extend my left hand. “I’m Gail.”
“Tierney. This is my wife, Giselle, and our daughter, Stephanie.”
“Nice to meet you. I hope you know the way, because I’m bound to get lost among the dunes if I try this on my own.” I have to return Tierney’s contagious smile.
“Don’t feel bad,” Stephanie says. “You wouldn’t be the first one Vivian has sent Perry and Mason out to locate.”
“Perry and Mason?” I crinkle my nose while envisioning two overly muscular bodyguards.
“Her Great Danes. Those boys know every grain of sand on this beach.”
Danish bodyguards? Then I feel silly. “Ah. Dogs. I see.” I follow as the trio begins to round one of the larger dunes. I see a light now and realize there is indeed a walkway, lit by small LED lanterns. Thankfully, the house is closer than I thought. When it comes into view, its well-lit windows and patio lanterns make the house on stilts resemble a jewel glowing in the dark.
“Here we are!” Stephanie takes the six steps in two strides and rings the doorbell.
Apparently, Mike has been standing just inside the door since she opens it so quickly, Stephanie takes a hasty step back. “Whoa!”
“Sorry, Steph.” Mike grins broadly. She seems comfortable enough in her own skin, yet I have a feeling this perhaps wasn’t always the case. I see a resemblance in the way she moves to how Romi carries herself, with smooth, cautious movements, as if trying to avoid predatory individuals. Not sure where these thoughts come from, I shake them off. No use indulging in groundless speculations.
“Gail. You made it.” Vivian meets me as I step over the threshold. “Tierney, Giselle…and my darling Stephanie. Have you all introduced yourselves?”
I’m impressed that she’s already picked up on which guests have arrived. “We have. Thank you. And I’m glad you didn’t have to send your dogs out after me.” I glance at Stephanie, who grins.
“What? Oh. You found the walkway hard to locate? It’s deliberate, to keep people and, I must admit, ardent fans away as much as possible. I should’ve asked Mike to give you more visual cues.” Vivian holds out her hand for my jacket and hangs it in a small alcove. “Why don’t you and I walk straight through the house and into the living room. Mike has champagne on ice.” She takes my good arm, and we stroll through the beach house. Like the restaurant, it’s decorated in the New England style, but much more personal and with stunning art pieces—figurines, statues, and paintings.
“I love your house,” I say. “It’s very beautiful—and I can tell you’re collectors.”
“Thank you. I rented it at first from some good friends but managed to convince them to sell after I knew I wanted to make East Quay my base—and live my life with Mike.” Vivian squeezes my arm gently “I collected most of the paintings before I lost my vision. Nowadays, Mike purchases them and does a great job describing them to me. I love the statues, as I can see them through touch. I never thought I’d be inclined to go all tactile like this. I used to be the queen of air kisses. As little touching as possible—always afraid of catching a virus.”
“I’ve turned those air kisses into an art form as well. Until lately.” I haven’t kissed anyone, or the air around them, for that matter, for a long time. I was never concerned about catching some virus, but I always needed a lot of personal space. Neill used to joke that was the reason I became a soloist. No rubbing elbows next to other musicians. He wasn’t all that wrong.
I stop on the threshold to the living room. It’s clearly a new extension to the beach house, placed at a ninety-degree angle to the rest of the house. At the far end, the one closest to the water, sits a Steinway grand piano, which is not a surprise. The fact that it’s joined by a multitude of instruments on the walls, including two violins, makes my heart beat so hard, I’m sure Vivian must be able to pick up the sound.
I haven’t seen a violin up close since I went in for my second surgery, which I was certain would restore the use of my right arm. When it failed, I had my housekeeper clear out the music room before I was discharged from the hospital. I thought it was the right thing to do as I couldn’t imagine looking at my instruments. As it turned out, the empty walls hurt me even more since they reflected perfectly how I felt inside. Empty. Cold. Barren. Without purpose.
Now I stare at the violins, and the fingers of my left hand move of their own volition, as if they want to seek out the strings and play. One of Biber’s Mystery Sonatas, perhaps. That was one of the pieces I was rehearsing for the Carnegie Hall concert that was only two weeks away when I had my accident.
“What’s the matter, dear?” Vivian lets go of my arm and instead places a hand on the small of my back. “You’re trembling.”
“Nothing.” I swallow hard. “Just dizzy there for a moment. Guess I’m hungry.” I lie like my life hangs in the balance. In fact, I’m nauseous and can’t figure out how I’ll be able to eat at all.
Vivian doesn’t answer right away, but then her warm smile reappears. “Good thing Mike’s favorite chef at the restaurant has cooked up a virtual storm.”
“Yes. Good thing,” I say weakly, fighting to get a grip on my damn nerves.
I hear new voices and more guests arrive. I take a glass of a non-alcoholic beverage and turn to politely greet them when they join us.
“Ah, it’s Manon and Eryn.” Vivian sips her champagne. “And they’re bringing a mystery guest. We love that. Another thing that has changed for me. I used to be quite the hermit in between performances. By the way, sorry that your friends were delayed. I hope we get to meet them another time.” She smooths down her gently teased hair and walks toward the hallway. As she crosses the floor, she seems entirely aware of each obstacle that might have otherwise tripped her.
When I’m alone, I greedily draw new oxygen into my lungs, which helps me regain a sense of calm. They’re just instruments. They’re not even mine. Get a fucking grip.
Steps approach, and a lithe, dark-haired woman walks in next to Vivian, who introduces us. “Gail, this is my friend and band member, Manon Belmont.”
I greet Manon, whom I’ve read about in the local newspaper online, and I know she and her foundation are revered for their commitment to those in need of help.
“Gail Owen? The violinist?” Manon tilts her head, and then her even gaze falls to my sling. “Oh, my. That was clumsy of me. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t mention it,” I say, calm now. “It is what it is.”
“Of course,” Manon says and changes the subject. “Seems that most of us here tonight are musically inclined one way or another. And speaking of that, let me introduce you both to our latest friend—and believe me—she’s a true find. Romi? Join me, please.”
Romi? Surely…I gape for a few moments before I realize what I’m doing and snap my mouth closed.
Romi steps into the living room beside a taller woman with red hair kept in a long braid. Looking shy, but not ill at ease, she glances around the room—and then she sees me. Growing several shades paler, she flinches and appears ready
to bolt, but then she stays right there, as if glued to the carpet.
“Hello, Romi,” I say coolly. “What a surprise.”
“You know each other?” Mike says as she joins us. “What a coincidence.”
Manon hands the redhead a glass of champagne. “My wife Eryn and I only got to know Romi a little bit the other day at open-mic night. She has a marvelous voice.”
I raise a deliberate eyebrow at Romi. “She does?”
“Absolutely,” Manon says and wraps an arm around Eryn’s waist. “This is Eryn. She used to run the local newspaper. Nowadays she’s the liaison between us and our agent and management team, when she’s not strumming that guitar of hers. Eryn, this is Gail.”
“Wow. Thank you for that amazing introduction,” Eryn says, but laughs and tosses her long braid back over her shoulder. “Hello, Gail. Nice to meet you.” She merely waves her fingers at me. “Strumming my guitar, huh?”
“Please. Without you we’d be dead in the water, not knowing where to go or what to do. And you’re an electric-guitar virtuoso.” Vivian stepped closer to Eryn. “Now, I want to know how Gail and—Romi, was it?—know each other.” She holds her hand out in Romi’s direction, whose complexion changes from pale to pink. “Welcome to our beach house.”
“Thank you for having me. I mean, for allowing me to tag along.” Romi takes Vivian’s hand in a lightning-fast shake.
I clear my voice, confused at how jittery I feel. I don’t even acknowledge the concept of jitters, normally. “We’re neighbors. Romi has been kind enough to help me with some heavy lifting.” Self-conscious now, I know full well my words don’t come out right.
“Heavy lifting?” Manon blinks, no doubt taking Romi’s slight stature into consideration.
“I’m stronger than I look, Manon,” Romi says, her voice low, but she raises her chin.
“I’ll say.” I know I’ve made Romi beyond uncomfortable, and for some reason, this makes my stomach ache. “And very helpful.”
Romi regards me in silence for a moment. And then she does something that changes the tense ambiance in the room.
She smiles.
Chapter Nine
Romi
Gail is here. We’re inexplicably at the same dinner party—and considering it’s my first dinner party ever, it’s beyond coincidental. The freaking universe is conspiring against me to rub my nose in the fact that I’m taking advantage of this woman, compromising her privacy, and generally being a total lowlife.
As everyone seems so dead set on finding out how I could possibly be acquainted with this amazing woman, who is on a completely different tier than I am, I see something I never expected. Gail looks nervous. What the—? I let my gaze travel between the women standing in a semicircle in the large living room, and then I spot something at the far wall. Instruments. And not just the grand piano, which is the first thing you see as it dominates the room. Violins. That has to suck for Gail. A few days ago, she seemed skinless when she talked about how her injury had changed everything. I haven’t seen any sheets of music or any instruments at the farmhouse. And here she stands, among quite the crowd of musicians, plus me, surrounded by reminders of what she’s lost.
“Heavy lifting?” Manon says incredulously, and I realize that Gail has told the others that I’ve helped her. Did she tell them she paid me too? I cringe. I wish I’d listened better.
“I’m stronger than I look, Manon.” I square my shoulders.
“I’ll say.” Gail’s voice is gentler than I’ve ever heard it. “And very helpful.”
Wow. Now I can’t resist a broad smile from forming on my face. Something about how Gail sounds, as if she wants me to know she has my back, or something, makes me giddy. An unusual sensation, to say the last.
“Helpful.” Vivian raises her glass to us. “That’s how I met Mike. She was helpful and sweet, and I, despite my diva habits, fell in love.”
Gail blushes, and I nearly slap my hand over my gaping mouth. Does Vivian know how that sounds? What she seems to imply? I want to groan and hide, but I pretend like I never noticed the suggestive words. Sneaking another glimpse of Gail, I see her place the glass of champagne on a sideboard and excuse herself. The others are in the midst of reminiscing how they all met, which is confusing as hell when you weren’t present when it all occurred.
“They’re going to be at it for a while. Not the first time they go all ‘remember when.’” Stephanie joins me and motions toward a smaller room next to the living room. “Want to meet the boys?”
“The boys?” I blink and wonder if Vivian and Mike have kids, before I remember the dogs. “You sure that’s okay? How are they with strangers?” I’ve been bitten three damn times by dogs in New York, in the subway. One poodle, one dachshund, and one dog of indistinguishable origin have sunk their sharp teeth into me, twice in my calves and once between my thumb and index fingers. I was glad I never came down with either rabies or tetanus, since there was no way I could pay for a vaccine or treatment. The dog owners sure weren’t going to cough up the money for someone like me.
“They’re two goofballs, and they’re getting old too. Big dogs like Great Danes don’t have a super-long life expectancy. I know Vivian stresses about it. They’re brothers.” Stephanie walks into the smaller room, and there, two majestic dogs have taken over a white leather couch. Someone has covered most of it with some blankets, but the dogs managed to bunch them up before they lay down.
“Hi, guys.” Stephanie kneels before the one to the left and frames his large face with her hands. “You’re such a handsome boy, Perry.” She gazes at me over her shoulder. “Why don’t you pat Mason before he feels left out?”
I swallow but don’t want to come across as a coward. I used to really like dogs, before I came to New York. I mimic Stephanie and crouch before the enormous dog. “Hi, Mason. I’m Romi.”
Mason tilts his head, and his soft ears change positions. I hold out my hand under his chin, so he can sniff it. Aunt Clara taught me this move and said it worked with most animals. Never approach from above in a threatening manner, always from underneath.
Mason sniffs me, and then I get a discreet lick. I start to relax and prepare to pat him, when I feel a distinct pressure against my back. I’m entirely unprepared and fall sideways with a loud yelp. I stare at the black leather armchair next to the couch that seems to have come alive. Giselle’s black retriever sits there, her tongue lolling, and she’s waving her paw at me.
“Charley!” Stephanie sounds strict as she points at the smiling dog. “Are you trying to give Romi a heart attack?”
Several steps approach, and Mike, Giselle, and Tierney crowd the doorway. And of course, Gail has returned from wherever she went. Super.
“What happened?” Mike hurries over and extends a hand. “Are you all right, Romi?”
I feel so ridiculous now, I could howl. “I’m fine.”
“She didn’t scratch you, did she?” Stephanie comes over, still on her knees. “Charley got jealous and tried to pat Romi on the back for attention. She still has some manners challenges.”
“No scratches,” I say, and accept Mike’s hand, not only to be polite toward her gesture, but because my hip smarts again. “I didn’t see her in the black chair, that’s all.” I want to sink through the floor.
“Thank God you didn’t hurt yourself on the coffee table.” Mike puts an arm around my shoulders and squeezes briefly. “What a terrible impression we’re making on you.”
“Not at all. I’m just not used to dogs nowadays.” I shrug, and for some reason I find myself looking for Gail. She notices and takes a few steps toward me.
“Stronger than you look, right?” she says, the corners of her mouth curling slightly.
“Exactly,” I say, and now I can smile for real.
“I think we need food after all this excitement. The dogs are not allowed in the dining room.” Vivian waves at us as she raises that amazing voice to get our attention.
The dining room is all in wh
ite and light blue, except the hardwood floor that is made of dark oak. No curtains hinder the view of the ocean, where large waves crash onto the beach. The house is raised on stilts, like most beach houses, and I hope Vivian and Mike know how lucky they are to live here.
I’m not surprised when I end up sitting across from Gail. I have Stephanie to one side, which I think she made sure of by squeezing by Tierney, who barely managed to sit down. To my right, I have Manon, which feels reassuring. She’s the one who knows a little more about me. It’s thanks to her that I now have a basic wardrobe, a cell phone, and a part-time job when my drug test passes muster, which I know it will.
I look furtively at Gail, who is arranging her utensils with her left hand. Will she need help? No. She would never ask for help like that—nor would she even want it. I pray we’re not having some humongous steaks, or anything that will render her unwanted attention.
The starter dish is shrimp cocktail, something I’ve seen but never eaten. I check the others out, to see how they approach this dish. Mike, Tierney, and Stephanie simply pick up the shrimp by the tail using their hands, while the others use their smaller forks. Screw it. I won’t fiddle with a miniature fork. I take the shrimp, dip it in the red sauce like I see the others do, and take a bite. My taste buds go into orbit. The different flavors, the textures, all create something in my mouth that I’ve never experienced. I blink at threatening tears and feel so silly that I’m ready to bolt to the bathroom to hide my reaction.
“You okay?” Stephanie whispers, leaning in.
“Mmm-hmm.” I chew and swallow. “Yes.”
“I remember the first time I had this. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.” Stephanie speaks quietly enough to not draw attention, or so I think until I look across the table and my eyes meet Gail’s. Crap.
“Never had it before either,” I murmur to Stephanie. “More used to cheeseburgers. That sort of thing.”
“I hear you. You should have seen me taste my first real eggs when I came to stay with Tierney and Giselle. I’d only had that powdered stuff where I stayed before.” Something dark ghosts across Stephanie’s face. “I live such a different life now, I have to pinch myself every single day.”
