Rifts and Refrains

by Devney Perry

  Mom had left me a note on the island.

  Went to the park to play before swimming. Be back by three thirty.

  I sighed and went to the piano in the living room, glad for the solitude. The Yamaha upright was clean but seemed lonely. It was no longer the focal point in the living room, having been shoved into the far corner to make room for a larger TV. The tall, black back held photos on top. The bench seat that slid under the keys looked to have been hiding under there since I’d left. Didn’t anyone play anymore?

  I sat down and raised the lid, running my fingertips across the smooth ivory. A shiver ran down my spine. There was magic here. There was music. It danced in my hands as I splayed them over the keys and pressed down slowly to play C major.

  There was a tang to the chord. A slight hitch that reminded me of countless hours of practice. This piano didn’t have the smooth tone of my concert grand, but I liked that it gave the notes character and a bite.

  Its edge fit my mood and I dove in, playing song after song. My eyes drifted closed as the melodies filled the house and consumed my mind.

  I didn’t bother flushing out my new song in favor of the old, familiar songs I’d written with Jonas and Nixon in the early days. We’d had so much freedom and fun back then, so I played the songs that had never found their way onto an album. The songs the label had deemed not within our brand. They were rough and raw and fun. They reminded me of simpler times. Of easy laughter and gigantic dreams.

  So lost in the music, I didn’t realize I had an audience until a throat cleared behind me.

  I spun around, gasping, and found my father’s face. “Oh. H-hi.”

  “That was . . .” His expression stiffened, only slightly, but I’d seen that look enough to notice the censure.

  “That was what?” Loud. Harsh. Noise. Those had been his favorite words to describe my music.

  “That was, uh . . . different.”

  Fair enough. He wasn’t wrong.

  Dad walked to the couch and took a seat, his shoulders slumping forward like the weight on them was too much to hold up any longer.

  The clock beside him showed it was nearly four. I’d been playing for hours. “Mom must have run long with swimming lessons, huh?”

  “I’m sure she’ll be here soon.”

  “How are you?” I asked.

  He lifted his head and gave me a sad smile. “I wish your Nan was here to help make this easier.”

  Me. He meant to help make it easier with me. Nan had always been our go-between and mediator, long before I’d moved to Seattle.

  “I wish she was here too,” I confessed. So, so much.

  “I met with her attorney today and went through her will.”

  “Alone?” If Mom had been watching the kids, who’d been with Dad?

  “Walker and Brooklyn came with me,” he said. “I stopped by to see if you were here but . . .”

  I’d been on my walk, and he hadn’t bothered to call.

  For nine years, my grandmother had called me every week without fail, sometimes numerous times in a week. After those first three weeks, my mother had found a way to dial my number, breaking her silence.

  But my father hadn’t spoken to me in nine years. Until I’d walked into his home yesterday, I hadn’t heard his voice.

  All because I’d refused his cage.

  God, what I wouldn’t do for a drum kit for my sticks. I wanted to spend hours drumming out the anger and frustration. Because the only other thing that would help ease this resentment toward my father was a phone call with Nan.

  Knuckles rapped on the front door before it opened and Graham stepped inside. “Just came to pick up Colin.”

  “They aren’t back quite yet.” Dad waved Graham into the living room. “Come on in.”

  As if I didn’t have enough emotional turmoil to deal with, I also got to put up with Graham. I aimed my eyes at the floor, not wanting to witness his glare as it burned into my profile.

  “I’m glad you’re both here,” Dad said. “I was just about to tell Quinn, but I went through Nan’s last requests today. She’s outlined some specifics for the service, and she’s asked that you perform.”

  A lump formed in my throat. “Is there something in particular she wanted me to play?”

  “No, uh . . . sorry. Not just you. Together. She’d like you both to play together.”

  “What?” My eyes whipped up to Graham leaning against the wall.

  His shirt was damp with sweat and his jeans smudged with sawdust. If he was affected by the request, he gave nothing away. “No problem.”

  No problem? This was a huge, damn problem. How was I supposed to play at my grandmother’s funeral beside Graham? Alone would have been hard enough.

  Now avoiding Graham for the week would be nearly impossible.

  And somehow, I had a feeling that was exactly what Nan had intended.

  Chapter Four

  Graham

  “Heard you got roped into playing at Nan’s funeral,” Walker said as he positioned a two-by-four stud on the wall we were framing.

  “Yeah.” I barked a laugh, driving a nail into place with the gun. Nan made my mother’s meddling look amateur. Hell, even after her death she’d made sure that the spoon in her pot was still stirring. “It’ll be fine. How are you holding up?”

  He lowered his arm, nail gun in hand. “She was ninety-one, but . . . it feels like she was taken too soon.”

  The same thought had crossed my mind the morning Mom had called to tell me of Nan’s passing. We should have had more time.

  Nan had died in her sleep. There’d been no signs of failing health or diminished mental capacity. Nan’s mind had been as shrewd at ninety-one as mine was at twenty-seven—probably sharper.

  But for Nan’s sake, I was glad the end of her days had come without pain or suffering. It was bittersweet, knowing it was exactly how she would have wanted to go. In the comfort of the home she’d lived in for over fifty years, surrounded by photographs of her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I was fortunate enough to have been a family member, Colin too, though our tie had been by love, not blood.

  Nan Montgomery would be missed.

  “I’m sorry.” I put a gloved hand on Walker’s shoulder. “If I can do anything, let me know.”

  “Same for you. She was as much your grandmother as she was mine.”

  My own grandparents had passed when I was young, and Nan had filled that void as I’d grown older. Mostly because I’d blended so well into the Montgomery family, much like Colin did today.

  Walker and I had been best friends as kids, neighbors and buddies. Though he was two years older, the age gap hadn’t stopped us from playing together at recess or going to the same functions in high school. And where we’d gone, Quinn had followed.

  The one and only time Walker and I had fought had been because of Quinn. One day, I’d noticed that our shadow wasn’t just another buddy, but a girl. A damn pretty one at that. Walker had seen the glint in my eye and had warned me away.

  But it hadn’t done any good. I’d been too far gone.

  It hadn’t been easy for Walker to accept that I’d had more than lusty intentions for his sister, but once I’d proved my motives were pure—mostly pure—he hadn’t stood in our way. He’d gone so far as to drive Quinn and me to the movie theater before I’d earned my driver’s license when we hadn’t wanted our parents to chauffeur us to a date.

  Walker hadn’t bitched when my Friday nights with him had been cut short so I could spend time with my girlfriend. Though, he’d been too busy chasing girls of his own to mind when Quinn and I would disappear in my ramshackle and rusty Chevy.

  It was Quinn’s fault that I’d had to sell that truck. I’d loved it, but she’d ruined it. There’d been too many memories in that cab to live with daily.

  And it hadn’t been safe for a car seat.

  “So . . .” Walker lifted his gun and set a nail. “How’s it seeing Quinn?”

  “You te
ll me. She’s your sister.”

  “She ghosted us.” He pounded a fist on the board to make sure it was secure, using a little more force than necessary. “And that’s not what I meant.”

  “Yeah,” I muttered, adjusting the ball cap on my head to stall. Keeping Quinn locked away in a dark corner of my mind had been more difficult than I’d expected. I’d hit my thumb twice with a hammer this week, so distracted by her image that I’d lost track of my senses. “She looks good. Looks like she’s doing well.”

  Walker raised an eyebrow.

  “I’m not interested in starting things up with your sister. She’ll be gone again in a flash.”

  Less than a week, if she left after the funeral as I expected her to do.

  “I just want to get through this week,” I said. “Say goodbye to Nan.”

  Say goodbye to Quinn.

  Maybe after she leaves this time, I’d finally be able to send some old ghosts to their graves.

  Quinn hadn’t been at her parents’ place this morning when I’d dropped off Colin. That, or she’d stayed away from the kitchen to avoid a run-in with me. Like yesterday, I’d been prepared to face her when I’d walked into the house. My expression had been schooled so she wouldn’t know just how much power she held over my emotions.

  It had been wasted effort, which was probably for the best. I’d save my energy to guard against her this afternoon at rehearsal.

  “I need to take off around four,” I told Walker. “That all right?”

  “Fine by me. I’ll be dead by then anyway.” He rolled his shoulders. “I’m ready to be done framing this place.”

  “Same.” I shot in the final nail, then went to the stack of boards to pick up another stud. Board after board, nail after nail, we worked side by side until my arm was a limp noodle and an early lunch beckoned a much-needed break.

  Walker and I sat down on the subfloor and cracked open our lunch pails.

  We were framing out a new build in the foothills of the Bridger Mountains. This place would be enormous when we were done, nearly ten-thousand square feet, and the cost of the windows and doors alone was more than I’d spent to buy my entire three-bedroom house.

  On some projects, we’d subcontract out the framing, but since this project was our cash for the year, we were doing it ourselves, making sure it was perfect. Walker and I had started Hayes-Montgomery Construction four years ago and had made a reputation for ourselves in the area. We did high-quality work and delivered keys to homeowners on time. Normally, we came in on budget too because a satisfied customer meant referrals, and referrals were our bread and butter.

  I’d dropped out of college at Montana State after Colin was born. I’d managed to stay in school for a month as a single dad, but sleepless nights and erratic schedules didn’t lend well to study and when my first round of Fs had come in, I’d called it quits.

  With the housing boom in the Gallatin Valley and a labor shortage, construction had been the obvious choice for income. Along the way, it had become a passion too, crafting and building from the ground up with my own hands.

  For two years I’d worked for a local builder, learning and soaking up everything he’d teach me. When Walker had graduated from MSU with a business degree, he’d planned to find a job with a bank, but entry-level positions paid shit and desk jobs weren’t his style. So he’d hired on beside me to work construction.

  Four years ago, we’d decided to start our business. Hayes-Montgomery Construction was smaller than the outfit where we’d been working. Our vision was for a family company, the two of us along with one or two trusted employees who we never had actually hired. We built custom homes, focusing on quality not quantity.

  Jobs had been hard to come by that first year, but we’d stuck it out. Mindy worked to help keep Walker’s household afloat, and my parents had loaned me money when things had been tight.

  Then we’d caught our break. Walker and I had been out drinking a beer with one of his friends from college. The guy had become a real estate agent and found some success in town. He’d wanted us to build his own house plus a real-estate office on his property, so we had. When one of his wealthy clients couldn’t find the right home but had landed on the right property, Walker’s real estate buddy had recommended us as the builder.

  One house for one satisfied customer had led to another, then another, then another. Neither of us could believe it when we’d received a call from a well-known architecture firm last winter to do this Bridger project that would be valued at over five million dollars when it was complete.

  Walker and I were looking at one hell of a payday, clearing six figures each for our labor.

  This would be more money than I’d ever had, and every dime was going toward paying off my mortgage, then my truck, then stockpiling Colin’s college fund.

  Our families knew how important this job was for our business, so they were helping. Colin was enrolled in a few summer camps and he’d be participating in the Vacation Bible School at church, but during the weeks when he was free, Ruby had agreed to babysit. Nan had watched him the week after school got out.

  Colin had loved Nan with a wild passion, so much so that it reminded me of how Quinn had been with her grandmother. Their relationship had always been easy and full of laughter. They’d both loved music and rocking out to the stereo cranked too loud. It had been exactly the same with my son.

  It was Nan who’d insisted I buy Colin a drum set last Christmas, threatening to do it herself if Santa dropped the ball.

  “When I pick up Evan and Maya, want me to grab Colin too?” Walker asked before taking a drink of water.

  “If you don’t mind. I’ll come over and grab him when I’m done at the church.”

  “Sounds good.” He shoved up from the floor, ready to get back to work.

  I wiped my mouth of the crumbs from my peanut butter and jelly sandwich and chased the bite down with the cold dregs of my morning coffee. Even after a break, sweat dripped down my back. By the afternoon, I’d reek and would have to swing home for a shower before meeting Quinn.

  Though maybe if I arrived dripping like a pig and smelling like one too, Quinn would stop staring at me with those stormy eyes like she was expecting to find the boy she’d left behind.

  That boy had vanished the moment he’d become a father.

  Walker and I put in a hard afternoon before calling it quits. I went home to take a cold shower and change into clean clothes. He went to do the same, then pick up the kids.

  Colin would be more than happy to spend a few added hours with Evan. Those two were as close as their fathers had been at that age. The only difference was they didn’t live next door.

  Clean and cool, I climbed into my truck and drove the couple of miles to church, where Quinn and I had agreed to practice before Nan’s funeral on Saturday. With the window rolled down, I let the hot breeze dry my hair, something I’d been meaning to cut for weeks.

  The lot beside the church was nearly empty when I parked, and I let myself into the building through the side door, breathing in the smell of wood, must and weak coffee. Like the scent, the church building hadn’t changed in decades, though we were getting new faces all the time. The stuffy, traditional views on right versus wrong were beginning to bend and break.

  It was about damn time.

  The labyrinth of hallways leading to the sanctuary were empty, and when I reached the vast, open room, it was dark except for the light shining through the stained-glass windows. The pews were empty of all but a few Bibles strewn on the wooden seats. The wall tapestry above the pulpit was a green felt appliqued with pastel summer blooms of irises, lilacs and pansies.

  Someone had swapped out the spring banner for summer since I’d been two Sundays ago. I’d missed service last week because I’d been at home, staring at a wall, trying to figure out how the fuck I was going to face Quinn at the airport.

  And there she was, sitting at the piano on stage. Her long hair trailed down her back in a smooth, shinin
g sheet of gold. Her hands were poised above the keys, but she didn’t play. She stared down at her hovering fingers and sat motionless.

  Would she play? I lingered by the doors to the sanctuary, leaning against the wooden frame. She looked so intently at the piano it was like she wanted to play but couldn’t break past an invisible barrier keeping her fingers from touching the keys.

  Play. Just one note.

  “Hi, Graham.” Bradley appeared by my side; his voice low enough that Quinn didn’t hear.

  He probably could have shouted and been unable to break her concentration. Her hands remained frozen and her spine rigid as she fought her internal war.

  “It’s nice to see her there again,” Bradley said.

  I hummed, though not in agreement. Quinn had never fit in that space. She’d played countless times on that piano, beautifully and effortlessly. And she’d been bored out of her mind. The music here wasn’t her style, or at least, it hadn’t been. Maybe she’d feel differently if she knew how things had progressed lately.

  Not that she’d stick around to find out.

  “Did you think about what you’ll play?” Bradley asked. “I can get you a list of Nan’s favorite hymns.”

  “I don’t think that was what Nan had in mind.”

  “No, you’re probably right. Though that music doesn’t seem quite right for a funeral.”

  That music. Meaning, Quinn’s music. It was loud and most of the lyrics dripping with innuendo, but it was hers. It was Quinn’s.

  “There’s millions of people around the world who would love that music at their funeral. Nan included.” I shoved off the door frame, not sparing him another glance.

  Bradley had come a long way from the pastor he’d once been, but despite his sermons on tolerance and keeping an open mind, he had a blind spot when it came to his daughter. And damn, the man was stubborn.

  My footsteps were muffled on the carpet and I was twenty feet away from Quinn when she dropped her hands to the piano. Her shoulders curled in on themselves.

  “Hey.”

  She looked up and her face was etched with anguish, like the piano keys were made of needles. Her hands flew off the keys, finding safety in her lap. “Hi.”