Finally, he nodded. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
“Good,” Carly said. “And remember, it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. What’s important is that you want this for yourself.”
She was wrong there. What she thought mattered to him. But he said nothing and took the exit for Seattle, following the GPS prompts to the RockAround nightclub downtown. They found a place to park and walked a block to the venue. The main concert area was a vast room of black walls and red pillars, deserted on this weekday afternoon. Chairs were upturned on tables set up on two levels facing the stage.
An electrician was working on a panel next to the stage. Behind the bar, a thirtysomething guy with a bushy red beard was replacing beer kegs.
Finn walked up to the bartender. “I’m with the warm-up band playing next Saturday. Mind if I check out the stage so I can get an idea of how we’re going to set up?”
“Sure, go ahead.” The bartender gestured with a wave.
Carly glanced around the room. “How many people does this place hold?”
“Fifteen hundred in here,” the bartender said. “There’s another room with a jukebox that seats five hundred.”
“Do you usually fill up on the weekend?” she asked.
“Standing room only,” he said.
Finn wandered over to the stage and up the stairs onto it. Now Carly was chatting to the electrician. He walked around the stage, trying to picture the hall filled with people. A slight queasiness took up residence in the pit of his stomach.
“So what should I be doing?” he asked when Carly rejoined him.
“You need to feel comfortable around the source of your phobia,” she said. “By confronting your fears you begin to see them as simple problems to be solved and not something overwhelming. Like now, you’re up there and nothing bad is happening.”
“My fear is facing an audience. There’s no audience,” he pointed out.
“First we conquer the empty concert hall, then we work on the audience,” she said. “What I want to do is take you through that concert. Cast your mind back to the moments before you walked out. What was going on backstage?”
“I was fighting with my parents,” he said. “I wanted to play one of my own compositions, but Nora insisted I practice the repertoire I would be doing at the Juilliard audition. I didn’t even want to go to Juilliard. She was emotionally blackmailing me into it, said I owed it to her. It got pretty heated. Finally I agreed to play the audition repertoire on the condition that even if I got a scholarship to Juilliard, I wasn’t going to accept. I’m sure she thought she would change my mind later.”
“Go behind the curtain,” Carly said. “Then walk out as if you’re going to perform.”
Finn crossed the stage and ducked behind the heavy velvet curtains. It was dark, with a stale dusty smell that brought the evening of the concert forcefully back to life. His heart began to race. Things he’d forgotten leaped to the forefront of his mind. He’d yelled terrible things to his mother, obscenities he couldn’t believe had passed his lips in her presence. Sweat broke out on his forehead, beneath his arms. The whole audience must have heard what a jerk he was.
“Finn?” Carly called. “Are you coming out?”
He emerged from between the curtains. The stage lights came on in a blinding flash. He froze, his chest so tight he couldn’t breathe.
“Talk to me,” Carly said in a low, calming voice. “What are you feeling?”
He looked down at his shaking hands. If there’d been a piano onstage he couldn’t have played a note if his life depended on it.
“Ashamed,” he whispered. “I was awful, stupid, and said terrible things. You were in the front row. Could you hear me yelling at my mother backstage?”
“The orchestra was tuning up,” Carly said. “No one heard anything.”
“I don’t know why she bothered pushing me so hard,” he said. “I wasn’t good enough to get into Juilliard. She threw away years of her life on a slacker. I didn’t have the character or the drive to put in the hard work to make it to the top. I wanted to fool around, and hang out with Dingo and the guys.”
“Are those your words, or hers?” Carly asked, still in that calm voice.
He rubbed his temples. Fragmented memories came and then slipped away. “I… I don’t know.”
“She was angry because you wanted to play your own music,” Carly went on.
“Well, yeah. Because that’s not what I had been trained for.”
“Your tastes changed,” Carly said. “Why shouldn’t you pursue your own interests?”
“Because she’d sacrificed so much for me. She worked two jobs to pay for my lessons. My brother didn’t get to go on a school trip to Japan because that money was spent on me.” His hands hung slackly at his sides as the black stain of shame spread to encompass his whole life. “The whole time I was a fraud. I wasn’t good enough to get into Juilliard.”
“Why do you say that?” Carly asked.
“I wasn’t prepared for the audition,” he said. “I’d wasted time writing my own music instead of practicing. I wasn’t note perfect. She knew that but still insisted I perform.”
“How did that make you feel,” Carly said. “About yourself, about your mom.”
“I was going to be humiliated and I knew it.” He raked his hands through his hair and pulled at springy locks. “I was furious with her. But I had no right to be angry. It was my own fault.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Does any of that mean you weren’t capable of learning and performing well enough to make the grade for Juilliard?” Carly said. “Don’t just say yes because that’s the message your subconscious has been sending you for the past twelve years. Stop, and really think about it. And remember, there’s no right or wrong answer. You’ve proven that you can make a living writing songs. There’s no pressure to perform. Personally, I couldn’t care less if you never play an instrument again. But objectively speaking, is your talent and your skill enough?”
“I was a good student. I had talent. For a long time I was dedicated.”
“Irene thought you were a prodigy,” Carly said.
“Talent isn’t enough.” Finn stared at the scuffed legs of the chairs piled on top of a table. Wisps of memories blew away before he could grasp them. Then he stilled. He saw himself waiting in the wings, peeking out at the audience. Seeing the rows of faces receding into the darkness. His knees turning to jelly, the sweating hands, the band tightening around his chest. Then Nora calling him back for last-minute instructions. Him refusing to go on. Then the fight. And all this time he’d been remembering the sequence of events backwards.
He looked at Carly. “I was panicking even before the fight with my mom. The stage fright caused the fight, not the other way around.”
“Really?” Carly said, looking puzzled. “This wasn’t the first time you’d been in front of an audience. There were recitals.”
“It was my first time in a big auditorium,” he said. “I had no problem playing at Irene’s house and in small venues but as soon as I got on that stage I freaked out.” His eyes fell shut as he remembered something else that made him flush with shame. “The last thing Nora said to me was, The show must go on. A professional performs no matter what. I went out there and fell apart. That’s when I knew I wasn’t ever going to make it as a performer, classical or otherwise.”
“Finn, you were barely eighteen years old. You weren’t a professional.” Carly climbed the steps onto the stage and sat beside him, putting a steadying hand on his arm. “You were young and under enormous pressure to not only perform but to excel. Nora was your mother, your tutor, your financial support, your disciplinarian and your biggest cheerleader. She’d opened the doors to the world of music for you but she was also calling the shots. If you didn’t do what she wanted she made you feel guilty. It’s no wonder you had an anxiety attack.”
>
Finn sank to the floor and hung his legs over the edge of the stage. Gradually things began to sink in as he slowly wrapped his head around all the contradictions. “Have I been sabotaging myself all this time to get back at my mother?”
“Whether you’re punishing yourself or Nora by not performing, I don’t know,” Carly said. “But you’ve crushed your own ambitions for the past twelve years. The question you have to ask yourself, is, do you continue to make yourself and her pay? Or do you let it go?”
Finn stared at Carly. The real question was, even if he wanted to let it go, would he be able to?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
FINN GOT OUT his straight razor, lathered up suds and soaped his jaw. Time to get rid of the scruff and put a fresh face on to meet the future. He drew the razor in a slow sweep down his cheek, hearing the rasp of blade against flesh. Outside in the hall, Annie’s footsteps went past. Even though it was Saturday, Taylor had gone to the university to work in his lab and Carly was checking on her latest batch of sourdough. With four people living in the house it really felt like a home.
Looking back over the past week he realized he’d undergone subtle changes. Spreading Irene’s ashes, even with the unorthodox turn that ritual had taken, had been surprisingly okay. Love didn’t die, memories lived on. Meeting his mother had lanced an old, infected wound. It still hurt but the healing had begun with her agreeing to hear him perform his own music. Finally, at the RockAround, he’d gained insight into the wrong beliefs that had been holding him back.
He felt as if he was starting over. The question remained whether he could overcome his phobia in time for the big gig, but with Carly on his team, miracles were possible.
As well as the open mike tomorrow, Dingo’s band was booked at the bar the following Saturday. It would be a test of both him and Annie. He’d blocked out some time over the coming week to work with her, but in the meantime, he had plans of his own.
He rinsed the last of the foam off his razor and washed his face. Thinking of what lay ahead for him today, his heart started to race. Staring into the mirror, he deliberately slowed his breathing. You’ve got this.
But so many people were counting on him—
Stop. Breathe. The world would go on with or without him.
People would be watching, waiting for him to fail.
He was doing this because he wanted to share the music he loved.
Hold that thought. Turning away from the mirror, he toweled off.
* * *
“’BYE. LATE FOR WORK.” Annie grabbed her purse and a piece of toast before rushing out the door.
“See you later.” Carly folded the sourdough into the shape of a loaf and laid it into the mold. Now that she was feeding the starter regularly the bread was rising just fine. She put the dough near the stove to keep warm, washed her hands and went out to check on the garden.
Rufus rushed ahead of her and picked up his ball, tail wagging hopefully. She threw it for him and walked along the vegetable patch, checking for new growth, pulling a weed here and there. As well as tomatoes, she’d planted beans, radishes, arugula and zucchini, all vegetables Finn had assured her were easy to grow.
It was hard to believe she was leaving tomorrow. She didn’t want to think about that yet. The RockAround concert was on May 27th, the Friday of the Memorial Day weekend. Only three weeks away. She would come out for the concert and stay for the weekend. By then the radishes and arugula should be ready to pick.
The plumber and electrician were nearly finished their repairs. Peter King would act as her proxy to pay the tradesmen upon completion. Once that was done, she would put the house on the market. She’d decided to offer the house for sale furnished except for the contents of the master bedroom. She couldn’t bear the thought of anyone sleeping in her aunt’s bed in this house so she’d donated it along with the dresser and nightstands.
A three-month escrow would give Taylor plenty of time to complete his summer research and find another place to live in the fall. By then Annie would either have a permanent place with the band or she would have to go back home. Carly hoped it would be the former, but if Finn didn’t stay with the band, Dingo might not keep Annie…
Stop. She couldn’t worry about everyone. Finn had been mysterious about his plans for today, telling her he had things to do downtown. Maybe he was checking out the craft fair that was setting up in the historic district for the weekend. Maybe he was going to Rhonda’s to sit on the stage and go through the same exercise they’d done at the RockAround. Whatever he was up to, he hadn’t asked her to come along and it made her feel slightly hurt. Which was stupid because she had things to do herself. But they only had two days left and she wanted to spend every minute possible with him.
Time was passing much too quickly.
* * *
FINN WANDERED ONTO the outdoor stage at the Village Green in the historic district of Fairhaven carrying a guitar he’d borrowed from Dingo. There was more foot traffic on Main Street, but with the craft fair on free space was at a premium. And, to be honest, at the Village Green, a small oasis in the heart of downtown, there would be fewer people. Across the street were outdoor cafés but he was hidden from their view by a row of trees.
His palms were damp as he sat on the steps and tuned Dingo’s old acoustic. Taking long, slow breaths he tried to calm himself. He could do this. An older couple were walking their spaniel at the far end of the green. He ignored them. He was just a guy, playing his guitar. Hopefully any listeners would attribute the beads of sweat on his brow to the sun beating down. And if he kept his eyes shut no one would see the glaze of panic in them.
He played without singing for five or so minutes because he didn’t trust his voice not to shake. Then he hummed along to the tune, a song he’d composed a few years ago when he’d been feeling homesick for Fairhaven. When he felt comfortable with that he started to sing, eyes still closed, feeling the warmth of the sun’s rays on his face. The lyrics referenced local landmarks and the tune was upbeat, capturing the atmosphere of the quaint, friendly community.
The sweet scent of lilacs planted around the green mingled with salt air from the ocean a couple of blocks away. The call of wheeling gulls formed a raucous backup that made him smile and he lifted his voice louder.
A clink to his left made him open his eyes. A woman pushing a stroller smiled at him. With a start he realized she’d thrown coins into the open guitar case on the stage. He hadn’t planned to busk for money, he’d just wanted to experience performing in public in an unthreatening venue. But it felt good knowing that this young mother liked his song. He smiled and nodded his thanks. This wasn’t so hard.
* * *
CARLY SIGNED THE necessary documents at the realty office and passed them back to Sam. “I’ll be in touch by phone but if there’s anything you need to know immediately you can contact Peter King. He has power of attorney for financial transactions related to the house.”
Sam rose and shook her hand. “Pleasure doing business with you, Carly. It’s an excellent property in a sought-after area. You should have no trouble selling.”
“I don’t want to close till the end of summer,” she reminded him. “I have tenants. And a garden.”
The Realtor chuckled. “You’re a lot like your aunt, you know that?”
Outside, the street had been blocked off for the craft fair. Stalls shaded by colorful umbrellas were laden with handmade wooden furniture and toys, homespun woolen garments, pottery, hemp products, handcrafted cheese, wine, hydroponic herbs and punnets of early strawberries.
Carly walked through the stalls, drinking it all in. She wished she could stay for the summer and relive everything she loved about the town and the area. But that was impossible. Once the house was sold she wasn’t likely to come back here.
“Carly!” Frankie caught up with her. “How have you been?”
“Busy,” Carly said, hugging her. “I don’t recall this fair from the old days. Is it new?”
“It’s been an annual event for a couple of years.” Frankie paused in front of a display of painted glass ornaments. “These would make nice Christmas gifts.”
“Gorgeous.” Carly touched wooden wind chimes and listened to the hollow melody. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, I’m putting the house up for sale. Taylor and Annie will stay till the end of summer.”
“What about you?” Frankie asked.
“I’m heading back to New York tomorrow night.”
“So soon? Seems like you just got here.”
“I have to get back to work.” Carly moved on to a stall selling homemade jams and chutney. They looked delicious but her suitcase was already overflowing. Suddenly the market, while interesting, seemed pointless and she felt her mood spiraling down. “Do you want to grab a coffee?”
“Sure,” Frankie said. “Rhonda’s?”
They’d just come level with the coffee shop. Carly glanced through the windows at the tables crowded with market goers, tourists and Seattleites up for the weekend. “Is there someplace quieter?”
“This way.” Frankie headed down a side street and they walked to the next block where there were several outdoor cafés. A busker was playing on the Village Green and a dozen or so people sat on the grass or stood in a semicircle, listening. Carly snatched a sprig of lilac as she passed a flowering bush and held it to her nose.
“That guy sounds pretty good,” Frankie said.
Carly tilted her head and her eyes widened. “That’s Finn. Come on.”
Throwing down the lilac, she walked up the shallow steps onto the Green and started across the lawn. Finn was singing with his eyes closed. His voice wasn’t as strong as it could be and once he stopped midverse and just hummed. Then he recovered to sing the final verse and finished with a flourish of twanging strings. The audience clapped politely.
Harlequin Superromance May 2018 Box Set Page 94
