by Julie Blair
“What do you mean?”
“My first professional performance. The Boston Philharmonic Youth Orchestra.” Did any of this matter? The press would dig out the details of the accident. The scandal of being in a lesbian bar. The scandal of being responsible for Stephanie’s death.
“Jac?”
“At the private high school I went to for kids like me.” She reached for Max. Loyal. Loving. He wouldn’t blame her. “No one liked me much except one of the girls, an artist…we became friends. Instead of practicing, I’d sneak off with her. She was fun and it was exciting and I felt different when I was with her. It affected my concentration. The rehearsals were a disaster. The conductor yelled at me. My teacher was furious. I’d embarrassed him and he threatened to send me home. When he found out why…the girl wasn’t at school the next day. I never saw her again.”
“Oh, Jac. You didn’t do anything wrong. You acted like a kid.”
“I wasn’t supposed to act like a kid. I was a professional musician.” The scorching rebukes for weeks afterward. Don’t waste my time if you’re not serious. How dare you let anything be more important than the music! Music! Your life is the music now! Conductor’s baton tapping against his perfectly creased black pants. His face so red she’d been afraid he’d have a stroke. The long, grueling practice sessions for months after.
“He sounds harsh.”
“He made me what I am. What I was. Classical isn’t like jazz. It’s rigorous. He opened doors for me, created opportunities I wouldn’t have been offered without him.”
“He fed off your immaturity and made you conform to some ridiculous idea that music is somehow separate from life. We get emotion from life and feed it back into our music.”
“When he played…there was so much emotion in it…like it was coming from inside me—joy, sadness, excitement, love. I would shake listening to him.”
“That’s how I feel when I listen to your albums.”
“He taught me well. He taught me to find the emotion in the composer’s notes and translate it through my trumpet so it was accessible to an audience. He taught me to become the music. He said that in order to do that I’d have to sacrifice my emotions and give myself completely to the music.”
“Whether I play Brubeck or Bach, Ellington or Beethoven, I’m not trying to channel them. I’m trying to find what’s personal in their music for me.”
“He said emotions left to wander free outside the structure of the music were dangerous. He was right. When I fell in love with Maria, my feelings for her became more important than the music, and look what happened. I lost control. A woman died.”
“I’d bet your love for Maria went into your music and gave it qualities it didn’t have before. My love for Teri was always at the core of my music as well as my life. Love enhances our relationship to everything, including music.”
Was that true? If anyone but Liz had said it, she could discount it. Those months she was with Maria, critics had raved about a new maturity in her playing. Her teacher was pleased. She’d never connected it with her love for Maria. She’d been terrified he’d find out about the affair. She was breaking the rules again. So many rules—how you held the trumpet, how you controlled your breath, how you practiced, how you dressed, how you ate, how you answered questions from the press. Devoting yourself to the music. Saving your emotions for the music. “An innocent woman died because I let my emotions take control.”
“She died because of snow and slick roads and driving when she shouldn’t have.”
“She wouldn’t have been in that car if I hadn’t lost control. I used her.” Liz didn’t understand. “She’s dead!”
“So are you!”
It hit her like a slap. She flattened her head against the recliner. Liz. Her face so close she felt her breath. Jac gripped the armrests so she wouldn’t reach out for her. Don’t lose control. Don’t do something foolish.
“Locked up here with self-imposed guilt…” Liz’s voice was gentle, soothing. “Hiding from your teacher’s judgment…judgment you didn’t—”
“It’s the life I deserve.” The guilt yanked harder.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
The whisper wormed its way inside her. Peg had told her that a thousand times. And now Liz. Was it true? The words burrowed deeper, sidled up to the edge of that whirlpool of regret and guilt. “That’s not what the press will say. You don’t want to be associated with me when it comes out.”
“I already am associated with you because of the album. I’m not Maria. I’m not leaving you.”
“You should.”
“Haven’t you paid a high-enough price?”
Coaxing, inviting words. A lifeline. Dare she reach for it? For the absolution Liz was offering? Liz, who’d been through tragedy and loss of her own?
“Hanging onto guilt gives you the security of thinking you could have changed the outcome. I want to believe that if I’d noticed Teri was tired…” Liz’s voice broke. “If I was responsible, then I can do better next time. I can save someone I love. I can keep myself from hurting the same way. It’s easier than believing it wasn’t my fault, that it was beyond my control. The accident was just that. You loved and you got hurt and something terrible happened. It’s not your fault.”
Guilt pulled hard, handcuffing her to that night, to the darkness. Liz cupped her cheek. She wanted to grab her hand. Life. She wanted to let Liz unlock those handcuffs and pull her from the darkness.
“What are you afraid of?”
Longing washed through her. A new pain. This is what she was afraid of.
“I was afraid of playing again without Teri. I was afraid of making a CD and keeping the band together. I was afraid of going on without her. I’m not any more, because of you. I couldn’t feel anything but sadness and loss. Now I have a future because of you. What are you afraid of, Jac?”
“You. I’m afraid of you. You made me feel again.” Oh, God, had she said that out loud? “Music. You made me feel music again. I’m afraid I’ll end up hurting you.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible, but I’ll take my chances. You helped me live again. I want the same for you.”
Jac sucked in air and reached for Max as Liz backed away. She wanted to argue that her life was fine the way it was, but she knew that was no longer true. Liz had changed everything. Liz had brought music back into her life. Liz had brought love back into her life. The guilt was still there, but she resisted giving in to the current that was trying to whisk her back to that night. She’d been a part of what happened, but was she to blame for it? She was no longer certain, and that scared her. The guilt felt safer.
Liz opened the French doors and cool air trickled into the room. “Come on. It’s a beautiful evening and I’m hungry again.”
Jac didn’t move. She had no more control over her feelings for Liz than she’d had over her feelings for Maria, and it terrified her.
“Don’t let Malcolm or your teacher speak for everyone. Give the interview. Tell the truth. If I’m wrong, you keep yourself locked up here. If I’m right, and the accident is seen as just that, with two victims, you start living again. I dare you, Richards.” Liz took her hand and tugged. Max nosed her other hand as if in agreement with Liz.
Part of her wanted to stay right here, in her safe and ordered world, away from the judgment that scared her more than isolation. But there was Liz’s hand, strong and sure, and the offer of friendship she desperately wanted. Jac took a deep breath and stood, each step like heaving herself away from the binding weight of guilt. For this one night she didn’t want to be alone.
Chapter Nineteen
“Jac! Wake up!”
She was on her back. Why couldn’t she see anything? A scream. She jerked. The car. Stephanie. She had to get to her. Where was the car? The dark was pierced by an orange blaze and a blast of sound and hot air. She tried to get up, but her legs wouldn’t obey. She tried again, concentrated on pulling them up to her chest. Had to get up. Her leg
s moved, and searing pain in her back sent her tumbling back into the darkness and the scream that wouldn’t stop.
“Jac!”
She had to get up. Her feet weren’t on the ground. Where was the ground? She fought her way up. Stood. Arms wrapped around her as she fell forward. She hit the ground and pain sizzled through her back and down her legs. “Noooo!”
“It’s all right.”
Max licked her hand, then her face, and Jac knew where she was. And whom she was lying on. Last night. Dinner. Coming back here to talk some more. Sleepy. She must have fallen asleep. Liz must have slept on the couch. Her head was on Liz’s chest. She tried to sit up and bit back a groan.
“What’s wrong?”
“My back.” No hot tub or exercises or muscle relaxer last night. Sleeping in the recliner. With her back already hurting, it had been a setup for disaster. She took deep breaths, trying to calm the panic and ease the pain. She hadn’t had nightmares in years. “I can’t do this.” I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to feel.
“What do you need?”
“Leave. I need you to leave me alone.” Jac rolled onto her back and bent her knees, trying to ease the pain.
“No.”
“I’m entitled to my privacy.”
“Okay. I’m officially assigning myself to see that you have it. Damn it.”
“What?”
“My wrist.” Liz sat up. “Some pair we are. Blind. Bum wrist. Bad back. Brokenhearted.” Liz giggled. It grew to a laugh and she kept laughing.
Liz’s laughter felt like a waterfall cascading over her, and Jac wanted to stand under it and let it wash away the fear and guilt and loneliness. She started to laugh. She didn’t want to. None of this was funny. “Ow.” Spasms seized her back, but she couldn’t stop laughing as tears rolled out the corners of her eyes.
“Oh, gosh, I haven’t laughed like that in so long I’d forgotten what it felt like. We have to be friends, Jac. Who else has been through what we’ve been through?”
“Go live your life. You don’t need me anymore.” She tucked her elbow against her side when Liz tickled her.
“Wrong answer.” Liz tickled across her stomach.
“Don’t.” She grabbed for Liz’s hand but missed.
Liz tickled the tops of her feet. “What? Did you say yes, I want to be friends with you?”
“Not fair.” Jac flopped onto her side and curled into as much of a ball as her back would allow. The pain mixed with the tickling into a confusion of sensation. Max was dancing around them, and she figured by Liz’s squeals that he was licking her face. “All right. You win.” They were acting like children. She wanted to be angry, but it felt good.
“Say it.”
“We can be friends.” Jac struggled onto her back, resting her hands on her stomach, catching her breath.
“Close,” Liz said, poking a finger into her ribs again. “I want to be friends with you. Say it.”
She’d never wanted to see someone’s face more than she did at this moment. She reached up, caught the ends of Liz’s hair. Soft. Thick. She put her thumbs in the indent of Liz’s chin and laid her fingers along her jaw. Her skin was warm and smooth. She moved her thumbs up to her lower lip. Warm breath puffed against her fingers as she went around her mouth. Twice. Liz was smiling and she ached to see her.
She put her fingertips on each side of Liz’s nose and traced her cheek—the fleshy part and the bone, the dip under her eyes. She moved to her forehead, across and back, then her eyebrows. And lastly to her ears, slipping her fingers under the cape of hair hanging over them. She wanted to cup her cheeks but didn’t. Her pounding heart reminded her she wanted to do more than that.
Setting her arms back on her stomach, Jac entwined her fingers to stop the trembling. “I want to be friends with you.” Warmth flowed thick and slow through her body. She was happier than she’d been in a long time. The guilt over the accident was still there, but she was willing to let there be something else, too.
“It’s been a long three days,” Liz said, lying on her side with her head on Jac’s shoulder. “You’re not still planning on running away to your parents in Hawaii, are you?”
Last night’s plan of escape. “No. I’ll be lucky if I can get off the floor.”
“I was serious about you staying with me.”
“I may take you up on it, but I need to deal with the reality of my life. I was responsible for someone’s death, and that’s not going away.”
“It was an accident.”
“One I could have prevented.”
“Has imprisoning yourself for the last decade brought Stephanie back?”
Jac tensed and pain shot up her back. “That’s not the point.”
“Isn’t it? Famous trumpet player living as a recluse in seaside town? Will shutting yourself off from the world for the rest of your life bring her back?”
Jac’s chest rose and fell in a staccato rhythm as breathing became hard and tears filled her eyes. “Got Kleenex?” she asked, trying to be funny, but the words caught in her throat.
“Settle for a T-shirt?” Liz turned Jac’s head into the crook of her neck.
Jac’s chin touched soft cotton, and her nose fit into a nook below Liz’s ear. She pressed her hand against her stomach, willing the sob to stay put. Max lay next to her, his body stretched along hers.
“It’s okay. You’re human.”
The sob gathered in her belly, climbed up through her chest, forced its way out her mouth. She grabbed for Liz as other sobs chased it—the new, fresh sobs about her lost career, then the heartbroken sobs about Maria, and finally, the old, angry, guilty sobs for Stephanie. “She was twenty-two,” she choked out in broken syllables. “Only twenty-two. I would have traded places with her.”
“I know. Me, too.”
Jac touched Liz’s cheek. She was crying, too. They held each other for a long time until no more tears remained. Friendship and love tangled together, so much more powerful than what she’d felt for Maria. She rolled to her back and wiggled her butt on the floor.
“How bad does it hurt?”
“Not as much as before.” When it was this bad it never improved without weeks of chiropractic and massage, ice and anti-inflammatories.
“Shall we get you up?”
Liz moved away, and the loss made her heart fall in on itself. Of course Liz wasn’t hers. She rolled onto her side. The pain was bearable.
“Give me your hand.”
She did, and Liz helped her to her feet.
“How is it?”
“I can manage.”
“Wrong answer. Friends don’t get all ‘I can do it myself’ with each other. We’re gonna have a lot of tickling before I get you trained.”
“Now that’s something my teacher never tried. You know what I want? A shower.”
“Um, you’re on your own for that.”
“Could you make coffee? Unless you want to go home.”
“I was invited for brunch, but I need to go home and shower, too. No coffee until I get back or you know what will happen.”
Jac liked the teasing. Maria never—She cut off the thought. Halfway down the hall she stopped. “Liz?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.” She started toward her bedroom, but Liz stopped her and wrapped her arms around her waist. A hug from a friend. So simple, but the wonder of it wasn’t a small thing. Max nudged her leg and she put her hand on his head. Liz covered her hand. Friends.
*
“I’ll be on time, Kev.” Liz held the phone to her ear as she forked two more pancakes onto her plate. It was hard to hear him over the conversation. Roger opened another gift, and more laughter erupted when he held up the apron that said Whine Time.
“I’m going to strangle her. She didn’t get the damn tickets.”
Liz didn’t have to ask who the “her” was. She rubbed butter on the pancakes and poured syrup over them. “Did you look for tickets?” Every year they got her dad concert tickets
for Father’s Day. This year was supposed to be Pat Metheny at the Mountain Winery.
“Sold out.”
“I’ll pick him up a shirt and tie in Carmel.” Why couldn’t Hannah ever be responsible?
“We always give him concert tickets.”
“Sometimes always doesn’t happen.”
“They hold tickets back for VIPs. Can Jac score us some?”
“Jac? Why would you—”
“Dad told me she’s that blogger.”
Liz clenched her jaw. He’d promised he wouldn’t tell anyone.
“I’ll see what I can do.” Jac was laughing at something Roger said. She looked younger. She looked happy. What a terrible burden she’d carried, believing she was responsible for someone’s death. Liz understood guilt. She’d always wonder if they would have beat the leukemia if they’d come home and started treatment sooner. She knew that wasn’t any more logical than Jac blaming herself for the accident, but the guilt was there, sticky and hard to shake. She thought back to the tide pool and Jac’s radiant smile. She wanted to give her more moments like that.
Liz walked around the table to where Jac was sitting. “Can I shamelessly impose on you?” She explained the problem.
“I’ll make a call tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s what friends are for.”
Liz kissed Jac’s cheek. Friends who trusted each other and had shared much. Peggy caught her eye and lifted her cup. “Thank you,” she mouthed, and then laughter erupted again as Roger opened another gift. She had friends. She had a life. She checked her watch. She could get used to the new band. And if she didn’t hurry, she’d be late for her family’s Father’s Day party.
Chapter Twenty
Liz walked into her dad’s backyard, just a bit late. It had been hard to drag herself away from brunch and from Jac. Peggy had assured her she’d keep Jac busy so she wouldn’t go back to worrying about the press. Tomorrow she’d call her journalist friend about interviewing Jac.
