Making a Comeback

by Julie Blair

  “Sunshine,” her dad called. His skinny legs stuck out below Bermuda shorts, and he wore the Diana Krall T-shirt from the concert they’d taken him to last year. He was pushing Kevin, Jr. in the swing.

  “Not so high,” Karen called, holding the back screen door open.

  “It’s all right,” her dad called back, pushing him higher. Robbie kicked his legs up wildly in the adjacent swing.

  “Kevin, I want to talk to you,” Karen said.

  Kevin shoved out of the chair, set the Wine Spectator magazine on the table, and drank the rest of his wine before walking to the house. His shorts and Polo shirt were rumpled like he’d slept in them.

  Liz sat in the third swing. Her thighs squished together, and she wrapped her arms around the chains.

  “I helped Regan get the CD orders mailed out yesterday,” her dad said, giving her a push. “And posted three videos on YouTube.”

  “Thanks.” She should have done those things, but all she’d wanted to do was celebrate with Jac.

  “Okay, big guy, you ready? On three.” Kevin, Jr. went sailing out of the swing. His squeal of delight turned to a scream of pain when he landed facedown on the ground.

  Karen burst through the screen door and ran to him. “Let me see,” she said, taking his face in her hands. “His chin’s bleeding.”

  Liz hopped off the swing and knelt next to him. She fingered the scar under her chin. Same swing.

  “He’s a champ,” her dad said, patting the boy’s back.

  “He’s an eight-year-old.” Karen gave Liz’s dad a withering stare, holding her son as he cried.

  “Let’s go find a superhero Band-Aid,” Kevin said. A look passed between Kevin and Karen before he carried his boy to the house.

  “Robbie, come with me,” Karen said, holding out her hand. “Mommy needs your help with something important.” She let the screen door slam behind her.

  “He’s tougher than she thinks. He’ll be fine,” her dad said. “I have a surprise for you.” His expression had an odd smugness. “Let’s go to the study where we can talk.” When they were inside his study, he turned on the desktop computer and angled it toward her. “Chron review.”

  “I don’t read—”

  “Read it.”

  She sat behind the desk and read. The first paragraph lavished praise on the album—one of the best of the year, a must-see band with a bright future. That was good. It singled her out for her composing, and the reviewer analyzed some of her songs. Okay. Then raved about her performance. That made her uncomfortable. It hadn’t been her best.

  The album was co-produced by—Liz’s heart vaulted into her throat. Jacqueline Richards, under the name Jac Winters. No. How—She jerked her head up. Her dad was grinning. Liz put her hand to her throat. “Oh, no.” The review continued about the influence Ms. Richards had on the album, said she was the voice behind the blog Jazz Notes, now lived in Carmel, and finished by speculating on whether this signaled she would be returning to the stage herself.

  “I didn’t recognize her either. Odd that she didn’t tell you.”

  Liz ignored the ping of guilt for keeping that from him. She pressed her palms to her cheeks as she stared at the screen in disbelief, willing it not to be true. Oh, God, this was going to undo Jac.

  “You got lucky, sunshine.” He grinned again, a too-smug grin. “And you have me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I overheard a woman telling her friend she couldn’t believe she’d run into Jacqueline Richards. I recognized the name. Imagine someone that famous in my club.”

  Liz listened with growing dread.

  “I asked if she was still here and she said no, but then told her friend she didn’t know she was blind and went on about knowing her at Juilliard.” Her dad looked like he’d just filled in the last word on a Times crossword puzzle. “You should have seen the Chron reviewer’s expression when I told him Jacqueline Richards came to your show. When I told him she’d produced your album, I thought he’d fall off his stool.”

  The reporter yesterday was because of her dad? “I told you about Jac in confidence.” Her voice rose.

  “It’s important to have a good relationship with the press. You won the publicity lottery, sunshine.” That grin again.

  “You sicced the press on someone you know nothing about?” Blood rushed to her face as she shoved out of the chair and faced him.

  “She’s a public figure.” Irritation tinged his voice.

  “She’s my friend, Dad.”

  “Not if she didn’t tell you who she was.”

  Liz braced her hand on the desk, dizzy as understanding dawned. Her words came out slowly, as if she had to invent each one. “You told him about Jac in hope of a favorable review.”

  “You were so close last year and lost your dream again because of Teri’s illness,” he said, as if consoling a child. “I don’t want you to lose it again. She’d agree with what I did.”

  “No, she wouldn’t.”

  His expression hardened. “Teri understood the game.”

  “We got gigs and great reviews because of our music.”

  “Grandma was as good as you, but how many people came to her living room to hear her perform?”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “I’m good enough to play professionally. Do you see me on my own stage? Talent isn’t enough. Timing. Breaks. Publicity. Teri understood that.”

  “It’s my band now.”

  “You keep doing what you do best and let me handle the rest.” He put his arm over her shoulder and guided her to the door.

  Liz scurried upstairs to her bedroom. She needed to think. She felt sick to her stomach. Oh, God, she’d have to tell her. Jac would never speak to her again. The look of panic on her face when the reporter confronted her. Her heart-wrenching story last night about the accident. She was in the hallway, headed downstairs for her phone, when she heard Kevin and Karen in his old bedroom.

  Karen’s voice was low but furious. “Do not let him put them on those swings again. He does what he wants without caring about consequences.”

  “He does a lot for us,” Kevin said, sounding irritated.

  “No. We do a lot for him,” Karen shot back.

  The door opened and Kevin barged into Liz, his mouth a hard line. She steadied herself with a hand to the wall below a picture of her at the piano as a child. He hurried down the stairs as Karen appeared in the doorway.

  “Are you and Kevin okay?”

  “We’re seeing a marriage counselor.” Tears pooled in Karen’s eyes.

  “I’m sorry.” Their marriage had always seemed solid.

  “What your dad did to your friend? It’s not right.” Karen gave her a quick hug before heading down the stairs.

  Liz slunk into her bedroom and collapsed on the bed. No, it wasn’t right. Would Teri have agreed with him? The thought shot her to her feet. Of course not. She needed to call Jac. How was she going to explain this? Two steps into the hall she stopped and looked at her dad’s closed bedroom door at the end of the hall. Other voices. A memory she’d forgotten. High school. An English test the next day and she’d come up to get her notebook.

  “It’s an important gig,” her dad said, his voice loud even through the closed door.

  “She has a test tomorrow,” her mom countered.

  “I’ll quiz her on the drive. We agreed we’d do whatever it took to help her get her dream.”

  “Her dream? Are you sure about that?”

  “Do we have to force her to practice? She deserves her shot, Alice.”

  “Does that have to include taking her to bars?”

  “I won’t let anything happen to her. He’s a big name. It was a lucky break his piano player got sick. I told him I’d give him a little something if he let Liz solo a bit. She’ll get reviewed. It adds up. She’ll get noticed by bands looking for pianists.”

  “She has a band.”

  “They’re all right for another year.”

&
nbsp; “They’re her friends.”

  “She can have friends or she can have the career she deserves. I wish I could talk her out of going to UOP. It’s an unnecessary detour.”

  At dinner her mom acted like nothing had happened. She’d received great reviews for that show and it had led to other offers. Was she naive about the business?

  When she went back downstairs, everything seemed the same. Rebecca was scrubbing potatoes in the sink. Kevin was in his chair on the patio, reading his magazine. Karen was kicking the soccer ball around on the lawn with the boys. Her dad was pulling weeds from between his prized tomatoes. And yet everything wasn’t the same.

  Car doors slammed, and a minute later Sammy and Regan walked into the backyard. “Hey, Pops,” Sammy said, high-fiving him. “Awesome review,” he said to Liz, bending his tall frame to hug her.

  “Happy Father’s Day,” Regan said, her usual six-pack of Coke in her hand. She gave Liz’s dad a one-armed hug that was more just leaning toward him. She ignored Liz and went to the kitchen.

  Liz followed her. “Sorry I wasn’t around yesterday to help with the CDs.”

  “Whatever.” Regan put her Coke in the refrigerator.

  This would go nowhere if she didn’t ask the question. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Job got done.”

  “Regan—”

  “I get it. We’re so lucky to be in your band now you’re hooked up with that famous woman.”

  “That famous woman likes her privacy. Like you. Now she has reporters hounding her.”

  “She gets credit. We get publicity. What’s the big deal?”

  “Grow up, Regan.” Liz grabbed her cell from her purse. She was vibrating with anger as she stormed out the front door, slamming it behind her. She was long past caring about don’t-slam-the-door rules. What were the rules? Anything was fair game for the sake of publicity? She was across the lawn and heading down the street when Regan caught up to her, hands buried in her pockets. “Don’t you ever wear anything other than black?”

  Regan stopped. “Fuck you. When you were given only one pair of new jeans and T-shirt a year and a mom who couldn’t sober up long enough to do laundry or give you quarters to do your own, black didn’t look as dirty.”

  Liz bent over and gripped her knees as laughter poured out of her. She was going to lose a friendship she didn’t want to lose. She’d argued with her dad and she hated arguing. Now she was being mean to someone she loved. It had been a bad day and the sun wasn’t even down yet. All she saw through eyes blurred by tears were the black Converse tennis shoes an inch from her sandals. “That’s more words than I’ve heard from you in months,” Liz said when she could breathe. She straightened, unsure what to expect. A smile barely broke the straight line of Regan’s mouth. “Hug me, damn it.”

  Regan did. A real, full body hug, complete with a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry about your friend. Jac. That’s not right she was outed like that.”

  “I need to make a call.”

  “Want me to wait for you?”

  “No. I won’t be long.” Liz walked a block before making the call, wishing she didn’t have to. No answer from Jac. She called Peggy. “I saw the review,” she said when Peggy answered. “How is she?”

  “Bad. She got a migraine. She’s asleep finally.”

  She dropped to someone’s lawn and cradled her head on her bent knees. “It’s all my fault.”

  “You couldn’t have known where this would lead. I want to strangle that woman who recognized her. I thought Jac was overreacting about her saying something to the media. Boy, they wasted no time. When she wakes up, I’ll tell her you called. You earned the review, Liz.”

  “No, I didn’t. I’m coming down in the morning. I need to talk to her.”

  “I can’t guarantee she’ll be up to it, but I’m always happy to see you. How’s your party?”

  “Not so good.” She ended the call and continued around the block. She felt awful for not noticing what was going on with Kevin and Karen. Her dad’s thoughtless behavior confused her. Come to think of it, Rebecca hadn’t been her usual cheerful self lately, either. When had things started to unravel? Maybe it was for the best she wouldn’t have a reason to be in Carmel. She needed to be here. When she got back to the house, Hannah was getting out of her car.

  “I suppose you’re not speaking to me, either.”

  “It’s a big thing not getting the tickets.”

  “I forgot. I’m sorry. I’ve been busy with the restaurant and—Oh, never mind. God forbid if I’m not Hannah who always screws up.”

  Liz started to scold her but stopped. There were circles under her eyes and she’d seemed stressed lately. “Jac’s going to get us tickets.”

  Hannah smiled. “See, I keep telling you, it’s all about who you know. Good time in Carmel yesterday?”

  “Not exactly.” As they walked to the backyard, she filled Hannah in on what had happened.

  “Why does Dad do stuff like that?” Hannah asked, disgust in her voice.

  “He wants what’s best for all of us,” she said, but not with her usual certainty.

  Hannah snorted. “You still believe that? He wants what’s best for him.”

  She didn’t defend him. They joined Rebecca in the kitchen. Yes, she was quieter than usual. Liz helped Hannah bake the chocolate cake they always had when the party was for her dad. This time Hannah didn’t dress it up.

  On the surface, dinner was the event it always was, but she noticed undercurrents of tension between Kevin and Karen, and Rebecca was definitely too quiet. Kevin, Jr. kept rubbing the neon-green Band-Aid on his chin. And in the middle of it all, her dad was his usual boisterous self, seemingly oblivious to the discord around him.

  “Music time,” her dad said, after he’d opened his presents.

  “I’m taking the boys home,” Karen said.

  “Nooo,” Robbie wailed, grabbing onto her dad’s arm. “I wanna play with Grandpa.”

  “Whoa, big fella. Real musicians don’t cry. Have you been practicing the chords I showed you?”

  “Yes.” Robbie beamed.

  “Let’s hear you.” He took both boys by the hand and led them out of the living room. “Practice needs to be rewarded,” he said as he passed Karen. “Why don’t the boys spend the night?”

  “Yay,” they cried in unison.

  Karen folded her arms, her face tight. “Does he ever not get his way?”

  “You know how important music is to him,” Liz said.

  “Robbie plays that guitar your dad gave him because he wants the praise, but he loves baseball. Does your dad come to his games?”

  “I don’t know,” Liz said, afraid there was a lot she didn’t know. “I guess I haven’t been paying attention since Teri’s death.”

  “It’s always been like this.”

  “Come on, Liz,” her dad said from the back door.

  “My hand’s not up to it, Dad.”

  “You can do a few songs.”

  “I’m going home,” Karen said, not looking at Kevin as she walked out of the room.

  “I’m taking off,” Hannah said. “Don’t get upset, Lizzie. The condo’s a little messy.”

  An hour later Liz joined Kevin on the patio. Her left hand hurt like hell. Why hadn’t she just said no? “You should take a couple weeks off while the boys are out of school.”

  “Do you know what kind of mess I’d come back to?”

  “Dad would—”

  “He’s terrible at running the restaurant. Mom ran it. He likes to talk to customers and come up with advertising schemes.”

  Liz rubbed her forehead and then drank some of Kevin’s wine. “Why don’t I know this?”

  “You’ve always been kind of separate.” He lifted one shoulder. “Promise me something?”

  “What?”

  “The band? Do it your way. With Teri gone, Dad’s—”

  “Did I hear my name?” Her dad walked toward them, the boys tagging along behind. “Why
don’t you boys run upstairs and put your pajamas on.”

  “They need a bath first,” Kevin said.

  “What do you think, boys? Bath or a story?”

  “Story,” they said. “Read us a story.”

  “Come on,” Liz said to the boys. “Race me upstairs. Last one to the bathroom gets first bath.”

  “Liz—”

  “It’s fine, Kevin.” She squeezed his arm.

  “I’ll be back in a bit,” her dad said. “I want to check on the club.”

  “If I took them home would he even notice?” Kevin asked, after they’d tucked the boys into bed.

  “Not until breakfast.” A pattern Liz had never recognized before took shape. Her dad disappeared for the grunt work. Tomorrow morning he’d make a big deal out of cooking pancakes and bacon for the boys. Something he loved to do. A troublesome thought crossed her mind. Would they be as close if she hadn’t become a musician?

  “I’ve gotta go make up with Karen.” Kevin gave her an unusually long hug.

  Her dad was in the kitchen when she went downstairs for another piece of cake. “Is Rebecca all right?” She hadn’t stayed to listen to them play. She was usually the last to leave.

  “Fine. We need to start putting together your set list for Monterey. I’ve been thinking about it. We should open with—”

  “I’ll choose the set. And Dad? Don’t do anything like what you did with that reviewer again.” He looked hurt. She didn’t care. “If the band makes it, I want to know we made it on our talent and hard work, not because you wheedled a review by violating someone’s privacy.” His face tightened. “Did you even think about the fact that the album will be seen as her creation? That all the years of work Teri and I put into the band are now irrelevant?”

  He looked away, his jaw muscles working. “When you calm down, you’ll realize I did the right thing.”

  Liz went to her bedroom and flopped onto the bed. She wasn’t up to facing the messy condo. She’d started the day sure of her friendship with Jac and optimistic about the band’s future. Her relationship with Jac would probably end tomorrow, and she was going to have to rethink her dad’s role with the band. Messy. All of a sudden everything was messy.