by Joan Kilby
“You could train her,” Carly said, picking through her suitcase for clean clothes.
He huffed out a laugh. “I’m not a music teacher.”
“You had voice lessons for years, along with the piano lessons,” Carly argued. “You know what she needs to learn.”
“The thing is...” The real reason was surprisingly hard to come out with. “I won’t be here long enough—”
“Right, of course.” She smiled, a little too brightly. “Which is a nice segue into talking about last night.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“It was wonderful, and you were wonderful,” she rushed on. “But we both know it’s temporary.”
“Carly,” he said firmly, stemming the flow. “It only has to be temporary if we want it to be. I don’t want you to go out of my life again.”
“Which brings us back around to maintaining a friendship.”
“That’s a given,” he said, hiding his disappointment. He wanted more.
“Pinky promise?” She crooked her baby finger.
“Pinky promise.” He linked fingers and squeezed. Then he turned her hand over and kissed the palm. “We both have a lot on our plate right now. We don’t have to make life-altering decisions after one night of mind-blowing sex. Let’s take this one day at a time.”
She gave him a lopsided smile. “Mind-blowing, huh?”
He knocked his head. “Hollow. I’m short about five pounds of gray matter.”
The doorbell rang.
Finn leaned in to kiss her and then rolled off the bed. “That’ll be the plumber.”
* * *
CARLY SAT DOWN at the kitchen table to make a grocery list. She and Finn had agreed to be friends—that was the good news. The bad news was, cementing their friendship didn’t stop her from being infatuated. Back when he was simply the object of her fantasies, her feelings were easier to keep under control. Now that they’d made love she was hyperaware of him. Like now, for instance. How could she think about milk and eggs when the sound of his deep, rumbling voice down the hall talking with the plumber made her hot all over again?
She finished her list and before leaving the house she tidied the living room to eliminate any signs of their lovemaking. As she plumped and straightened the cushions, the previous night came back to her. The uplifting rush of looking into Finn’s eyes as he moved inside her. The moonlight on his naked chest, the scent and texture of his skin, the sound of his breath in her ear. Remembering, her skin tingled. She felt giddy, almost light-headed, awash with warmth and pleasure.
Then out of the blue, she was flooded with guilt and shame. The only reason she and Finn were together was because Irene had died. It wasn’t a big leap to think that her aunt’s death was also the reason they’d made love. It was a well-established phenomenon that after a brush with death people turned to sex as an instinctual life-affirming gesture.
She dropped to the couch and buried her face in her hands. This morning Finn had seemed to want to move beyond friendship. But what if making love hadn’t been fate or kismet or soul mates calling to each other but instead a simple reaction to death? She hated that their feelings could be boiled down so dispassionately. Not love, or even the beginnings of love. Probably not even infatuation. Just biology. Maybe a little chemistry. Okay, a lot of chemistry. After all, she’d been attracted to him as a teenager. That was then. She was grown up now and too pragmatic to get moony-eyed over a guy who was still trying to figure out his life. He might think he was fine, but she knew he wasn’t one hundred percent happy.
What they’d done last night couldn’t happen again. No matter that Finn was the one bright spot in this whole awful episode and he’d been wonderful to her. Or that the thought of cutting short their romance made her feel as if she would suffer another huge loss. A missed opportunity to finally explore what they’d started so long ago.
The plumber went past on his way to get something from his truck. She glanced at her watch and realized she’d been clutching a pillow to her stomach while her mind whirled in useless circles for the better part of ten minutes.
Had she actually believed she was in control of her life? She was a mess, unable to sort out her thoughts or her emotions. Finn didn’t need her problems even if she wanted an ongoing relationship with him. Which her rational mind was doing its best to warn her was a mistake.
Brushing aside her tears, she grabbed her grocery list and headed out. At the store, she raced her cart around the aisles, tossing in fresh fruit and vegetables and whatever. There were so many things she needed to do. So little time. Finish packing Irene’s effects. Call a real estate agent for an appraisal of the property. Call an estate auctioneer—no, first ask Irene’s friends if they wanted anything. No, first set aside the bequeathed items for Uncle Larry, Brenda and the others. And Irene’s portrait and the seascape for herself.
She needed more time, that was all there was to it. As she turned down the cereal aisle she brought up her boss’s number on her phone and got Leanne.
“Hi, Leanne, it’s Carly.” She spoke quickly, tossing items in her cart. “I’d like to talk with Herb if he’s available but first, about my business cards. I’ve consulted an expert. I’m going with serif.”
She must have sounded definite because Leanne didn’t argue this time. Carly breathed a sigh of relief that the ridiculousness was at an end. Leanne put Herb on the line.
“Hi, Herb.” Carly took a deep breath and plunged in. “I’m calling to ask a favor. My aunt left me her house and all her personal effects. I need to put the house on the market and get everything organized so that when I return to New York I can concentrate fully on my job. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to borrow future vacation time to stay another week. I guarantee I’ll be back for the meeting on the eighth.”
“Well...” Herb said slowly. “What’s the status on the Wallis Group?”
“I sent them a prospectus and all the info on our firm,” she told him. “I’ve made contact with their HR person. At the moment the ball is in their court. I’m monitoring my emails and if anything comes up I’ll be on it. If I don’t hear anything in a week I’ll follow up.”
“Sounds like that’s under control,” Herb said. “Let me know if there are developments that you can’t handle from the west coast. And talk to Leanne about assigning any other urgent cases to another consultant. Otherwise, we’ll see you on the eighth.”
“Thanks, Herb,” Carly said, relieved. “I really appreciate this.” She hung up and stood there blinking. A huge weight had just been lifted from her shoulders.
Back at the house, Rufus greeted her with wagging tail and followed her as she made the rest of her calls and put the groceries away. Then she grabbed a stack of cartons and started for the stairs, the dog bounding ahead. Now that she had a deadline reprieve she had to get on with things.
Entering her aunt’s room was weird, as if she was intruding on personal space. Rufus prowled, sniffing everything, and finally settled beside the bed, his muzzle resting on one of Irene’s sandals. Irene was present everywhere, from the dangly bead earrings on the dresser to the paisley pashmina shawl draped over the wing chair in the corner, to the biography of Leonard Bernstein on the bedside table.
Oh, and there was the bluebird brooch sitting in a little porcelain dish on the dresser. The enameled bluebird with its wings spread, throat lifted and beak open as if he was singing his heart out. Carly smiled. Irene used to lend it to her students to wear for good luck before a recital or an exam at the conservatory. Countless young people had been encouraged by the talisman and gone on to make Irene proud.
Carly put down the brooch and picked up her aunt’s shawl. A whiff of delicate floral perfume instantly transported her back to her childhood. She and Irene used to sit on the porch in the warm dusk and talk quietly. As the shadows grew long and the heat of the day faded, Irene would wrap herself a
nd Carly in the shawl and they would sit until the stars came out.
Carly gently folded the shawl and set it aside. Then she started to empty the low bookshelf. There were a lot of New Age self-help books about the health benefits of meditation, more biographies of famous musicians, the odd thriller and plenty of literary and women’s fiction.
She picked up a plain black leather-bound volume. Curious, she opened it and saw handwriting. Irene’s journal. A quick skim suggested a mixture of random thoughts, daily events and recorded dreams. Carly closed it quickly. She wouldn’t dream of reading Irene’s journal if her aunt was alive. Was it an invasion of privacy now that she’d passed? It felt too soon, her own grief too raw. Hard enough to pack up Irene’s things without hearing her voice leap off the page. And yet...part of her longed for that connection to her aunt. And just maybe there would be something about Finn in there, some clue as to what made him tick that he wasn’t telling her, that she couldn’t guess for herself. Although that, too, seemed an invasion.
“Carly?” Finn said from the doorway. In his skinny black jeans and gray T-shirt he looked scruffy and sexy, very much the rock star at home.
She started guiltily. “Hey.”
“Irene’s friends are here to see if they can do anything.” He stepped back.
The woman with the long gray braid and the grandmotherly-looking blonde from the funeral filled the doorway. “I’m Roberta and this is Jeanette. Can we do anything to help, like pack Irene’s clothes to go to a charity?”
“I remember you both,” Carly said, suddenly very glad these women had arrived to help her deal with the memories. “Thank you, that would be wonderful. If...if there’s any item you would like to have, please take it.”
Roberta and Jeanette exchanged a glance and shook their heads. “No, but thanks, anyway.”
Leaving the women tackling the closet, Carly picked up the shawl and journal and went into the hall to speak to Finn, Rufus at her heels. “Is the plumber still here?”
“Yeah, and the job looks worse than he’d initially thought,” Finn said. “He’s ripping out the pipes in the laundry room.”
“I thought the bathroom was the problem.”
“Like I said, it’s bigger than he thought.” She must have looked worried because Finn placed a palm on her cheek. “It’ll be over soon.”
“I’ve got another week off work. I need to fly home next Sunday. ” Her gaze met his. Neither said a word. It was all very well to pledge friendship, but when the future was too nebulous to pin down, saying goodbye would be gut-wrenching.
“I’ve got to go to Dingo’s,” he finally said awkwardly. “I’m playing the band Annie’s recording.”
She kissed him lightly on the mouth. “Good luck.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
FINN PAUSED IN the middle of Dingo’s driveway to listen to the band playing the instrumental bridge of an old Queen rock anthem. Leroy had the drum solo down pat and Billy rocked the bass. Dingo, well, he could compete with the best on lead guitar. The instrumental section crescendoed and segued into the bars leading up to the next verse. He could already imagine Annie belting out the words in her gutsy, soulful voice.
He started forward again, eager to let the guys hear her recording. A strong male voice came in smoothly on the backbeat and he stopped short. Tom must have come through with a lead singer. This guy was good. No way was Dingo going to go with Annie now even if he loved her tape.
Finn slipped inside the studio and perched on a stool as they finished the song. The newcomer looked the part of an old-time rocker, too, with tight jeans and sleeveless ripped shirt as he strutted about tossing his mane of blond hair. He was no amateur, either. His voice was trained, his presentation polished, and his timing was impeccable. He finished with a flourish of the handheld mic.
Finn clapped enthusiastically and exchanged grins with Leroy and Billy. “Awesome.”
“Take five, guys.” Dingo leaned his guitar against an amp.
Leroy eased off the drum stool and stretched. Billy headed for the bar fridge for beer.
“This is Leith,” Dingo said, introducing the lead singer to Finn. “He’s from Seattle and has been performing solo and in various bands for years. Leith, this is Finn Farrell, the guy responsible for you being here.”
Finn extended a hand to Leith. “Nice to meet you. You’ve got a great sound.”
“Thanks. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Leith gave a firm shake and bumped fists. “I appreciate you putting the word out to Tom. I signed with him two months ago. Never thought I’d get a gig this good so quickly. Mind you, they haven’t given me the nod yet.”
“We’ll make a decision soon,” Dingo said. “Meanwhile, beer’s in the fridge.” Leith headed over to where Leroy and Billy were opening bottles and Dingo turned to Finn. “Are you staying for rehearsal?”
“Nah, I’ve only got a few minutes,” Finn said. “There’s work to do up at the house.”
Dingo gave him an appraising half smile. “You’re really going the extra mile for Carly. Do I detect a little love interest?”
“You’ve got a vivid imagination, man,” Finn said.
“And you play your cards close to your chest,” Dingo rejoined. “But then, you always did.”
“I didn’t come to jaw about my love life,” Finn began.
“What’s up?” Dingo glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “If you’ve changed your mind about joining the band, even temporarily, that’s cool.”
“Is there a problem with Leith?” Finn asked, matching Dingo’s quiet tone.
“He’s great—as far as he goes,” Dingo said. “But he only sings. We’re still short a keyboardist.”
“I haven’t changed my mind but I did find a singer for you,” Finn said. “She doesn’t play an instrument, either, but she has a voice that has to be heard to be believed. Untrained but so much power. If Leith doesn’t work out she’d be a good alternative.”
Finn pressed a USB stick into Dingo’s palm. He’d fiddled with the sound mix a little on his laptop music production program but hadn’t needed to do anything to enhance Annie’s voice.
Dingo held the flash drive with callused fingertips. “Who is she? What experience has she got?”
“If you like what you hear then we’ll talk,” Finn said. “No obligation. If not lead, then maybe you could use her as a backup singer.”
“This better not be Annie,” Dingo said, plugging the stick into a USB port on a laptop hooked up to his sound system.
“Just listen.” Finn trusted his instincts when it came to music but these guys had a vision of their band and that was their prerogative. It all came down to what they thought of her voice.
The guys’ chatter faded to murmurs at the opening piano chords. Dingo glanced at Finn, no doubt wondering if that was him playing. Then Annie started to sing. The effect was even more powerful without the visual of her schoolgirl look and her mousy hair in a straggly ponytail. The guys exchanged surprised looks. No one even brought a beer bottle to their lips until the song ended. Even then, the stunned silence lasted another few seconds.
“Wow!” Dingo said. “Who is she?”
“Does it matter?” Finn said. “You guys don’t need her...” He nodded to Leith. “But maybe you could recommend another band that’s looking for a singer?”
“Hold on a sec. We might be able to use her on backup vocals,” Dingo said, clearly trying to hedge his bets. “What do you guys think?” he said to the band, including Leith in his question.
“Amazing.”
“Awesome.”
“If she looks as good as she sounds, sign her up.”
“Is she available?” Dingo asked. “Can you get her down here?”
“She’s got a day job. I’ll have to check when she’s free,” Finn said, stalling. No matter how good her voice, Annie woul
d need to work on her look if the band was going to accept her. Rightly or wrongly, they had a prejudice against her. With her talent she would find another band but she seemed to want to work with this one.
“Let us know, okay?” Dingo said.
“I’ll be in touch soon.” Finn lifted a hand. “Catch you all later.”
* * *
CARLY WAS FRYING ground beef and onions for tacos when Finn arrived home. Rufus was swirling around the kitchen, nosing the floor for fallen tidbits. His feathery red tail wagged furiously when he saw Finn come through the door. If Carly had a tail she would have been wagging it, too. As it was, she couldn’t help smiling in response to Finn’s infectious grin. The black waves flopping over his forehead made her want to run her fingers through his hair and mess it up even more.
“Hey.”
“Hey, yourself.” She stirred the meat, acting casual and feeling anything but. Would he kiss her? Should she put this spoon down and go kiss him? Or were they both going to pretend that they hadn’t made doomed love—until it happened again?
“How was it clearing out Irene’s room?” he asked.
Okay, so they weren’t rushing into each other’s arms. Well, she had no right to be disappointed. She was the one who’d said she wanted to be friends. “Not as bad as I’d feared. It helped having Roberta and Jeanette there. We emptied the closet and the dresser and they took all the clothing to a charity.”
“You didn’t want to keep anything of hers?”
“I kept her shawl and her journal,” Carly said. “Journals, plural. She’s got at least a dozen. Oh, and her bluebird brooch. Do you remember that?”
“Of course,” Finn said. “She gave it to me to wear the night of the concert. I was so agitated I forgot to put it on.”
“That explains everything then,” Carly said with a dry smile. Could he take a teasing or was the subject too touchy? He gave her a withering look but he was smiling, too.
