Copyright © 2016 Jennifer McCoy Blaske
All rights reserved.
ISBN:
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Dedicated in loving memory to my mother, Virginia Judith McCoy.
She taught me how to type my first manuscript when I was ten.
Chapter One
Summer vacation was almost over and I still hadn’t gotten completely used to grocery shopping with two kids under the age of eight. For one thing, everything seemed to take about three times longer than it did when I went shopping by myself. For another …
“Angela!” I took a can of sliced peaches off the shelf and put it in the shopping cart. “Stop squeezing the marshmallows!”
“But it feels so good to squeeze something so big and squishy.” Her fingers lingered on the bag. She gave it one final squish before pulling away her hand.
“Why is there a water squirter in our cart?” I picked up a green water pistol that was wedged between a gallon of milk and a box of Cheerios.
“That was Danny!” Angela shot her index finger toward her little brother’s face. “He tried to sneak that in when you weren’t looking!”
“I did not!”
“Yes you did! I saw you!”
“Where did you get this?” I looked up and down the aisle. “I don’t see any toys here.”
“Oh, it wasn’t here,” said Angela. “I think it was about two aisles back … or three. Or maybe four.”
I stared at the water pistol and sighed. I was debating whether or not I wanted to drag everybody back through the store in the hopes of finding the water pistol shelf.
“So are we gonna keep it? Are we?” Danny asked.
“No. No, we are not going to keep it.” I glanced around to make sure no one was looking as I tucked the water pistol between two cans of jellied cranberry sauce … hoping it didn’t make me a terrible person.
“Come on.” I pushed the cart around the corner toward the produce section. “We’re almost done.”
“Ooh, Mom,” Danny cooed as we approached a display of small white tubes with apple smiley faces on them. “Can I have these? Everyone in school has them. Can I have one? Please?”
“What is it?” I picked up a tube and frowned at the smiley faces. “Toothpaste?”
“No,” said Angela. “They’re Fruit Smooshers.”
“Fruit … Smooshers?”
“It’s smooshed-up fruit, and you squeeze it right into your mouth,” Angela explained.
“So can I get it?” asked Danny.
I looked at the price of these little tubes which undoubtedly contained little, if any, actual fruit, and winced. “No, I don’t think …”
“Look at these!” Danny picked up a bag of chocolate-covered raisins and waved it at me. “I want to get these instead.”
“She said no.” Angela tried to tug the bag out of his hand. “Put it down.”
“Leggo!” Danny yanked the bag. “She said no about the Fruit Smooshers not these. Mom!”
Angela lunged forward and started wrestling Danny for the bag. “She meant that she didn’t want you to …”
“SHUSH!!” I ordered as I pried their fingers away and slammed the bag on the shelf. “We are not getting anything that’s not on my list. I don’t want either of you to …”
“Heather?”
I turned around, startled. I was half-expecting to see a store employee ready to escort my family off the premises while firmly informing us to please meet our grocery needs elsewhere in the future.
Instead, I saw a dark-haired woman about my age. She was peering at me curiously. The baby in her shopping cart was wearing a pink headband, sitting in a floral cart cover.
The baby looked so blissfully still—and quiet. I was envious.
“Aren’t you Heather Collins?” The woman was studying me. “Did you go to Johnston College?”
“Huh? Uh … yeah. I am, and I did. My married name, my name now, is Heather Hershey.” Did I know this person? She didn’t look familiar.
“I knew it!” she said. “I’m Catherine Stephens! We were on the same hall freshman year. I was Laurie Sutcliffe’s roommate.”
“Oh … oh, right.” I was starting to remember. Laurie Sutcliffe was known in the dorm for being able to tie a cherry stem into a knot with her tongue. Catherine, on the other hand, had no such talents that I was aware of.
“I transferred to Hunter City College after freshman year, so I wasn’t at Johnston very long,” said Catherine. “But I remember you. You look exactly the same as you did back then.”
“Thank you.” I frowned. Maybe that wasn’t a compliment.
“This is Lexi.” Catherine gestured toward her baby. “She just turned seven months and she …” Her voice trailed off as she gazed past me. “Are those your children playing catch with the apples?”
I whipped around. “Angela! Danny! Put those down and get over here!”
“It was Danny’s idea,” Angela declared as she set the apple down and walked toward me.
“Was not!”
“How old are they?” Catherine asked.
She was probably wondering how much longer she had until her sweet, quiet—and easy to immobilize—Lexi turned into one of these out of control creatures.
“Angela’s eight and Danny just turned six.” I glanced over my shoulder at them. “Angela, what are you doing with those bananas?”
Angela looked at me. “Weighing them,” she said, as if she was surprised that I had to ask.
“Aw, cool!” Danny’s eyes grew big. “I wanna weigh something too! What can I weigh?”
“Wait your turn.” Angela plopped a second bunch of bananas on the scale.
“Hey, I know! Let’s weigh a watermelon!” Danny took off running down the aisle.
“NO!” I told them. “No weighing produce!”
They both looked at me, shocked.
“Why not?” Danny asked.
“Just … just put the bananas back,” I said. “No, actually, put them in the cart. I need to get bananas anyway. No, not both bunches. Just one.”
“You were the piano player, I remember,” Catherine said.
“Huh?” I dreaded the havoc that could ensue if I took my eyes off the kids, but I turned back to her anyway. “Oh, oh yes, I guess I was.” It was funny to be called that. I’d almost forgotten about it. It was strange that something which used to be such a big part of my life now seemed like a distant memory.
“I always thought that was neat,” said Catherine. “Being a music major seemed like it was so much more interesting than being, I don’t know, a business major or something.”
“Oh yeah,” I said. “It was, uh … pretty interesting.” It was interesting while it lasted anyway. I didn’t tell her that I ended up getting my degree in business.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Danny announced.
I turned around. “What? Didn’t I tell you to go before we left?”
“I did.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Now I gotta go again.”
I looked helplessly toward the bathrooms on the other side of the store. “Can’t you just wait a few minutes till we get home? We’re almost finished.”
He swished his head back and forth. “I really gotta go.”
I bleakly turned to Catherine. “Well, it sounds like we need to go. Thanks for saying hi. Your baby is beautiful.”
“Thank you. It was good to see you.” Catherine pushed little Lexi off toward the dairy section.
“Come on.” I wearily turned the cart around and started trudging across the store.
Angela was rummaging through a clearance bin of pool toys as I stood outside the me
n’s restroom waiting for Danny. I kept hearing Catherine’s voice in my head: You were the piano player.
“Ooh, can we get this Mommy?” Angela waved a red and white swim torpedo at me.
“No.”
You were the piano player.
“I’m done.” Danny strutted out of the bathroom with a two-foot piece of toilet paper stuck to his shoe.
“Umm …” I said. “You might want to check your shoe, Danny.”
“Huh? Oh.” He lifted up his foot, peeled off the toilet paper, and threw it on the floor.
“No!” I said. “Go back to the bathroom and throw it in the trash. And wash your hands again.”
“What about this Mommy?” Angela was waving a swim noodle around. Then she whacked me on the head with it. “Oh, sorry.”
“Ow!” I said. “Angela, put it back. We’re not buying any pool toys today.”
“I’m done.” Danny emerged from the bathroom a second time. His zipper was down and his fly was pooching out, displaying a hint of red Spiderman underwear.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” I leaned forward and zipped Danny back up. “Okay, I think we’re actually done. Let’s go check out.”
You were the piano player.
“Hey Mommy, can we get candy?” Danny asked.
“No,” I said over my shoulder as I loaded two jugs of milk onto the conveyor belt. “No candy.”
“Are plastic bags okay?” asked the cashier.
“What about gum?” Angela snatched a pack of Bubble Yum off the shelf.
“No!” I yelled.
The cashier looked shocked. “You don’t want plastic bags? Well, then, is paper okay?”
“No!” I said. “I mean yes, plastic is fine. Whatever.” I grabbed the gum from Angela and put it on the shelf. “Angela, we’re not buying any more …” I stopped in my tracks. There was a Vintage Bride magazine next to the gum. Four Mistakes to Avoid When Choosing Your Ceremony Music was splashed across a photo of a piano keyboard with a red rose lying on it.
“So … then, which one. Paper or plastic?” The cashier sounded annoyed.
“Uh … plastic. Plastic’s fine.” I plucked the magazine off the rack. I studied it for a moment before slowly placing it back where it belonged.
You were the piano player.
Yes, I thought to myself. Yes I was.
* * *
When we got home I hauled in all the groceries. Then I microwaved three hot dogs and a bowl of baked beans for our lunch.
After we finished eating the kids ran off and I headed down to the basement. I scanned the shelves full of boxes until I found the one labeled Heather’s Piano Music.
I lugged it upstairs and landed it next to the piano with a thud. Staring at the box warily, I wondered if I should dare open the lid and unleash my former life.
My parents bought the piano for me when I was eleven. I’d heard Bryon Griffin play “The Entertainer” at a school talent show and I was so entranced that I begged my parents for a piano and lessons. It took months, but they finally realized that I wasn’t going to back down.
These days, the piano was basically a piece of decorative furniture in my living room. We’d kept it tuned, although I’d barely played it in years. The one exception was that I’d learned to play the theme song to Millie Mallard’s Pond of Fun to amuse the kids when they were younger. It was their favorite TV show.
I took a deep breath. In one movement I whipped the lid off the box and whirled it aside as I tipped the contents onto the carpet.
After a few seconds of reverence, I gingerly touched the pile of books. They represented my old life—the life that I’d told myself for years that I didn’t really want anyway.
I gently fanned some of the books across the carpet. It was like going through photo albums with pictures of people you hadn’t seen or spoken to in ten years. It was so long ago, and things were so different back then. It felt like another lifetime.
I studied the books I’d dumped on the floor. I eventually opened my Bach inventions. The pages were stuffed with sixteenth notes, trills, and tricky fingerings. I set that aside and thumbed through a book of Debussy preludes which looked just as scary, if not worse.
It was hard to believe that I used to be able to play this music. What was I thinking? Could I really pick up the piano again after all these years—and then actually find people who would hire me to play for them?
The excitement I’d felt after we left the grocery store was fading fast. I put the Bach and Debussy books back in the box and started half-heartedly leafing through some of the other books.
As I opened my yellow Schemer edition of Chopin’s preludes, I noticed some cursive writing in black ink on the inside cover. It was dated the month I graduated from high school.
Congratulations, Heather!
I am so proud of you and all that you have accomplished over the years. It has been such a wonderful pleasure to teach you and I wish you the best. I know you will go far wherever your love for music takes you.
– Mrs. Lillian Casey
I’d totally forgotten that Mrs. Casey gave me the Chopin preludes as a graduation gift because I’d played the “Raindrop Prelude” for a recital and liked it so much. I gently flipped through the pages before turning back to the inside cover to read the inscription one more time.
Wow. How could I let Mrs. Casey down?
* * *
On Saturday morning the kids got their bowls of cereal and took them to the couch in the family room to watch TV. I made a bagel and poured a glass of orange juice before sitting down at the kitchen table with my husband, Steve.
“I’ve decided to become a wedding pianist,” I announced. I hadn’t wanted to tell him anything until I’d had a few days to ponder the idea and devise a plan. Now it all came bursting out.
Steve set down his coffee cup. “You’re what?”
“I’ve decided to become a wedding pianist. I’ve ordered business cards and everything! They look really great. There’s a picture of a baby grand piano and my name and number in red ink. I’ve got two hundred of them coming in the mail next week.”
“Two hundred?” Steve looked slightly dazed. Or maybe he was wondering if he was dreaming. “Heather, I don’t understand. When was the last time you even played the piano?”
“That’s the point.” I was getting excited. “This can give me a real reason to start playing again … and make money doing it.”
Steve looked at me and blinked a couple times. I think he was still half-asleep.
“And wait till you see this!” I got the laptop from the living room, put it on the kitchen table, and started typing. I navigated to the listing I’d placed on a site called Wedding Wild and turned the laptop toward Steve. “What do you think of that?”
He squinted at the screen. “Isn’t that your Glamour Shots photo from ten years ago?”
Had it really been that long? “Well … sure, but it’s a great photo, isn’t it? And anyway, I look the same now. In fact, that’s exactly what the woman I knew from college who I saw at the store the other day told me … that I look the same as I did then!”
“You don’t look like this, though.” Steve frowned at the screen. “I don’t think you ever looked like that. You have gobs of makeup on in this photo, and your hair is … uh … kind of poofy.”
“Well, forget about the photo.” I waved my hand. “I can always change that later. Read the rest of it!”
Steve looked at the screen and began reading out loud. “Live music makes a wedding elegant and memorable. Heather Hershey’s piano music will make your special day magical as she plays from her vast repertoire …” He stopped and looked at me. “Vast repertoire?” His eyes narrowed. “Do you have any repertoire right now? I mean, you’re not planning on playing the theme song from Millie Mallard’s Pond of Fun as the bride walks down the aisle, are you?”
I crossed my arms. “I’m perfectly capable of playing a lot more than that you know. And I plan to learn plenty of new s
ongs. In fact, I just ordered a book of wedding music yesterday.” I leaned across the table toward him. “Oh, I want so badly for this to work. What do you think? Please tell me I’m not crazy.”
Steve sipped his coffee and looked at me for a moment. He looked at the screen and blinked a few times. “Well, this is … really something. And your timing is uncanny.”
“My timing? What do you mean?”
Steve heaved a long sigh. “Yeah, I was trying to figure out when to tell you. I wasn’t sure if it was worse to tell you when you were in a bad mood, or wait until you were in a good mood and risk ruining it.”
My face fell. “Tell me what?”
“They called a meeting at the office yesterday afternoon. Our health insurance premiums are going up next month.”
I frowned. “How much?”
He paused. “Two hundred forty-three dollars.”
“Two hundred forty-three dollars a month!” I yelped. “Why?”
“Apparently the insurance company just jacked the price up. They tried shopping around, but all the insurance companies are raising their rates, so they say.” He shrugged.
“Two hundred forty-three dollars,” I murmured as I glanced at the laptop. I was thinking about the costs of the premium listing on Wedding Wild and the extra-thick laminated business cards. Never mind that I’d already started looking into getting a website which would be another substantial cost.
Money had been tight for us since Angela was born. Steve had a decent job that he really enjoyed, but technical writers don’t bring in that much money. And, of course, stay-at-home moms bring in no money at all.
We’d always managed, and we were certainly never in any danger of losing our house or having the water shut off. But there wasn’t any room for unexpected expenses, and there was nothing we could really cut back on.
Well, okay, we probably spent more on food than we should have. During Steve’s bachelor days he survived on ham, mushroom, and Swiss omelets, along with strawberry Pop-Tarts and a lot of fast food. Aside from occasionally making one of his omelets, he had no interest in cooking. And I hated to cook. Or rather, I didn’t know how to cook. So we went out to eat and ordered takeouts fairly often.
Confessions of a Wedding Musician Mom Page 1
