Making a Comeback (23 page)

“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.

Liz pulled up to the closed gate across Peg’s driveway. It was like pulling up to a prison, and she was responsible. She shouldn’t have told her dad about Jac helping her with the CD. She shouldn’t have put Jac’s name on it. She pressed the buzzer, her stomach churning. She’d give anything not to have to deliver the bad news. After a minute the gate swung open and she drove slowly over the gravel, probably for the last time.

“How is she?” Liz asked when Peggy opened the front door.

“I was about to take breakfast to her.”

That was good, right? She followed Peggy to the kitchen.

“Coffee?”

“Please.” Maybe they wouldn’t throw her out before she drank it.

“Congratulations on the review in the
Merc
. I’m happy for you. Jac said your album got great reviews from other jazz bloggers.”

“Thanks.” It should matter, but at the moment it didn’t. Liz carried the tray of food as they walked to Jac’s. The fog was starting to burn off, and sunlight brightened patches of the blue-gray ocean. Peggy set breakfast on the dining table and poured Jac’s coffee.

“Did you get hold of Mom?” Jac walked into the living room, brushing out her hair. She was wearing her fisherman-knit sweater over heavy pants. Max was by her side. He didn’t come over to Liz like he usually did.

“I left a message.”

“Don’t go to Hawaii. I am so sorry.” Liz gripped the back of the recliner, staring at Jac.

“Liz?”

“We want to give them a head’s up about the article,” Peggy said. “In case reporters—”

“It’s my fault.” Liz’s breath caught in her chest. “My dad. He told the reviewer.”

“Your dad?” Peggy asked, her voice accusing.

She watched Jac. All that mattered was Jac’s reaction. Her heart felt ready to shatter. Every good thing that had happened this year was because of Jac. “He overheard the woman talking to her friend. He put the pieces together. He told—” She clenched her jaw. It wasn’t her place to cry.

Jac’s face softened into a sad smile. “He traded me for the guarantee of a great review.”

Liz nodded and couldn’t stop. If she kept her head moving she wouldn’t fall apart. Peggy’s mouth was open and her eyebrows rose, but all she cared about was the tender expression on Jac’s face, not at all what she’d expected.

When that truth settled Jac said, “He didn’t like that I helped you with the album.” She walked toward Liz and stopped inches from her. “Do you like the album?”

“Yes.” Tears filled Liz’s eyes.

“You know you deserved a great review anyway, right?” After a minute Jac lifted her eyebrow. “Right?”

“I guess.” Jac’s eyebrow went higher. “Yes.” She couldn’t pull her gaze from Jac’s blue eyes that seemed to take in every part of her. Liz’s chest loosened and tension drained from her like water down a drain. They were still friends.

“Every review of the album so far has been great. It’s the tribute you wanted it to be. Now keep me company while I eat?”

“Yes.” She nodded and tried to swallow, and then she was hugging Jac and everything was all right in a way it hadn’t been since Teri’s death.

*

“Fog’s coming in.” Jac lifted her face to the cool breeze after taking off Max’s harness. Home. No one had approached them on their walk. She imagined her blog’s email was flooded with requests for interviews. The door to her past had been opened and she’d have to face it, but not today. She’d always regret the choices she made that night, but maybe she didn’t deserve all the blame. Liz’s understanding and support now countered her teacher’s accusing voice. This friendship had become the center of her life.

“Come to dinner?” Liz asked when they reached the patio. “I want to try a recipe from the new cookbook. You can bring the wine.”

“Deal. What time—”

“There’s my lovely Jackie.”

Jac stiffened at the sound of her ex-husband’s British-accented voice. “How dare you come here!”

“How dare you do an end around? ‘No, Malcolm, I’m done with music. I’m just a blogger’
.
Now you produce an album, and rumor has it you’re going to make a comeback.” He snorted his contempt. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Everything you do is still my business.”

“Not that album.”

“Perhaps. But that mediocre little jazz album will sell like hotcakes because your name’s on it.”

“What do you want?” She forced the question out as anger seared through her.

“Exactly what I’ve been saying for the last six months that you’ve been ignoring me.” His voice was an angry singsong. “We need to capitalize on this being ten years since you retired. You agree to cooperate with the release of a best-of compilation celebrating your illustrious career. Thoughts on the pieces and composers, personal touches like what tea you drank before such and such a concert…you know the drill.”

“And?” There was always something else. She was going to be free of him once and for all.

“Those four albums you owe me.”

“Yes to the anniversary compilation on several conditions.” Jac walked to the patio table and stopped in front of him, close enough that he couldn’t stand up. She’d never liked his cologne. “I have complete artistic control over content and remastering. Fifty-fifty split. The Carmel Bach Festival gets my share of the profits. You release me from my contract.”