Making a Comeback (5 page)

“A lot like life.” Peggy set the trowels next to a flat of seedlings on a potting bench.

“Yeah,” Liz said, fighting the tug toward sadness. They soaped their hands at the sink next to the bench. “Grandma used to start seeds every spring. Is it hard?”

“Easy as open the packet, sprinkle them on soil, cover with more soil, and water.”

“I could do that.” She ran her palm over the tops of the tiny plants. They bent over but sprang right back up. Something new. Something easy.

They walked back to the house and through French doors into a large space that was a dining room and kitchen separated by a bar top. A mahogany-finished baby-grand piano sat in the corner behind a long dining table. “This kitchen belongs in a magazine,” Liz said, admiring the cheery yellow counters and walls with accents of white and blue. Large windows afforded a view past the garden to the ocean.

“Do you cook?”

“My dad would disown us if we didn’t. He owns a restaurant. My sister’s a professional chef, and my brother manages Dad’s restaurant.”

“I want to show you something.” Peggy set a plate of chips and what looked like homemade guacamole on the bar top and went to the piano. She held up yellowed sheet music. “It has your grandmother’s notes on fingering in the margins.”

Debussy’s
Petite Suite
for four hands. The spidery handwriting she remembered well. “When I first learned this piece I had to sit on a pillow to reach the keys.”

“Wow. Child prodigy if you were playing it that young.”

She’d been called that before but never gave it any thought. She’d always known she was meant for the piano, like when you met someone you knew you’d be best friends with.

“Shall we?” Peggy set the music on the rack and opened it to the third movement. “This is my favorite.”

“Treble or bass?”

“Your choice.” Peggy sat on the bench.

She sat to Peggy’s right, taking her usual treble part. Closing her eyes, she let her fingers move over the keys from memory. All that was missing was the scent of lavender she always associated with her grandma.

When they finished, Peggy put her hands to her cheeks. “I just had the most vivid memory of sitting at your grandmother’s piano playing this with her. I remember the cranberry glass she had in those corner windows. I loved how the sunlight would reflect through them onto the piano. She must have been so proud of you.”

Liz hoped so. Her grandma rarely missed one of her shows, right up to the week before the heart attack that took her in an instant. But a quick hug and “you played that section exactly the way I would have” were as effusive as she got.

“Sorry I’m late, honey.” A man with sandy-blond hair walked toward them from the living room, taking off his suit jacket.

“This is Liz,” Peggy said. “I invited her to join us for dinner. I know how you like to show off your grilling expertise.”

“I’m Roger.” He extended his hand, a smile on his boyish face. “I hear you knocked Jac off her feet yesterday.”

Liz looked at her lap when he kissed Peggy. She wanted those moments of casual intimacy back.

“Shall we rouse Jac and get this party going?” He dipped a chip in the guacamole.

“I’ll get her.” Liz wished Jac had kept them company while they planted. It would have been fun to continue their discussion of composers. For a layperson Jac had an amazing grasp of music.

“Tell her she better get up here before I drink all the old cabs,” Roger said. “Are the kids eating with us?”

“Jack’s skateboarding and Susanne is sulking in her room. Her best friend is on a date,” Peggy explained.

Liz took her sweater from the back of the patio chair and put it on as she walked to Jac’s cottage, a couple hundred feet down the wide walkway that headed toward the ocean. Colorful plantings spilled onto the flagstones, and the ocean shimmered, reflecting the low-lying sun. The cottage was a miniature version of Peggy’s house—the bottom half of the walls ivory-colored Carmel ledgestone, the top half cedar shingles stained gray green.

She knocked on the oak door, amused at the heavy knocker that hung from the mouth of a gargoyle. Several minutes later, as she was about to leave, the door opened. She swallowed hard. Instead of creased pants and pressed shirt, Jac was wearing a light-blue sweat suit, the top unzipped enough to reveal significant cleavage. She looked softer, younger, less intimidating. She tucked hair behind her ear with a slow, graceful movement.

“I’m working, Peg. I’ll be up later.”

“It’s Liz.” Jac’s eyebrow went up and Liz smiled at the predictability of it. “Roger said you should come before he drinks the old cabs.”

“He wouldn’t dare.” Jac closed the door and then opened it again. Max trotted out with a tennis ball in his mouth. “He thinks you’ll play fetch with him.” The door closed and Max dropped the ball at her feet.

She tossed the ball for him as she walked back to the patio. He was definitely friendlier than Jac. She joined Peggy at the teak patio table with chairs for eight. A sweep of orange from the setting sun streaked the darkening blue-and-white curls of the Pacific. A hummingbird chased another across the garden. “I feel like I’ve stepped into one of your paintings.” The quiet and beauty wrapped around her, and worries seemed far away. “Do you ever get tired of the view?”

“I didn’t appreciate it as a child. Now wild horses couldn’t get me away.”

“I haven’t been here in almost a year. I forgot how beautiful and relaxing Carmel is.”

Peggy got up and turned on patio lights and a propane heater near the table. “The scenery would be enough, and the long history of emphasis on the arts would be enough, but the two together make Carmel special in a way that’s hard to describe.”

Liz nodded. That was exactly it. It was hard to describe, but easy to feel. She’d felt better the last few days than she had in a long time. “Grandma said she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. She’d scold us if we didn’t call it Carmel-By-The-Sea. She had a scrapbook of articles about Carmel. Some of them date back to when her parents settled here in the early nineteen hundreds. Both were teachers and artists who wanted to live in an artists’ community.”

“That’s some family history.” Peggy tucked hair behind her ear in a gesture reminiscent of Jac. The same blond, shoulder-length waves of hair. The same blue eyes. Both tall and slender. Very different personalities.

“Where are they?”

Liz startled and looked over her shoulder. She hadn’t heard Jac approach. She’d changed into heavy gray slacks and the fisherman-knit turtleneck sweater she’d worn yesterday that accentuated her long neck.

“Kitchen,” Roger said, carrying platters to the party-sized barbecue, one piled high with raw steaks and another with sliced vegetables. He’d changed into jeans and a pink Polo shirt. “If you get it right, the next wine-tasting trip’s on me.”

“You two are incorrigible,” Peggy said.

Jac returned with a bottle of wine, corkscrew, and three glasses.

“So you’re on their team,” Peggy said.

“Their team?” Liz asked as Jac sliced the foil off and screwed in the corkscrew.

“Wine drinkers. It’s practically a religion with them.”

“And with my brother. I try to tell him it’s just fancy grape juice.”

“Nectar of the gods,” Jac said, pouring a half glass. “Or goddesses.”

Liz was surprised when Jac offered her the glass, stopping when it was a few inches from her.
How does she do that?
She eyed the diamond ring on Jac’s left ring finger, the only jewelry she’d seen her wear. Tasteful. Expensive. She had the odd sensation she was in the presence of someone unlike anyone she’d met before. She sipped the wine as Jac faced her, head tilted as if evaluating her.

“Do you like it?”

“That’s the best wine I’ve ever tasted.”

“What do you taste?”

She hated when Kevin asked her that, like a pop quiz she usually failed, but Jac’s voice was inviting and her posture casual with her hip against the table. She sipped again. “Oak? And fruit?”

“What kind?” Again Jac’s voice wasn’t at all intimidating, more like an encouraging teacher.

“Um, blackberry?”

Jac nodded and twirled her fingers to indicate Liz should continue.

“Something kind of smoky.” She sipped again. “Herbs? And something chocolaty?”

“Good.” Jac poured another glass. Holding the stem between thumb and two fingers, she brought the glass to her lips and rested her nose just over the rim, inhaling deeply. She swirled the wine and inhaled again. A smile curled the corners of her mouth before spreading up her cheeks. “Too easy.” She held the glass up in Roger’s direction. “Joseph Phelps. Backus Vineyard Cab. 1999.” Jac enunciated each word with reverence, as someone might recite a favorite passage from Scripture.

“Show-off.” Peggy went to the house and returned with a glass of beer.

Roger looked up from laying the vegetables on the grill. He shook his head, but he was smiling.

Liz read the label on the bottle. Exactly right. “How—”

“Practice. Like doing scales.” Jac put the glass against her lower lip and tilted it so the wine slid obediently into her mouth. She held it for a moment before swallowing, that same slow smile making her face even more beautiful.

Mesmerized by the casual sensuality of the gesture, Liz let out a long breath.

“Sometimes a hundred-dollar bottle of wine really is better than a ten-dollar bottle.”

Liz almost choked on the sip she’d just taken. “I thought you said yesterday wine was as simple as drinking what you like. Something about a ten-dollar bottle being as good as a fifty?” She regretted the flip comment when Jac tilted her head and stared at her with that raised eyebrow.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t like a hundred-dollar bottle of wine better than a ten-dollar bottle.”

“This isn’t a hundred-dollar bottle of wine.” Surely Jac was teasing her.

“No.”

Thank God. She took another sip.

“More.”

This time she did choke.

“Careful. Swallow.” Their fingers touched as Jac held Liz’s glass to refill it. “You realize, of course, that we just freed a fifteen-year-old prisoner,” Jac said, sitting in the chair closest to the heater. Max lay by her side, the tennis ball between his paws.

“Huh?” Why did she always feel three steps behind in conversations with Jac?

“The wine. 1999. Great year. Now free to be our guest for the night.”

Liz’s heart tumbled and she took quick breaths. That was the year she and Teri had met. It had been a great year. She wanted more wine, lots more suddenly, and took a long swallow. She didn’t intend to let grief shred this moment.

“You missed our recital,” Peggy said to Jac. “Which reminds me. I’ll be right back.” She went to the house, and a minute later Liz’s CD started. “When’s your next show?” Peggy asked when she returned. “Roger and I love live music.”

“We’re on a break at the moment.”

“Jac said you had a successful tour last year. You’ll have to let us know when you’re performing again.”

Liz stared at the base of the wineglass as she turned it slowly. Resentment felt like a hard block in her stomach. This was her life now. And it followed her everywhere. A widow. Explaining. Sympathy she was tired of. Conversations that died because people didn’t know what to say. She kept turning the glass as she said, “My wife died last September.” The first day of fall. A beautiful day, not too hot. The kind of day they should have been on a picnic, not—She clenched her jaw against the threat of tears. “She was our drummer.”

“I’m so sorry. Jac didn’t say anything.” Peggy scowled in Jac’s direction as she laid her hand on Liz’s forearm. “Were you together long?”

Liz liked that Peggy asked what she wanted and didn’t bat an eye at her being a lesbian. Jac’s expression was unreadable. “Fourteen years.”

“I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for you.”

Silence ensued until Jac asked, “Are you keeping the band together?” She rubbed the backs of her fingers up and down Max’s side.

“Good question.” Liz took a long sip of wine. “I haven’t even managed to get the live CD out.”

“Jac can help you with it.” Peggy looked pointedly at Jac, whose jaw tightened.

Liz wasn’t sure what to say. She didn’t want to be rude, but laypeople had no idea how hard it was to produce a CD. “Um, maybe you can give your opinion of which songs you like?” She did seem to have a sharp ear and a good grasp of jazz. If she didn’t like Jac’s opinion she’d just ignore it. What harm could it do?

Jac said nothing as she tapped her fingers against the arm of her chair in time with the rhythm, a subtler version of what Teri had always done.

“If you like live jazz you should come over to my dad’s club,” Liz said.

“Jazz club?” Peggy asked. “Jac didn’t say anything about that either.” Her tone carried indulgent annoyance.

“Jazz On The Side.”

“Your father owns that? We’ve seen some shows there.”

“You’re not burning the steaks, are you?” Jac asked.

“No, your majesty.” Roger set a juicy looking steak on the plate in front of Jac. “Rare for you.” He returned with steaks for the rest of them and a platter of roasted vegetables and baked potatoes.

Each time Roger topped off their glasses with the last of a bottle, he disappeared into the house and returned with another. He let Jac taste each one and she identified all of them. From the conversation, Liz gathered that they’d studied wine for years, taken tasting courses, and that Roger had an extensive wine collection Jac had helped him acquire. Yes, Jac was unlike anyone she’d ever met. Sophisticated was the right word for her, and definitely interesting, if reserved.

“Are you sure I can’t help you with the dishes?” Liz asked when they’d finally run out of food and wine. She hadn’t eaten this much in months. Yes, Carmel was good for her.

“Don’t be silly. Jac, why don’t you walk Liz home? I don’t think Roger or I should drive.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Nonsense,” Peggy said. “What if you trip and pass out, and a neighbor finds you asleep on their lawn in the morning?”

“Wait here.” Jac strode off toward her cottage, Max at her side.

Standing, Liz realized she was tipsy. She didn’t care. It was the best evening she’d had in a long time. She clutched the back of the chair as she pulled her sandals on, almost losing her balance. Okay, more than tipsy. She still didn’t care. “I’m going to move over here this summer,” she hollered toward the house. “Will you help me with Grandma’s garden?” Pretty flowers. Bird feeders. New patio furniture. Walks on the beach. It would be a glorious and relaxing summer.