Songs without Words (29 page)

“No kidding? Why not?”

Harper slowly shook her head, wondering herself why the idea had never entered her mind.

“Grandpa always says what a magical pianist you are.”

“He does?”

“Sure! Why do you think he always asks you to play when you’re there? Grandma can play the piano, he says, but Harper can make it soar.”

Harper felt herself getting emotional. It was true. Her father was always complimentary when she played the piano, but that had been the case since she was young. She had assumed that he was just being encouraging and supportive since she had obviously not been an accomplished pianist at seven or even at twelve. Her piano teachers would be happy to testify to that! But she had gotten better over the years and more serious. Maybe her father’s praise had changed somewhere along the way from being merely encouraging to being genuinely admiring. Sarah’s question was valid. Harper had no problem using her voice or her camera skills on her videos, so why didn’t she use her music? She had always sought out just the right recording for her films, listening to as many as a dozen versions of the same piece before choosing one for its tone or tempo. She wasn’t a world-class pianist by any means, but for the purposes of this video series, did she have to be that good? And she was even better with the cello. If she got Roxie on the violin and one of the violas, they could manage quite a few trios—Mozart, Haydn, why not?

“Oh, Sarah,” Harper said, leaping from the piano bench, “what an idea!”

While she set up her recording equipment in the front room, Sarah went back to the computer. As she clicked her way through the classical section of Harper’s digital music library, Harper played and recorded the sonata three times. When she returned to the computer, she found Sarah had moved on to something else. She was looking at a tourist guide for Mendocino.

“What are you doing?” Harper asked.

“Just reading about Mendocino. I’m curious about it.”

Apparently Harper was not the only one with Chelsea on her mind.

“It’s north of here,” Harper said, “a little town on the coast with a prominent core of artists and bohemians. It’s a lovely place. At least I love it. It reminds me of the East Coast. In fact, it resembles New England enough that
Murder She Wrote
was filmed there.”

“
Murder She Wrote
? What’s that?”

Harper sighed, feeling old. “An old TV show set in the fictional town of Cabot Cove, Maine.”

“What’s Chelsea’s brother’s name?”

“I can’t remember. His last name is Nichols, though, same as hers. Why?”

Sarah was intent on her activities now. She was searching through a white pages database of Mendocino. After a few minutes, she said, “Is his name Brandon?”

“That’s it!” Harper exclaimed. “Yes, Brandon!” “So we’ve found her,” Sarah said, obviously excited. She printed a map of the address and handed it to Harper. “Here you go.”

Harper stood staring at the piece of paper as if it were the Rosetta Stone. After a moment, she asked, “Was there a phone number?”

“No.”

Harper felt flushed and uncertain, still staring at the address. “I don’t really know what to do with this.”

“Fly to her!” Sarah said, springing up from her chair. “Go to her like Orpheus and drag her back from the hounds of hell!”

Harper laughed, then Sarah did too. Harper found Sarah extremely entertaining, perhaps because she herself was only slightly removed from the same melodramatic bent.

“Orpheus?” she questioned.

“Of course, Orpheus. You remember the book you gave me,
The Greek Myths
? I read the whole thing, twice. There’s a picture of Orpheus at the gates of hell playing his lyre.”

“Yes, I remember that. He’s trying to charm Cerberus so he can pass through.”

“That reminded me of you because you’re the only person I know who has a lyre.”

“I’m glad you read that book, Sarah, and liked it. It was very special to me.”

“Well, yeah! Especially because your dad gave it to you and what he wrote in it.”

Harper, perplexed, said, “What? What did he write?”

“I’ve memorized it,” Sarah announced, then said, “To my own muse, Harper, who sings so sweetly under the wings of my imagination.”

As Sarah said those words, Harper could see them on the inside cover of the book. “Yes, of course, I remember it now,” she said.

“I’m surprised Grandpa gave that to you,” Sarah said,“instead of a book about quarks or something.”

“Well, to his credit, I guess he knew that mythology would be more to my liking.”

“I think you should have the book back now, though. I think you should keep it.”

“Yes, maybe you’re right, if you’re done with it.”

“You could use a couple of books in your house anyway.” Sarah sat backward on the desk chair, facing Harper. “So, what are you going to do about Chelsea? Are you going?”

“She might not be alone,” Harper said, talking to herself as much as Sarah.

“She might not. But she might. It’s better to make a fool of yourself than to miss your chance at happiness.”

Harper looked sideways at Sarah, wondering if she had read that on some postcard or refrigerator magnet she’d found around the house because it sounded just like all of the advice that Harper had gathered around herself for the last twenty years—the iconic Fool with his reckless pursuit of self-knowledge, the free spirit, the blind prophet, the wandering minstrel and even Orpheus himself, all taking the leap of faith, following the heart, not the mind, into the unknown.

“But I can’t leave you here,” Harper said. “I mean, we have plans. We’re going to San Francisco and Monterey.”

“We can do that when you get back. We have almost a month. This is more important.”

“Is it?” Harper looked into Sarah’s suddenly serious eyes.

“Yes, Aunt Harper,” she said. “This is about love. What could be more important than that?”

To a sixteen-year-old, thought Harper, there was nothing more important than that. To a thirty-eight-year-old, to this thirty-eight-year-old anyway...well, yes, there were still not many things more important than that.

“I probably shouldn’t leave you alone,” Harper said doubtfully.

“I rode a train across the country by myself. I’m old enough to be trusted to be home alone. Even Mom and Dad have left me home alone for a few days. Besides, Mary said she would pick me up any time I wanted to come over for a visit. I really would like to go back and hang out with her. She’s really funny.”

“Funny? Well, I doubt that she intends to come off that way.”

“No, I think she does, actually.”

Harper had never thought of Mary as “funny.” She was wary of this idea and it must have showed.

“Aunt Harper,” Sarah said, sounding mature, “there is nothing to worry about. I’m only interested in boys, believe me, and there are no boys at Mary’s house. Couldn’t be safer.”

She had a point. It was mainly boys that had gotten her into trouble with her parents. And despite their attempts to rein her in, she was nearly an adult. She deserved some responsibility and some trust.

“I’ll give you the number of my friend Roxie. I’ll let her know you’re here and ask her to check on you. You can call her any time if you get worried or need something. And I’ll have my cell phone,” she said. “Although I suspect the reception is sporadic up and down the coast.”

“So you’re going?” Sarah looked liked she was going to jump up and down with glee.

“I guess I am.” Harper felt an involuntary grin spreading across her face.

Chapter 24

LAST SUMMER

Eliot stopped by to pick up a few of his belongings from the shed, things he had stored there for their summer camping trips. He was on his way to some other woman’s house now. He had replaced Harper, quite easily, apparently. This new woman was someone he knew in Washington, someone he had even dated during non-summer months. She had become his year-round companion now. She might marry him and give him kids.
Perhaps they will be blissfully happy together
, Harper thought.
He should be thanking me for releasing him.

Eliot piled his things on the lawn outside of the shed, his too-long hair covered by a Seattle Seahawks baseball cap.

“Why don’t you take both sleeping bags,” Harper suggested. “Since they match. You can zip them together. Less useful apart.”

“Okay, thanks,” he said. “That’s helpful.” Harper went inside the house while he transferred his things to his car. She made him a glass of lemonade. When he came in, he gratefully swallowed two big gulps and then sprawled out in a kitchen chair, his long legs taking up nearly half the kitchen. He seemed perfectly at home here. And why not? He had been sitting there just like that for ages.

“You seeing anyone?” he asked.

“No, not really.”

He eyed her silently as he drank the lemonade. “It was that girl, wasn’t it?” he said, finally. “That girl, Chelsea. It’s been nagging at me all year. Last summer I could tell something was up, even before I came down. I just couldn’t figure out what it was, what had happened to you. It ate at me for months. And I kept remembering that girl because of the way you talked about her last spring like she was on your mind all the time. You were seeing her, right? I mean, romantically. That’s why you didn’t want me around.”

“Sort of,” Harper said evasively.

“Why didn’t you tell me? We’ve always been able to talk about things.”

“This was different.”

“Because it was a girl?” he asked. His voice was calm, understanding.

“I guess so.”

He observed her coolly.“It doesn’t really surprise me, Harper. I’ve seen your heart reach out to women so many times. I always figured that someday one of them would reach back and that would be the end of us. I sort of always knew I wasn’t what you wanted.”

“That wasn’t really why, Eliot,” she said. “It wasn’t because of Chelsea. We needed to be over anyway. For both our sakes. Whatever this thing was between us for all these years, it wasn’t a relationship. It was going nowhere.”

“Going nowhere?” He looked surprised. “Because that’s the way you wanted it. You know I would have done things differently if you’d have let me. I tried to persuade you to make a life together. But you wanted to be a ‘free spirit.’” He said the last sentence mockingly. “Let’s not talk about that now. That happy little domestic scene wouldn’t have worked with us and you know it. For a lot of reasons.”

He stood up and put his empty glass on the counter. “Well, yeah, the girl, for instance.” His voice was sarcastic. “By the way, what happened with her?”

“Gone,” Harper said, simply.

Chelsea had been gone for almost a year, at least gone from Harper’s arms. But she hadn’t left her heart. And the heat of the summer sun brought her sharply to mind, so sharply that Harper could almost feel her skin. She could smell her hair in the heat waves coming off mown grass.

The day after Eliot picked up his camping gear, Harper dialed Chelsea’s cell phone and got voice mail. She left a message that probably sounded more desperate than she intended. “I’d like to see you. Please call. I’ll understand if you’d rather not, but I just want to talk, that’s all.”

She knew that Chelsea would call, out of pity or guilt or both. Chelsea was sorry for what she’d done, sorry for pushing her way into Harper’s heart and then abruptly leaving. She had said so many times as she was leaving, and Harper had no doubt she was sincere.