Making a Comeback (2 page)

“No. I’m sure it looks great.”

“Do you want help carrying it out?”

“I can manage. I don’t want you to get rained on.”

The painting barely fit between her arms, and she pinched the top and bottom to keep from dropping it. She could do this. She backed out of the gallery, watching the painting’s corners so they didn’t knock against the doorframe.

As she reached the bottom step she misjudged the height of the railing, and a corner of the painting hit it with a crack. Trying to correct, she backed up and collided with something that grunted. She watched helplessly as a woman fell into a brick planter full of flowers.

Liz set the painting against a storefront and turned to help the woman up, almost tripping over a dog that stood patiently amid the commotion. “I’m so sorry. I had this painting…well, you can see. Are you all right?”

“Max?” The woman knelt, and the dog pushed its head against her hand. She ran her hands over his sides and down his legs. “Is he hurt?”

“He seems fine.” The dog’s harness and the woman’s panicked tone finally registered. “Oh, my gosh, you’re blind.”

“Keen observation,” the woman said, cupping the dog’s chin and stroking his head.

“Are you all right, Jac?” The gallery employee rushed down the steps.

“I’m fine, but is Max?” Jac ran her hands down his legs again.

“He’s not bleeding anywhere and he’s wagging his tail,” the employee said.

Jac gave the dog a biscuit from her pocket and kissed his head. Standing, she pushed the hood back from her face.

Liz was horrified to see blood oozing from a cut above Jac’s right eye. “Um, you’re bleeding.”

“Where?” Jac ran her hand over her forehead, smearing the blood.

“Here.” Liz pulled a Kleenex from her pocket, wrapped it around her finger, and dabbed at the blood.

Jac jerked back from the touch. “I can manage.” She held the Kleenex to her forehead and handed an envelope to the employee. “Peg said to call if you have questions.” She took Max’s harness and started down the alley.

“He’s a beautiful dog. Golden retriever?”

Jac stopped but didn’t turn around. Her shoulders rose and fell once, as if she was taking a deep breath. “Yellow Labrador retriever.”

“I’m sorry for bumping into you.” She wasn’t sure Jac heard as her long strides carried her away. Max guided her effortlessly around people, ignoring a yippy little white dog wearing a plaid sweater. What a great partnership.

“Let’s get the painting back in the gallery and check it,” the employee said, taking one side.

In the back room Liz watched anxiously as the woman cut the paper away. “Oh, no,” she said, rubbing the chipped corner. Tears filled her eyes. She’d suggested to her siblings that the painting was the perfect birthday gift for her dad. He did so much for all of them, and she wanted him to feel extra special. Sometimes no matter how hard you tried, things went wrong.

“Let me call the framer and ask him to do an emergency repair,” the employee said, giving Liz’s arm a reassuring squeeze.

Liz knew why she was an easy target for tears today. The birthday party she didn’t want to go to Sunday, afraid it would be like the last family gathering, when she’d broken down in the middle of opening Christmas gifts. She wanted to show people she was doing better, and the thought exhausted her.

“He’ll fix it,” the employee said. “Come back in forty minutes.”

“Thanks.” Liz checked her watch. The brown leather band was frayed so badly she worried it might come apart, but she couldn’t face not having it the way it was when Teri gave it to her for their fifth anniversary. Surely it would last a little longer.

She left the gallery and headed to Sixth, turning left at the Corner Bistro toward another gallery she liked. The rain had let up and she unbuttoned her jacket. It was warm for mid-March. Passing the Bistro’s patio she saw Jac sitting at a table off to the side under an awning that matched the Italian Villa orange of the walls. Her back was to the street, as if she was oblivious to the world. Her dog lay at her feet, head on his paws.

Eating alone made Liz feel lonely. Why not keep Jac company? She smiled as she approached the table and then felt foolish. Jac couldn’t see her. Max looked up at her and his tail swiped the patio. “Excuse me. I’m the woman from the gallery. I wanted to make sure you’re all right.”

“Quite.” Jac sat with perfect posture, hands on a white napkin draped across her lap. She was well-dressed in navy wool slacks and navy raincoat unzipped to show a fisherman-knit turtleneck sweater. Her mother had loved those sweaters.

“You know the signs of a concussion, don’t you?”

“Shall I count backward from ten?” Jac lifted an eyebrow and tilted her head, pinning Liz with eyes that were pale blue, like the sky right after the fog burns off, and crystal clear. Shouldn’t they be cloudy? Didn’t blind people wear sunglasses?

“You can’t take things for granted.” She must sound ridiculous. Of course this wasn’t a serious medical situation, but Liz’s pulse jumped anyway. They’d been sure they would beat Teri’s leukemia, as they had the first time. “Um, it’s still bleeding.”

Jac took balled up Kleenex from her pocket and dabbed the cut.

“I’m Liz Randall. Here’s my business card in case you need stitches.”

“Are you a doctor?” Jac took the card and tucked it in her pocket.

“No, but—”

“Who exactly are you?”

“A musician.” Was that still true, with the band on indefinite hiatus and their plans for a fall tour in ruins?

“What kind?”

“I played the piano in a jazz quartet,” she said, surprised at the question. “And I teach music at San Jose State.” At least she still had that.

Jac laughed, and the sound trickled through Liz like the perfect pitch on a wind chime. The knots that bound her heart loosened a bit. It took her a second to realize what Jac was laughing at. Duke Ellington was streaming through the speakers mounted on the walls.

“‘Black and Tan Fantasy,’” they said in unison.

Jac’s eyebrow rose again. “Newport Jazz Festival, 1956.” She tapped long, elegant fingers to the rhythm.

“Saved his career.” Ellington had been on the verge of disbanding his orchestra before that performance. Liz wondered if a serendipitous moment would revive her career.

“The concert is in your honor,” a waiter said, coming through the door from the restaurant. He set a glass of white wine in front of Jac and a bowl of water in front of Max. “Tony said if you can name the album, your lunch is free. I’ll be right back with another glass of wine for your guest.”

“What’s your quartet’s name?”

“Up Beat.” Liz pulled out a chair, morosely thinking she should change the name to Down Beat. They’d been so high the day the doctor said Teri’s leukemia was in remission that they’d decided on the hopeful name. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“You apparently have.” Jac lifted the wineglass to her nose, inhaled for several seconds, and took a sip like someone used to tasting wine. “Your album two years ago was very good. A little immature, but with potential.”

“Thank you. I think.” She stroked Max’s back and he wagged his tail. “Does he like the beach?” She pictured walking the Carmel beach, throwing a ball for her own dog instead of watching all the dogs having fun with their owners. Max stared at her, ears lifted.

“Careful. He knows the word and he’ll expect to go.”

“Have you seen us perform?” Liz cringed at her poor choice of words.

“No. Are you here for a show?”

“I came over to spend a few days at our vacation home. It was my grandparents’. Are you a local?”

“Yes.”

The waiter returned with a glass of wine for Liz. He set a basket of bread on the table, along with a small plate, onto which he poured olive oil and balsamic vinegar. “How’s the wine?”

“Tell Tony to put this one on the menu. Should work with his swordfish and lighter pasta dishes and would be superb with his tomato bisque.”

“Shall I bring you a bowl of bisque while he prepares your lunch?”

“Perfect,” Jac said.

“Shall I bring the same for your friend?”

“Please.”

Liz studied her companion as she listened to this exchange, grateful not to have to make a decision. Jac’s face was beautiful in a classical way. Thick, wavy, blond hair rested on her shoulders. She looked to be older than her own thirty-two years, but it was hard to tell—she had a timeless quality.

Notes danced across Liz’s mind, and she almost jumped in her chair. She hadn’t heard even the hint of a new song since before Teri’s death. Normally she’d hurry to write it down before she lost it, but today she let the notes drift away. “Are you a musician?”

“Just a music lover. If you did a follow-up album, I missed it.”

“No.” Her shoulders dropped. They’d recorded four nights in New York on their tour last summer, excited to release their first live album. She still hadn’t chosen the songs to put on the CD. “Ellington’s one of my idols,” she said, pulling her attention back to the music.

“‘Diminuendo in Blue,’” they said in unison again when a new song started.

Liz smiled at the raised eyebrow that seemed to be a common gesture with Jac. “The famous Paul Gonsalves solo,” she said, letting the exuberant sax pull her away from fretting about the album she really needed to get done. She took a sip of the wine. “Who couldn’t be happy listening to that?” She tapped her feet and moved to the addictive swing rhythm she loved. Teri would be drumming her fingers on the edge of the table and swiveling her shoulders to the beat. The memory landed softly, with no hint of dragging her under.

“What did you buy?” Jac dipped a piece of French bread in the olive oil, her movements as sure as if she could see.

“Buy?”

“At the gallery. You said you were carrying a painting.”

“A present for my father,” she said, around a bite of bread. “It’s his sixtieth birthday Sunday. He loves the ocean but doesn’t get over here often, so we thought we’d take the ocean to him. It’s by a terrific artist named Peggy Morris.”

The waiter set bowls in front of them and grated cheese over the soup. “It’s a new Asiago. Tony wants your opinion.”

“Perfect,” Jac said, after tasting the soup with the same attention with which she’d tasted the wine.

“This artist does wonderful seascapes,” Liz said when the waiter had gone. She rarely had an appetite, but this soup was delicious.

“Which one did you buy?”

“Umm, it’s called
A Clearing Storm
. I confess I wanted it for myself.” Something about it had tugged at her emotions—the loss and loneliness, the struggle of being on her own for the first time in her life. The painting captured that and also a sense of hope and peace she yearned for. “Rough, angry sea—”

“Waves crashing against the rocks, sun coming out through bulky gray clouds, two gulls flying high up in the sky. I was with her the day she painted it.”

“The artist? That’s amazing.”

“Would you like her to sign a card for your dad?”

“Huh?” Liz scraped her bowl with a chunk of bread. Had she just wolfed down the whole thing?

“She’s my sister.”

“You’re kidding.” What an unexpected and pleasant encounter. Sometimes good things did come from disasters.

The waiter traded a plate of pasta for Liz’s bowl. “This smells delicious.” Gorgonzola cream sauce.

“Card?”

“My dad would love it.” She watched Jac use her fork to push fusilli pasta onto an oversized spoon, bring it to her face, inhale like she had with the wine, and finally slide it past her lips. She’d never seen anyone eat with such measured grace, each bite like an event unto itself, each movement perfectly orchestrated. Her family loved food but devoured it like they were eating in a cafeteria.

“I’ll call her and you can pick it up.”

“Lunch is good?” A man about her father’s age wearing chef whites approached the table.

“Excellent as always,” Jac said. “Was the wine a Verdejo?”

“Haven’t fooled you yet but I keep trying.”

“Tony, this is Liz. Tony’s the owner and creator of fine cuisine.”

“So, am I buying you lunch?” he asked Jac.

“You stumped me on the album,” Jac said.

Tony clapped his hands, winking at Liz. “Bravo! I’ll send dessert and coffee out in a bit.”

“Do they always just bring you food?” The staff was treating Jac like royalty. Carmel was known for celebrities, but she’d never heard of anyone famous and blind who lived here.

“Because I can’t read the menu?”

“Oh, gosh, that’s not what I meant.”

“I abdicate the decision. Tony’s an excellent chef and has never disappointed me.”

Liz wished she could abdicate her responsibilities. Sammy, the band’s sax player, and Regan, his twin sister and their bass player, would be at the party on Sunday. They’d be disappointed that she still wasn’t making progress on the album. It wasn’t just her career at stake. She’d have to decide soon if she should replace Teri and keep the band together or let them move on. Her chest tightened and that shadowy emptiness spread through her body, making her feel heavy. Everything was so much harder on her own. The conversation drifted back to music. Jac was certainly knowledgeable about jazz.

She flipped her hood up against the rain that had started in earnest and checked her watch as they walked through the patio gate of the Bistro. Right on time to pick up the painting.

“Peg will have it ready for you,” Jac said, putting a cell phone back in her pocket. She gave the address and started to give directions.

“I know where it is. We’re a few blocks away on Carmelo, near Tenth. Practically neighbors.”

“Was your grandmother Mildred Randall?”

“How would you know that?”

“Your last name is Randall, you mentioned the house was your grandparents’, and it’s on Carmelo. Fifth house from the corner of Tenth, if I remember correctly. Peg took piano lessons from her. I was sorry to hear she passed away.”

Five years ago and Liz still missed her terribly. Everything she knew about the piano she owed to her grandma. “Can I give you a ride to wherever you’re going?”

“I’ll walk.”

“It was a pleasure meeting you.” Jac was already several strides down the street. “I hope I run into you again.” She cringed, hoping Jac hadn’t heard.