Improvisation (21 page)

“I hate to break it to you, but yes. I didn’t know anyone in Spokane when I took this job, and you’ve been so nice to me.”

“Well then, I’d be honored. Sorry to sound surprised.” Jan struggled to explain her reaction. “I moved around a lot before I settled here, so I’m not used to having close friends. I guess I learned to keep my distance because I was always expecting to move away.”

“Tough, isn’t it?” Chloe asked. “We moved a few times while I was growing up. It was hard to make new friends, but I loved reading, so the first thing my parents did every time we moved to a new city was get me a library card. It made me feel at home.”

“My dad signed me up for art classes whenever he could. I liked sculpture, especially. Forming things with my hands.”

“It’s easier to carry books from place to place than pieces of sculpture,” Chloe said with a laugh.

Jan thought back to the careful way her dad packed every piece she had made. He still had them and had insisted on bringing them when he moved into her house. The prints of fighter planes had been left hanging on the apartment walls, but her naïve artwork covered every surface in the rose-colored room. “You’re right. Dad spent a fortune on Bubble Wrap over the years.”

“How is he doing?” Chloe asked, her voice soft. After her dad’s last appointment with the doctor, Jan had finally confided in Chloe about his prognosis. She was relieved she had, since she no longer had Tina as confidante.

“He’s well, thanks. It’ll be nice to have the summer together. I’ve been planning lots of day trips for us.”

“Just be sure to take some time out for you, too,” Chloe said. “Peter and I are happy to check in on him, anytime. Actually, Peter was really touched when Tina asked him to help the other day.”

“When Tina asked…what?”

“When you went to the bluegrass festival. Tina gave your dad Peter’s number in case he needed someone to call while you were out of town. I thought you knew. Did you have fun?”

Chloe glossed over Tina’s act as if it wasn’t a big deal, but Jan was overwhelmed by Tina’s effort to take care of her and her dad. Such a small gesture, but it had a huge impact on her ability to breathe. She winced when she remembered calling Tina untrustworthy.

“Um, it was fun,” she said. The festival was a blur to her now. The night after? So vividly etched in her mind, she could scarcely go a minute without recalling some part of it. She had fought hard to keep from going, from changing plans at the last minute, from being spontaneous and adventurous instead of…What had Tina called her? Oh, yes, rigid and inflexible. Jan sighed. She missed Tina, but she had to be realistic. The novelty of helping Jan and her dad would have worn off soon, and Tina would have inevitably left. At least, the Tina Jan imagined she knew—the shallow playgirl—would have left. The real Tina was proving to be much more complex.

“So, show me your magazine,” Jan said, desperate to change the subject. “And, please, tell me I don’t have to wear a big frilly dress.”

Tina closed her computer program and rubbed a hand wearily over her eyes. Thursday night. She had spent too many hours staring at the screen, watching images from Jan’s life flash in front of her as she finished editing Glen’s DVD. She knew she was only torturing herself as she played the movie over and over, but the small thrill she felt when she saw Jan’s face, her smile, was worth the pain when reality hit, yet again. She had opened up to Jan, offering to try for more of a relationship than her usual weekend flings, but Jan wasn’t interested. She refused to look past Tina’s reputation, past the surface charm Tina wore too easily, and see the real person inside. Tina didn’t fit Jan’s preplanned idea of a partner, and she refused to make any effort to modify her expectations. Tina knew, deep down, that what they could have had together would have far surpassed any perfect relationship Jan had imagined. Tina believed she and Jan would have made a great team, dealing with the messy past and complicated future together.

But Jan didn’t agree, and Tina was left alone to deal with the present. Including her family. Part of the reason she had stayed so engrossed in editing was to keep her mind off tonight’s celebration of Peter’s birthday. A big party would have been manageable, but an intimate dinner with close relatives was a frightening prospect. And if she didn’t hurry, she wouldn’t be on time. Her grandmother would probably love a chance to criticize her tardiness, and Tina was tempted to arrive late just to antagonize her, but tonight was about Peter, not about her own issues. So she hurried into black jeans and a forest-green blouse, grabbed her violin and small amp, and pushed the speed limit through Spokane’s residential streets.

“Tina! Right on time,” Uncle Nick said as he opened the door and hugged her with one arm, while he tugged the amp out of her hand with the other. “I’m glad you brought the fiddle, so we can have a little family jam session later. Just like old times.”

He cleared his throat and turned away from her, leading the way into the living room. She knew he meant her father when he talked about old times. She had been too young to play much when she had visited as a child. A wave of unanticipated sadness came over her as she followed him down the so-familiar hall. She had never come here alone before, and the influx of memories made her miss her parents. For a second, she wished Jan were with her, holding her hand and giving her a reassuring squeeze. But Tina could handle this alone. She had no other choice.

Nick set her amp in a corner of the room, and Tina followed with her instrument case. She said a stiff hello to her grandmother and greeted Peter and Chloe, before her Aunt Miriam came out of the kitchen and enveloped her in a tight, cinnamon-scented hug.

“It’s so good to have you in our home again,” Miriam said when she finally let go and Tina could breathe again.

“It’s…nice to be here,” Tina said awkwardly. She inhaled again. Nutmeg, warm spices, cream cheese, such familiar scents. “Do I smell gingerbread?” she asked.

“You remembered,” Miriam said with a catch in her voice, giving Tina another hug. “Every birthday, every holiday, it’s the only dessert I’m allowed to make. I have books full of recipes, but God forbid I suggest something different.”

“And she stopped trying after the chocolate cake fiasco of 1998,” Peter said, ducking as his mom snapped him with her towel.

“Let’s go out to the patio, I think the grill should be ready,” Miriam said. “Get Tina a drink, dear.”

“I suppose you’ve grown out of juice in sippy cups, haven’t you?” Nick asked with a laugh once the others went outside and left the two alone.

“As long as it has vodka in it, I’m still fine with juice,” Tina said. “But I’d prefer whiskey on the rocks.”

He dropped several cubes of ice in a glass. “I mentioned the work you’ve been doing for Peter to a few of my friends,” he said as he poured her a generous drink. “I hope you don’t mind, but a couple of them wanted to see more, and I showed them the ads you’ve created.”

She took the drink when he offered it to her. He didn’t seem inclined to rush out and join the others, so she leaned her elbow on the bar and took a sip of whiskey. “Of course I don’t mind.” She hesitated, wanting to seem indifferent about anyone else’s opinion but curious to hear, at the same time. The scope of this project had been new and challenging for her, especially since she’d been juggling the turmoil of her relationship with Jan at the same time, but she had loved the work. She hoped the end product was as professionally successful as it had been personally satisfying. “What’d they think?” she asked in a casual voice.

Nick patted her on the shoulder. “They were both very impressed. With your use of colors and visuals, but also with your ability to carry a theme and a concept throughout the whole campaign.” He paused. “I know you’re almost finished with Peter’s project, and you’ll probably be heading back to Seattle soon. But if you decide to stay in Spokane longer, I could put you in touch with some good contacts. I’m sure you’d have as much work as you could handle.”

“Wow, thanks Uncle Nick,” Tina said. “I’m not sure what my plans are yet, but I’ll let you know.” She followed him out to the patio, stunned by her equivocation. A month ago, she would have vehemently refused to consider staying in Spokane even a second longer than necessary, and now she was struck by her desire to meet with Nick’s friends. Only because she was flattered to have her work appreciated, of course. And maybe, just a little, because she had enjoyed rediscovering Peter and most of her family.

But she knew the real reason she wanted to stay was the one factor that would make it impossible to do so. She wanted to be near Jan, to hold on to the hope of a future with her. But staying in Spokane without being with Jan would be unbearable.

Even sitting at this dinner without Jan was painful. Every conversation seemed to bring her sharply to Tina’s mind. She was seated between Peter and Chloe, and Tina recognized their attempt to shield her from her grandmother, but being with the two of them reminded Tina of the night they first met. And when they started talking about the time they all went to Coeur d’Alene, Tina couldn’t clearly recall the actual trip, just her late-night reenactment with Jan. All her traitorous mind would dredge up were memories of Jan standing behind her, whispering Tina’s fantasies in her ear. Jan’s arms around her, touching and exploring. Jan on her knees, making Tina lose her mind.

Somehow, she managed to eat enough to be polite. She appreciated the casual, picnic-style meal, so different from the more formal holiday dinners she remembered. Still, she felt anxious for the evening to end, for the chance to go back to the apartment and be alone. Unfortunately, a quick getaway didn’t seem to be possible.

“How about some music?” Peter suggested after they had gorged on cake. Tina had surprised herself by eating two large pieces. She had expected the childhood associations of the smell and taste of the cake to remind her of bad times, but instead, there was a comforting familiarity about it.

“I’ll take care of the dishes,” Chloe suggested. “The rest of you can get ready to play.”

Tina licked the last bit of cream-cheese frosting off her fork, and then she offered to help Chloe stack plates and carry them to the kitchen.

“How is…” Tina wanted to ask about Jan once she and Chloe were alone, but she stopped herself. “School?” she finished.

Chloe shrugged. “She seems okay, but you know she doesn’t share a lot of what she’s feeling. To be honest, she looks very worn-out, but it might just be worry about her dad.”

Tina rinsed a plate and handed it to Chloe to stack in the dishwasher. “I didn’t ask—”

“Oh, sorry, I misunderstood,” Chloe said with a smile as she busied herself rearranging plates. “School’s fine. So, did you bring the electric violin you played at O’Boyle’s? The one Jan called…oops, never mind. I’m sure you don’t want to hear that, either.”

Tina hastily dried her hands on a towel and chased after Chloe. She caught her by the elbow before she made it to the living room. “What did she say about my fiddle?”

“She said it was painted fuck-me red,” Chloe whispered before pulling her arm free and leaving a stunned Tina in the doorway. Great. How could she possibly concentrate on playing
now
?

She went into the room. Nick was at the piano, playing scales as a warm-up, while Miriam polished her clarinet with a yellow cloth. Peter had set up Tina’s amp but had wisely left her violin alone. She took out her glossy red fiddle and attached her shoulder rest, ignoring Chloe’s smug smile. More pictures of Jan crowded into Tina’s mind. At the pub, by the pool table. Tina doubted she could even play a simple C major scale if asked.

“If I’d been thinking, I’d have suggested we prepare the Bartók trio,” Nick said, twisting away from the piano to face Miriam. “It was always his…a favorite.”

He cleared his throat and turned back to his scales too quickly. Tina saw her grandmother stiffen. “I think I’ll lie down for a bit,” Francine said, leaving the room without another word.

Tina sighed. The room was getting awfully crowded with people who weren’t there. Too many memories, too many unspoken thoughts. So much for a fun family music session. Of course, Tina’s family wasn’t exactly known for lighthearted parties.

Miriam seemed just as aware of the awkward atmosphere. “No sense pretending you don’t miss your brother,” she said to Nick. “We all do. So let’s honor him first, and then we can move forward. Play ‘Danny Boy.’”

Oh God. Tina didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to play it. Her dad and grandfather had loved the simple song, had played it together hundreds of times. She had to get out of the room, out of the house, even if it meant leaving her violin behind. Peter reached across the sofa and put his hand on her arm. Damn him. How many times in the past weeks had he kept her from running away? Made her stay and share her grief, her pain, her anger, instead of going off to handle it on her own?

She sat, unmoving, while Nick played the first verse. Then, as if in a trance, she brought her fiddle to her shoulder and quietly joined him with a descant, playing an improvised embellished version of the melody an octave above the piano’s voice. Miriam and Peter stayed silent while Tina and Nick played through the third verse before ending the song.

With his customary tact, Peter eventually broke the silence by strumming an opening chord on his mandolin and starting to play “Scarborough Fair.” Tina smiled. Something simple and familiar, to ease the tension and move them forward. Tina picked up her violin again and played along. Somewhere in the middle of the string of English tunes, her grandmother reentered the room. Tina wondered if she had been out of earshot, or if she had just needed privacy while she listened. She shrugged off the question and focused on the music.

“One more song,” Nick said eventually, barely stifling a yawn. “Tina, you pick this time.”

She thought for a moment and then smiled as she started playing in the harmonic minor of a Romany tune her grandfather had taught her. She had loved to hear him play Gypsy songs, with their rapidly increasing speeds.