Lost Melody (3 page)

He arrived at his car and punched the button to unlock the door. As he slid behind the steering wheel, a smile stole over his lips. What Jill needed was something to look forward to, something to focus on. And he had just the thing.

C
ENTERSIDE
N
URSING WAS LIT WITH
festive Christmas trees and fragrant evergreen. Jill found Mom parked in her favorite location, in front of the bay window in the sunroom. The nurses knew she favored the spot and rolled her out there every afternoon to watch the sun descend toward the horizon. No sun today, though, just heavy gray clouds. Jill set a large red poinsettia on the window shelf, and bent to kiss her.

“Hi, Mom.”

Mom lifted her head, then dropped her chin back to her chest. Her left side curled, her lips fixed in a perpetual droop. Mom would be horrified if she were aware of her appearance. She’d once been a proud woman like her mother, Nana, but the stroke had stripped her of dignity.

Unbuttoning her coat, Jill slid out of the wool. “It’s going to snow. Isn’t that marvelous? You always loved snow.”

Fat, puffy flakes landing on her coat sleeve …

A smiling nurse appeared. “There you are, Ms. King. We wondered if you were going to make it today.”

“I got involved in something and lost track of time.” Jill avoided the woman’s gaze. Judge Judy’s docket this afternoon had been a doozy. “But Mom knows I wouldn’t miss a Thursday.”

The woman glanced at Mom. “Lorna’s had a good day.” Her voice rose, both in volume and pitch. “Haven’t you, honey?”

Mom didn’t acknowledge the question. Sometimes Jill imagined her mother raising her head and snapping, “I’m not deaf, and I’m not your honey.” Of course, that was just Jill’s own irritation coming through. Several of the staff members practically shouted when talking to Mom, as though the louder they spoke, the more likely Mom would understand the words. As far as the doctors could tell, the stroke had not affected her hearing, only her ability to speak coherently and her cognitive processes. Still, they were all kind and competent at Centerside, and Jill was grateful for the care they gave her mother.

She placed a hand on Mom’s shoulder. The bones felt brittle beneath a thin cotton blouse and even thinner skin. “Did she eat?”

“A bit. I hope to tempt her with a bite or two of custard before she goes to sleep.” She stepped toward the window and picked up the poinsettia. “How lovely. I’ll just take this to her room. It will brighten the windowsill with a touch of the holidays.”

“Thank you.”

When the nurse left, Jill pulled a wing-back chair closer to the wheelchair and sat down before she began her customary one-sided chat. “I can’t stay long today, Mom. Greg and I have a date tonight. He’s taking me to dinner at 44 North, so I’ll need to get dressed up. I thought I’d wear my burgundy dress with the black belt. Remember that one?”

She paused, but didn’t expect a response. A glimmer of moisture appeared in the corner of Mom’s mouth, and Jill wiped it away with an edge of the terrycloth bib that protected her mother’s pretty pink blouse.

“Greg told me to tell you he’s sorry he hasn’t visited in a while. Between his law practice and the election, he’s so busy he hardly
has a free minute. But you’ll definitely see him at Christmas.”

Visits were so much easier with her boyfriend along to share the burden of conversation. Everything was easier with Greg around. His unending energy and boisterous enthusiasm had coaxed Jill back to life last year. After the accident he’d rushed to her bedside in New York, and spent more time there than in Seaside Cove during her hospital stay, even with a busy law practice to maintain and an upcoming election looming over his head. He was so patient with her recovery, even though he couldn’t possibly understand the depth of her loss. How could he? Though he had a lovely singing voice, Greg didn’t know a sonata from a waltz.

I see the love of the mystical in your eyes. Liszt’s spiritual nature, his ever-searching musicality, would appeal to someone like you.
The memories rose again.

Jill’s throat tightened. She rose and paced to the window. The man’s image was seared in her memory. Robert. She had not learned his last name. There hadn’t been enough time before the crash. Before he died. He, and so many others. The ER doctor told her over and over how fortunate she was, the only survivor in that part of the train.

With an effort, she turned and gave her mother a bright smile that went unnoticed. “So, Mom, what do you want for Christmas? I haven’t done any shopping yet, but I need to get started soon. It’s only a month away. Would you like some new clothes? And what do you think about a housecoat for Nana? Hers is getting pretty ratty.”

Jill prattled on, filling the silence in the dayroom with inconsequential chatter about Nana and Greg, and when she ran out of fresh news about them, the latest antics of the afternoon soap opera divas. Mom never moved, never raised her head. Sometimes
when Jill visited, she interrupted the monologue with an unintelligible string of babble, her eyes urgent with a message that remained frustratingly incomprehensible. Not this evening. Today, like many other times, she seemed unaware of Jill’s presence.

After she ran out of things to talk about, Jill fell silent. Outside, the sun had become a dim orange glow on the underbelly of low-hanging clouds. From somewhere in the depths of the nursing home, a phone rang twice and was answered.

“I dreamed about playing last night.” Jill let the words fall quietly between them. They hung in the air, and left the relief of confession in their wake. “I could feel the keys beneath my fingers. Could hear the music. It was Liszt’s
Sonata in B Minor.”

With a start, she realized her right index finger had moved with an unconscious gesture, tracing lightly over the ugly scar on her left hand. She jerked to her feet.

“I need to go, Mom. I want to be ready when Greg gets there.” She forced a laugh. “Can’t keep my best guy waiting, you know.”

When her mother made no answer, Jill stooped to press a tender kiss on her forehead. “I love you, Mom. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Jill followed Greg and the tuxedoed maitre d’ through the dining room of 44 North, an upscale restaurant that boasted a spectacular panoramic view of Halifax Harbor through floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside, lights on the moored ships shone like stars floating on blue-black waters. Inside, white tablecloths, sparkling crystal, and gleaming silver created an elegant atmosphere. A well-dressed clientele spoke in soft voices that blended with the background music, a low blur broken only by the occasional
clink of cutlery on china. The maitre d’ led them to a table for two next to the window, then slid an upholstered chair out for her. Greg waited until she was settled to take his place on the other side of the table.

“This is beautiful,” she told him, her gaze sweeping the room. “I’ve heard about this restaurant, but I’ve never been here.”

“Me either.” A smile shone in his eyes like the lights on one of the ships below. “Tonight’s a special night, so I wanted to pick a special place.”

Something in the way Greg looked at her sliced through the gloomy thoughts that never quite left her, like morning sunlight that cut through thick fog in the harbor. When he was around, Jill could put aside all the pain, the memories, the shattered dreams, and pretend that the accident had never happened. Or at least that it was over, that it had no power over her any longer.

She smiled, determined not to think about the accident tonight, and reached across the table to take his hand. “What’s so special about tonight?”

“Oh, it’s a celebration of sorts.” A secret twitched at the corners of his mouth. “Carl Allen promised his support today. Even made a generous campaign donation.”

“Greg, that’s wonderful.” She squeezed his fingers. “With him and Rowena Mitchell on your side, there’s no way you can lose the election.”

He laughed and released her hand to lean back in his chair. “I wouldn’t go that far. There are still some pretty determined people who’d rather reelect Samuels. But at least it’s starting to look like I might not get completely buried in this election.”

Greg was unconscious of the impression he made on people, which was one of the things she loved about him. His open expression and unmistakable honesty, reinforced by clear eyes
the color of the sea on a sunny summer day, created an instant appeal with everyone he met. Not just women, either, though his rugged, six-two build and thick, dark hair didn’t hurt him any with the ladies.

“You’re going to win.” She picked up her water glass and held it toward him in a toast. “Here’s to the Cove’s new councilman.”

He didn’t lift his own glass. “I have a confession. That’s not what’s special about tonight.”

Jill paused, her glass still in the air. “It isn’t?”

“No.” His voice trembled with barely concealed excitement. “I was going to do this over dessert, but I can’t wait.”

He fumbled in the inside pocket of his suit coat, his stare fixed on her face. The first inkling of his intention inched over Jill like rays of sunlight creeping into the morning sky. She set the water glass down on the table and straightened in her chair.

“Jill, you know I’ve loved you from the moment we met, when I was moving into my law office and you and Ruth welcomed me to the Cove with a loaf of warm apple bread.”

Nana made it a point to act as a one-woman Welcome Wagon to anyone who moved into the community, and that day she had dragged Jill along with her. Jill had just come home from Ontario the day before, where she’d won the Chopin Piano Competition. The handsome young lawyer had made quite an impression on her, with his self-effacing manner and ready laugh. On Nana, too, who’d hatched a matchmaking scheme within ninety seconds of walking through his office door. Scheming wasn’t necessary, though. Jill had accepted a date with Greg before the bread had a chance to cool completely.

Only four years ago, but it seemed like a lifetime. She’d had dreams then. Carnegie Hall was still a possibility then.

Numbness stole over her as Greg slid out of his chair. As though from a distance, she watched him drop down to one knee beside her, at the same time pulling a small box out of his coat.

“I will never accomplish anything worthwhile if you’re not by my side. I can’t imagine living without you. I want you to share my goals, be part of my successes. Part of my life. Jillian Elizabeth King, will you marry me?”

The hum of conversation in the restaurant grew quiet as the people at the surrounding tables paused to watch, indulgent smiles on every face. Greg opened the lid of the black velvet box. The diamond inside caught the light from the candle on the table and turned it into sparkles.

Share
his
goals? Be part of
his
successes?

A bitter thought slashed through the numbness. Why, yes. Of course. What else could she do? She had no more goals of her own.

No, that’s not right. I love Greg. I
want
to be his wife.

Tears blurred her vision. If she wasn’t entirely sure they were all tears of joy, well, at least most of them were.

She swallowed against a lump in her throat. Smiled. Drew breath.

“Yes.” A sob came out with the word, and she tried again. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

As Greg slipped the diamond onto her finger, the other diners and the waiters applauded.

T
HE CLOUDS HELD ONTO THE
promised snow during the ride home until the car crossed over MacDonald’s Bridge and turned south on Eastern Passage Road. Jill watched snowflakes speckle the windshield in random patterns. Every few seconds the wipers swept them into oblivion like a giant Etch-a-Sketch clearing the slate for the next masterpiece. Jazz played softly through the radio speakers, and her ear automatically pinpointed the keyboard. The musician wasn’t bad, but a little slow on the segue.

Greg’s words penetrated her thoughts. “What do you think about a Christmas wedding?”

She’d never been one of those girls who spent hours planning her dream wedding. Practicing took all her time, and when her fingers weren’t on the keys, she was studying the composers’ lives, learning their personalities and the events that influenced their music. Last summer she’d attended a college friend’s wedding, though, and it had been gorgeous, with tons of colorful flowers everywhere. She’d almost been able to picture herself up there at the altar, dressed in white and surrounded by pink blossoms. But a winter wedding would be beautiful, too.

“Our flowers could be red and white poinsettias.” She aimed a smile sideways at Greg. “We’d better reserve the church soon,
though. It’s a busy place during the holidays, but if we pick our date now and get it on the schedule a year in advance, we should be safe.”

Greg was silent for a moment, and then he spoke sheepishly. “Actually, I meant
this
Christmas.”

She jerked her head toward him.
“This
Christmas? You mean, like, in a month?”

“Yeah. My brother and his family will be in for the holiday, so we could do it out at my parents’ home in the orchard. Just a quiet ceremony. You know my sister-in-law is a nurse, so we’ll have help caring for your mom, and Ruth would come, of course. I’ve already poked around and found out Reverend and Mrs. Hollister aren’t going anywhere this year, and they were thrilled at my invitation to have Christmas dinner at the orchard.” He glanced away from the road to catch her eye. “Unless you have your heart set on a big church wedding.”

“No. It’s not that. I just —” Jill grasped for words. He’d obviously put a lot of thought into this. But get married in a month?

Well, why not? It’s not like she and Greg were strangers. They’d known and loved each other for four years.

“I’ve waited a long time for you, Jill.” He reached across the console and picked up her hand, where it lay on her lap. His thumb brushed gently across the scar, on its way to touch the engagement ring on her third finger. “Your music always came first, and I understood that. But now it’s finally time for us to come first.”

Jill stared at their clasped hands. Is that how he felt, that he played second fiddle to her piano?

It’s true. My music has always been my top priority.

But not anymore.

An ache of longing, of loss, throbbed in her chest. She’d lost
one love in her life. God had taken it from her. She wouldn’t lose Greg, too.

“A Christmas wedding sounds wonderful.” She smiled and intertwined her fingers with his. “Nana is going to be thrilled.”

“This
Christmas?” Ruth grasped at the collar of her pink housecoat. “Impossible. It can’t be done.”

Greg laughed at her outraged expression and pulled Jill closer to his side. “What’s there to do? A marriage license only takes five days.”

The snow had started to fall in earnest, but hadn’t yet begun to accumulate on the roads when they pulled into the Cove at ten thirty. Jill had invited him inside so they could deliver the good news to her grandmother together. Ruth insisted that she hadn’t been sleeping, only reading in bed, but her fiery hair stood at spiky attention at the back of her skull, and her eyes had been half-lidded when she first entered the cozy living room.

Now, after hearing their news, they bulged like a bigeye tuna’s.

“What’s there to do?” The heated scorn in the look she turned on him could have popped corn kernels. “There are invitations to print, and decorations to arrange, and —” Her hands flapped in the air. “Oh, a million details to attend to.”

“Nana, we’re going to have a small family ceremony out at Greg’s father’s ranch. No need for invitations.” Jill stepped away from his side to put an arm around her grandmother and lead her to the couch. “The house will already be decorated for Christmas, and it’ll be gorgeous. Right, Greg?”

Greg watched in amusement as Ruth dropped onto the center cushion, her expression dazed. Jill perched beside her. A few
strands of Jill’s silky dark hair danced around her head with minds of their own, charged with static from the wool hat she’d removed moments before. Her ivory skin glowed in the soft light from the table lamp. She was the most beautiful woman Greg had ever known. He could hardly believe she would be his wife in a month.

“You know what everyone will say, don’t you?” Ruth’s eyebrows, practically nonexistent without the dark penciled lines that gave them emphasis during the day, arched high on her forehead. “They’ll say you’re pregnant.”

Jill’s face flamed, but Greg only laughed. He had considered the possibility. A small but extremely vocal segment of the Cove’s population kept the gossip lines buzzing over something or other at all times. No doubt the juicy news of a rushed wedding would be the only topic of conversation for a long time.

“No one who knows us well will think that,” he assured the ladies. “And the others can speculate all they want. What do we care?”

Concern drew lines across Jill’s smooth forehead. “Greg, the gossip won’t hurt your campaign, will it?”

“Not at all. Besides, the election is six months away. They’ll see they were wrong long before then.” He pulled his gloves out of his pocket. “I need to get going. I have another breakfast meeting at seven in the morning to talk about the campaign. Why people keep wanting to meet at such an uncivilized hour is beyond me.” He pulled an elaborate grimace that made Jill smile and Ruth blast a horsey laugh.

The women rose together. Ruth crossed the room with outstretched arms and gathered him in a hug.

“Congratulations. I’m ecstatic, you know, even though you’ve just ruined my December.” She awarded him a playful slap on the shoulder. “You might not get a Christmas present this year,
young man. I’ll be too busy planning a wedding to do anymore shopping.”

Greg returned her hug, his gaze fixed on Jill. She looked like a vision standing in the middle of the room, so graceful and achingly beautiful, bathed in beams of warm yellow light. “I’m getting the best Christmas present in the world. I don’t need anything else.”

“You’ve got that right.” Ruth released him and turned a proud look toward Jill. “You are getting the best.”

A becoming blush stained Jill’s cheeks. She walked with Greg into the entry hall. At the front door he turned and opened his arms. She stepped into them, and for a moment they stood, silent, while he breathed deeply of the clean, fresh scent that was uniquely hers.

“Are you as happy as I am?” he whispered into her ear.

“I’m very happy.” His coat muffled her voice. “I know what Nana means, though. I’m just realizing how much there is to do between now and Christmas.”

“The beauty of a private ceremony is you can do as little or as much planning as you want.” He pulled back enough to place a tender kiss on her forehead. “It’ll be good to see you enthusiastic about something again. Especially when that something is the beginning of our life together.”

She leaned back, her eyes searching his. A tiny crease appeared to mar the skin between her eyebrows.

Greg traced the crease with his thumb. “What’s wrong? You’re not having second thoughts already, are you?”

The skin smoothed, and she shook her head. “Of course not. I love you, and I can’t wait to become Mrs. Gregory Bradford.”

Her arms rose to circle his neck and pull him forward. When their lips touched, her kiss chased away any doubt about her enthusiasm.

Snow swirled through the door on a blast of wind, and Jill pushed it shut behind Greg with a thud. She rubbed a shiver out of her arms as she returned to the front room. Nana was once again seated on the sofa. With a vein-lined hand she patted the cushion in an invitation to join her.

Jill dropped onto the cushion, kicked off her shoes, and grabbed a multi-colored afghan lying across the back to snuggle beneath.

Nana turned sideways until she was looking at Jill head-on. “All right, tell me the truth. Are you pregnant?”

“Nana!” Heat rushed into Jill’s face. “I can’t believe you’d ask that. I’m definitely not pregnant. Greg and I haven’t …” She dropped her gaze. “You know.”

Nana nodded. “I didn’t think so, but I know how these things can happen unexpectedly. Then why the rush to get married?”

Jill avoided her grandmother’s piercing gaze by focusing her attention on the afghan across her lap. “There’s no reason to wait, really. I love Greg. Neither of us cares about having a big wedding. Greg’s brother and his family will already be here for Christmas, so they won’t have to make a separate trip.” She plucked at a loose stitch. “And to be honest, I think Greg is trying to push me back into the land of the living. You know, give me a reason to look ahead instead of behind.”

She risked an upward glance. Nana studied her through narrowed eyes.

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing. You haven’t been yourself since the accident.”

Jill could think of no reply for that colossal understatement.

Nana scooted closer, turned on the cushion so they were side
by side, and pulled part of the afghan over her legs. She looped her arm through Jill’s.

“You’ve been through a terrible ordeal, dear. You’ve lost your first passion, your music. There’s no need to rush. You can take as much time to heal as you need.”

Though Nana’s words had been repeated many times before, at the mention of her music a familiar pain throbbed in Jill’s chest. Pain she was tired of suffering. Would it never go away? Would she always feel such heart-wrenching grief every time she walked past her piano?

“No.” She pulled Nana’s arm tighter against her side. “I’ve taken enough time. Greg is right. It’s time to move on, to move forward. I’ve even been thinking of —” She paused to draw a fortifying breath. “Of taking on a few students.”

There. She’d said it. The thought had been hovering in the back of her mind like a child cowering in the wings of the theater, afraid to step into the spotlight of center stage.

Nana drew upright, surprise making her eyes as round as the life preservers the Cove kept placed strategically around the docks. “Piano students? Why, Jill, that’s wonderful. You’ll be blessing others with your gift again, just in a different way than before.” She paused, and a look of concern shadowed her features. “But can you do it? Physically, I mean. I haven’t heard you play in almost a year. Is your hand healed enough?”

Jill withdrew her left hand from beneath the afghan and held it in front of her face. The diamond glittered on her third finger, but it only drew attention to the angry scar that sliced across the skin from her wrist to the knuckle of her forefinger, with a Y-shaped fork toward her thumb. She splayed her fingers. Once she’d been able to span from C to D. Now, after two surgeries and a year of physical therapy, she could barely cover a full octave. Could she
play? Probably well enough for most things, like church hymns and family sing-alongs. But “well enough” wasn’t nearly enough for Jill.

Time to face facts. Her concert days were truly over. And without the drive to achieve perfection during a performance, the thought of playing anything brought a deeper pain than just the one in her hand.

“It’s healed enough to give lessons.” She hid it once again beneath the loosely crocheted wool.

Nana studied her for a long moment, then nodded. “All right then. We’ll plan a wedding in a month.” A sudden smile widened her mouth. “I have an idea. You can wear your mother’s wedding dress. You’re close to the size she was when she married your father. She would have loved seeing you married in that dress.”

Jill returned the smile. “She
will
see me married in her dress. That’s a terrific idea.” She peeled back the afghan and stood, covering a yawn with her hand. “It’s late. I’m going to bed.”