Finding Home (21 page)

The
Scotch and soda Brad ordered had just arrived when the first show began. A middle-aged man, sporting a bad haircut and a rumpled sweatshirt and neon-purple pants, mumbled a string of mostly unintelligible words into a microphone. This prompted more noise in response, and suddenly, as the announcer backed away, the spotlight on the makeshift, boxlike stage widened, illuminating the presence of five people around a drum set and a keyboard.

Four males and a leggy blonde. It was a toss-up whether her hair or stiletto heels were longer than her outfit.

Brad took a long sip of his drink as the chords were being struck, hoping it would fortify him. He felt Stacey grab his hand.

“That's him. That's Jim,” she whispered excitedly.

“I know which one Jim is,” he told her. “It's hasn't been that long.”

The droll comment had no effect. Her eyes were riveted to the stage. To her son, the performer.

“What do they call themselves?” he asked, strictly to be polite.

Stacey kept her eyes on the stage. “They don't have a name right now. Jim says they can't make a decision.”

Sounded about par for the course, he thought, banking down his frustration. Brad took another sip and braced himself for what he felt was the ordeal ahead.

Music dueled with noise for mastery of the small interior of the club. The battle was intense, but short. Music won. The noise that surrounded the musicians slowly began to quiet down as people started to listen to the band with no name.

The leggy blonde's voice all but shook the walls as she belted out the song. Brad realized that the lyrics were vaguely recognizable. Like an old standard that had been given a shot of adrenaline and altered.

Not half bad.

Stacey slanted a glance toward her husband. Facing the stage, his profile was to her. With limited lighting, and most of that being cast on the band, she couldn't make out his expression. It didn't appear entirely rigid, as when they discussed Jim, coming in from opposite sides within the same conversation.

She took it to be a good sign.

But within moments, she found herself at the end of her patience and unable to deal with her curiosity any longer. Why wasn't he saying something?

“Well?” she pressed. The single word, though demanding, was swallowed up by the music. Leaning forward, she placed her hand on Brad's wrist to get his attention. When he turned his head in her direction, she repeated with even more emphasis, “Well?”

Brad had a face that poker players dreamed of owning and dreaded facing. It helped him in his line of work. Stacey found it maddening.

He lifted a shoulder casually, then let it drop. He had been raised to restrain his feelings, his emotions. “Better than well,” he allowed.

The music faded into the background. Everything else stopped as she stared at him, her eyes widening. “Are you actually saying you liked it?”

Brad took another sip. Already, he was backing away so as not to face his emotions. For the most part, it kept him safe. “
Like
is a strong word.”

In what world? she wondered. “
Like
is a lukewarm word,” Stacey countered with feeling. “
Love
is a strong word.”

A waitress walked by, bumping up against Brad as she carried a tray of beer bottles and glasses to another table. He frowned as he leaned forward, but the frown had nothing to do with the subject matter and who he was talking to.

“Yeah, well, maybe I like it,” he said, trying to keep his voice noncommittal. He saw the trace of disappointment in her eyes. Maybe it was time to stop playing games. To stop protecting himself. All he'd succeeded in doing over the years was to isolate himself from everyone who should have mattered. Who
did
matter. “It's better than I thought it would be.”

Having come this far—and it was farther than she'd thought she'd get—Stacey decided to go for broke. “And Jim?”

That took more Scotch and soda. Fortified, he nodded.

“Him, too.”

Triumph was heady, her head all but spinning. She smiled broadly at him. “More words,” she encouraged. When he
began to open his mouth, she stopped him, placing her fingers to his lips. “Not to me. To him when he comes over.”

Brad merely shrugged again as the band launched into another number. His ice clinked in the chunky glass as he set it down to listen.

 

There were five in all. Five numbers, four of which turned out to be vaguely familiar to him, the way the first one had been. The audience, to Brad's surprise, seemed responsive as well.

The closing number was an original that showcased the blonde's powerful voice while not allowing it to overshadow the versatility of the band.

Stacey was clapping so hard, her hands moving so fast, Brad thought she was in danger of taking off through sheer wind velocity.

She leaned into him, raising her voice almost to a shout. The applause around them was deafening. “How d'you like that?”

“Not bad.” He was completely taken by surprise when Stacey doubled up her fist and punched him in the arm. But he knew what she was saying in less-than-delicate terms. She wanted more out of him. “Good, actually,” he told her. When she continued glaring at him, he added, “All right, very good. Surprisingly good.”

Satisfied, Stacey nodded. She was beaming so hard, she could have served as an auxiliary spotlight. “Jim wrote that,” she informed him proudly.

It seemed to be the night for surprises. “He writes music?”

“He's very talented, your son,” she stated, trying to seem
matter-of-fact when all of her insides were elated and jumping up and down. “He just needs to hear his father say that.”

Okay, maybe this was a little more than he'd bargained for. There was still an awkwardness between him and his son that had to be surmounted before any back-clapping took place. “You say it enough for both of us.”

Stacey remained firm as she shook her head. “Not the same thing.”

It was to him. Except, maybe better. After all, he and Stacey were a team, a set. A united front when it came to the kids. Or at least they used to be, he remembered. Someone had changed all the ground rules on him when he wasn't looking.

He looked down at his glass. There was nothing left except melting ice cubes. When he looked up again, he saw that Jim was making his way to their table.

Stacey was smiling broadly. Twice during the performance, he noticed that she'd managed to catch Jim's eye. He didn't have to ask to know that his wife was so proud of Jim that she could burst.

He supposed, if someone held his feet to the fire, he'd have to admit that he felt a smattering of pride right now.

The chair scraped along the bare floor as Stacey rose to her feet, throwing her arms around Jim. For once, he didn't flinch or pull back.

Maybe the kid
was
growing up, Brad thought.
About time.

“You were wonderful,” Stacey cried with enthusiasm. “They were all wonderful,” she added, then declared with the certainty of a proud mother who had always had faith in her prodigal son, “but you were the most wonderful one of them all.”

“So I guess you liked it?” Jim deadpanned. The facade lasted less than ten seconds. He was too happy, too excited. Too pumped up by the applause to maintain any sort of pretense or attempt at nonchalance. He turned toward his father, more than a little surprised to see him there. He decided to go for broke. “Dad?”

For a moment, Brad said nothing, seeking shelter in the din that had amped up again. And then he nodded. “Your mother tells me that
like
is a weak word. There's nothing weak about your playing. It's excellent. So was the last song.”

That caught Jim completely off guard. His father rarely, if ever, gave compliments.

“You really think so?” Enthusiasm gushed from every pore. “I wrote it.”

Brad nodded. “Your mother mentioned something about that.” The words were coming a little easier, although by no means flowing. “I didn't realize you had that much talent. But then, I guess maybe I was always too busy to listen.”

Because his father was assuming the blame, Jim felt magnanimous. He wouldn't let his father shoulder it.

Jim was smiling that shy smile she remembered so well from his childhood and shrugged. The shrug, she thought, was pure Brad.

“That's okay. You're a doctor. People depend on you. You've got more important things to do than to listen to my music.”

Stacey, all Stacey,
Brad thought. He caught himself searching for parts of himself within this human being they had created together.

“There's nothing more important than family,” Brad told him, then realized with a start that he was all but channel
ing his wife, echoing something she'd told him a hundred times or more.

He glanced toward her and nodded, before getting back to the fledgling conversation he and his son were nursing along. It was possibly the first one in years that hadn't been started with recriminations being fired from one or the other side.

“Can you stay awhile?” Jim asked, looking first at her, then at Brad. Stacey felt her heart warming all over again. “We don't go on again until ten, but Julie promised to stop by with her new guy—”

“Who is it this week?” Stacey asked. “Did she tell you?” She'd found herself being partial to the tall medical student who had helped her buy her gym equipment.

Jim thought for a moment, trying to remember. “Sven something.”

Stacey's eyes widened.
Well, what d'you know?
It was still Sven. Maybe her daughter was finally settling down a little. She had witnessed one miracle tonight. Why not two?

“Sure, we can stay,” Brad answered. And then he looked at her and asked, “Is that okay with you?”

As if he had to ask. “That's more than okay with me,” she assured him.

A host of enthusiastic words bubbled up within her, but she banked them down and just sat back. Content to listen to the two men in her life talk to each other.

Stacey reflected how far her life had come these past few months. A few months ago, everything was in a state of disrepair. Her house, her marriage, her life. Adequate, but not quite what she wanted. And becoming less so with each passing day.

And now, her house was almost finished. Almost entirely brand-new to the passing eye. Oh, there were still a few things to take care of and it wouldn't be perfect when it was done. Nothing ever was. All that meant was that there was room for improvement and possible modifications down the line.

A little like her marriage, she thought with a smile. Marriage was a living, breathing thing that needed upkeep, needed work almost daily. Over the years, it had grown stale and dark. Now it felt as if they had opened up the windows again, let the air in. And with the air, the sunshine. And a new wave of love.

For a woman who had just survived renovations to her house and seen the same process applied to her marriage, she felt incredibly empowered. And happy.

The change wasn't lost on her men.

“You look very content with yourself tonight,” Brad observed.

“Oh, I am. I am.” Stacey placed one hand over Brad's and one over Jim's, just as she saw Julie heading their way. Towering over her daughter was possibly her future son-in-law.

A girl could dream.

That's not “All there is,” Peggy,
Stacey thought.
There's always a hell of a lot more.