Second Chance (51 page)

"Don't drink yet. I want you to hear something first."

The Italian music on the ceiling speakers stopped, and then, over the chatter of the other diners came a tune played on a solo oboe, so pure and clear and lovely that the talk hushed, and forks paused halfway to mouths, and the people listened until the music faded into silence. Then, slowly, talk resumed, silverware sang, and the music of Italy was heard again.

"
Tracy's Song
," Diane said. "But . . . how?"

"It's a demo," Curly explained. "Frank wrote it out, and I have some contacts in the music business, so I was able to get it to Kevin Marcus's group. He loved it, wants to record it with his reed man, so I asked him if he'd just have the guy do a solo cassette I could play for you. And he did."

"There'll be more," Frank said. "I remember most of the tunes. I played them over and over. Now I'll be able to again." He smiled. "Curly and I told Marcus that we want to use a pseudonym for the composer credits."

"Woody Robinson?"
Sharla
asked.

Frank nodded. "Woody Robinson. At least his music will live."

No one spoke for a few moments. Then Diane said, "It's wonderful. But it's so strange. I mean, Woody never wrote those songs here—in this world. So how can they exist? How can we remember them?"

"It's what you call a paradox," Curly said, then chuckled. "Life's full of the damn things."

He picked up his filled wine glass. "Maybe there are lots of worlds besides the ones we've known. And maybe in one of them Woody and Tracy—and Dale too—are sitting here with us."

"Maybe even Keith," said
Sharla
.

Curly nodded. "Maybe. So let's drink to them. Let's drink and remember." He raised his glass high. "To our friends, wherever, whenever they are."

"To our friends," they all said.

Then they drank, remembering what never was, and dreaming of only what could be, until it was time to say goodbye again, and go home.

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