Reverb (8 page)

“I don’t advise it. You need to rest—”

“I’m leaving. Kate has generously offered me a ride.” James glances at her.

She looks at John. He does not acknowledge her.

“You don’t need his permission.” James glowers at her. He looks at Martin, then back at John. “You don’t understand the risks. Obstruction of justice, aiding and abetting—they carry time if someone wanted to push it.”

“You are my patient, James. No matter what you’ve done, I am under oath to administer care. Martin is a theater queen with HIV. No one wants him in jail.” John glances at Martin, then Kate, then looks back at James. “At least let me check you over before you go.”

“I’m alright. You’ve helped me all you can. And I appreciate it. Really.” James stays fixed on John.

“Tell me I’m not making a mistake letting you walk out of here.” John stands in front of James blocking his path. They’re eye to eye.

James raises an eyebrow. “Try and stop me and I’ll kick your ass, John.” He gives John a cocky grin, glances at Kate, then back at John. “I’ll be okay. You’ve got it wrong about earlier. The pills. Just flat out stupidity. Wasn't aiming to kill myself here. I'm not crazy.”

John narrows his eyes on James. “I don’t know if you are now, but you clearly were, and not too long ago. You have one life, James. One. Whatever it is,
this is it
. Deal with it. Make it what you want. Don’t throw it away.”

James shakes his head with a soft smile. “You guys rehearse this stuff? Just had the same ‘Come to Jesus’ speech from Martin. You two are a tour de force.” His smile fades. “Slicing my wrists was the sanest thing I did in my entire incarceration. I was justified, not crazy.” He stays with John another moment then he looks at Kate. “Ready?”

She hesitates before nodding. She looks at John, then Martin. “I really want to thank you for your kindness. Your home is beautiful. It’s been a pleasure meeting you both—”

“Come here, you.” Martin takes her by the hand and pulls her in. “Thank you for looking out for my friend.” Their bodies connect. She feels Martin’s appreciation with his hug, and returns it. He keeps his eyes on hers when they separate. “You are every bit as beautiful as,” he points to James, “he is. You’ve just got to believe it, girl.”

“Thank you.” Kate wants to kiss him right then, but she doesn't.

James and John stare at each other silently. After a moment, John moves aside to let them pass. “I’m letting you go because I think it’ll do you more harm than good to force you to stay. But watch yourself, James. Insanity feeds on justifications.”

James smiles and nods slowly, then extends his hand to John. John hesitates, then grasps James’ hand, shakes it once and releases him. James looks at Martin. “Catch ya on the flip side, Martin,” and he flashes a wide smile, a single, adorable dimple in one cheek only.

“Right back at ya, James.” Martin smiles and they have a visceral exchange to which Kate is not privy, but wishes she was. She’s so tired of being on the outside looking in. They seem to share a palpable affection as Martin takes James’ extended hand in both of his, and they shake hands heartily.

“Take good care of each other.” James stays on Martin another moment, then glances at John, then Kate. “Let’s go,” and he grips her arm lightly and leads her to the doorway. He stops before leaving, turns and looks at John. “If you’re looking for a test of my sanity, well, I can see what’s going on between you and Martin. And I’m lucid enough to know if you let what you two have established slip away it would be madness.” He gives John a quasi-grin, smiles at Martin, then turns away, takes Kate’s hand and leads her out of the music room.

“If you need me, I’m at Paradise Pediatrics in Placer County. My service can reach me twenty-four seven.” John calls after them.

Martin follows them down the hallway. “Any chance you’ll fill me in on where you’re off to, so I can track you down if need be.”

“Nope. You suck at lying, Martin. I don’t want to put you in a position of having to.”

“Then what am I supposed to tell anyone who comes looking?”

“The truth. I showed up injured from a car accident. John patched me up and I left. Keep Kate out of it. You can do that, Martin. Omission isn’t a flat out lie.”

“Well, now, that depends on the circumstances, doesn’t it. But your anonymity is safe with me and John, dear Kate. Not to worry,” Martin says as they make their way past the full-wall fish tank separating the modern dining room from the sunken living room. “Keep in touch, James. If we don’t hear from you in six months should I come looking?”

They cross into the foyer and James lets go of her hand and turns back to face Martin in what looks like awe. “If you don’t hear from me in six months there’ll be no reason to come looking.” He stares, fixed on Martin. “I appreciate the offer though. You are forever humbling, Martin.” And he bows slightly, in the Asian fashion, his hand to his ribs.

“About time you noticed, James.” Martin flashes a whimsical grin but it fades quickly. “Just wish John did.”

“He does,” James assures him.

Kate sees John standing by the fish tank wall in the living room. James sees him, too, but Martin doesn’t.

“Pay attention, Martin. He’s right behind you, where he’s always been.” James looks at John.

Martin swings around and looks at John. Kate feels them connect, just a hint of a smile from both men simultaneously, and she’s suddenly consumed with envy of their obvious bond.

“Take it easy, James,” John says cautiously.

James nods, then laces his fingers in Kate’s again, clasping her hand. He leads her out the front door, leaving Martin standing in the threshold.

Cold strikes her in the face and chills her nose and ears. Air is dense, thick with wet pine and moist soil. James pulls her gently by the hand and starts down the steps. Kate sees her car parked beyond the fountain, in one of the five parking spaces meant for the clinic across from the house. They crunch across the glittering, rain glazed gravel and stop next to her car. James lets go of her hand to examine the damage. The left fender is crumpled from the accident, but doesn’t touch the wheel. Left headlight is fractured too, but that’s about all the damage from the collision that destroyed his Porsche.

“Well, it looks drivable.” James straightens, winces, looks at her. “I’d like to drive. I feel safer driving.” He gives her a teasing grin.

She blushes. She can’t exactly fault him for not trusting her driving. “Sure, I guess.” Gust of wind whips her hair in her eyes and her mouth, as Kate pulls her keys from her jeans pocket.

James takes the keys, then grasps her hand again and leads her around the car to the passenger side. He opens the door and ushers her in, like they were on a date or something, then shuts her door and goes around the back of the Blazer to the driver’s side and gets behind the wheel.

His body seems to melt into the seat. He rests his head back and closes his eyes, while he struggles to catch his breath.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure you can drive?”

“Yeah.” He opens his eyes, and as he reaches out to shut the car door, sucks in a muffled gasp. He glances at her for just a second before he turns his attention to driving, sticks the key in the ignition, starts the engine, and then pulls the SUV around the fountain. He waves at Martin and John in the doorway, and drives down the sloping gravel road. His long lashes mingling with locks of his hair. He blinks several times in a row as if to clear his vision, or keep his eyes open.

“Maybe it’s not the best idea to leave your friends right now.”

Road crunches under the tires as they move down the hill. The valley shimmers in pinpoints of silver—rain droplets clinging to endless rows of grapevines reflect the moon. James turns left off the gravel drive to Paradise and on to Gold Hill Road. 

“I’m trying to keep everyone safe, and free, including me.” James combs his hair back with his elegant fingers. “Regardless of the accident, Martin is a known colleague of mine. If anyone’s looking for me, they’ll look here eventually. If the CHP connect the dots, and place me at the scene with the Porsche, they won’t do it in a day, if at all. As far as we know, no one knows you were involved in the accident. And you’re nobody to me.”

Boy, he's right about that.
She’s nobody to James. Worse, she’s nobody to anybody. He stops at the crossroad of Hwy 49. She feels him look at her. Can’t look at him.

“I’ll take off as soon as we get to Sacramento. Old Town is only about forty minutes from here. I'll find my way from there.”

“I told you I’d take you to Tiburon. I want to.” Her voice sounds childlike.

He shakes his head. “It’ll be safer if we separate.”

“Why? I’m no one to you, right? And no one is looking for me.” Kate wonders if she sounds as small as she feels, throwing his words back at him.

“I didn’t mean safer for you.” James glances at her again, then turns right onto the slick blacktop heading west. “I’m obliged to take care of you when you’re with me. You’re a liability, which is why we need to separate.”

Feels like he’s slapped her. She stares ahead to hide her shame. She cannot speak. Kate pushes the CD into the player. Fast picking of steel strings opens the disk of acoustic rock, and becomes the sound track for the scene. They move through the blackness on the practically empty, narrow highway, every few minutes momentarily blinded by blazing bright headlights on the other side of the road.

She looks at James. His cheeks are flushed, his skin tone ashen in the dim light; his full lips deep red. Trace stubble hardens his baby face. He looks unscathed, normal—drop dead gorgeous kind of normal. His left palm is on the top of the wheel, his long fingers extending past it, and they're moving with the music. Kate is certain he not consciously aware he’s subtly, but clearly, picking air guitar in perfect time to the complex Vertical Horizon piece,
Washed Away
. Of course, it’s obvious he’s a player, but she’d only made the connection when she saw him at the piano at Paradise. She lets the piece end before speaking.

“That was a beautiful piece you played on the piano earlier.”

“Ravel’s,
Gaspard de la Nuit.
But I massacred it.”

“I wouldn't know. So, you play piano, and the guitar, too.” It’s more statement than question since she knows the answer. His fingers are still contorted in the closing pick.

James glances at her, his eyes narrow, like he’s suspicious of her question. “I used to.” He drops his hand from the top of the wheel and grips the bottom. “Don’t know that I can anymore.” A quick, angry laugh with a shake of his head. “You’ve seen my wrists. The restraints they had on me cut the circulation to my hands. I may have lost the dexterity. I don’t know.” He shrugs. His expression is somber. His eyes are glassy as he squints at oncoming headlights, and only then does Kate notice his long lashes sticking together from tears. He blinks and they stream down his face. James flashes her a quick glance, half-laughs, but not like it’s funny, and wipes his eyes on his shirtsleeve. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. Even if I could get back to where I was, I’m not so sure I ever want to go back there.”

“Why? Music is very powerful. It touches a lot of people.”

“Maybe my music did, but I’m finally getting that I probably didn’t.” His jaw hardens. He stares straight ahead.

“Are you famous? I mean, should I know you, know your music?”

“Probably not. You may have heard things I've written but I’m in the background, in the studio mostly.”

“What other instruments do you play?”

He flashes a smile. “Most all of them.”

“That’s impressive.” Kate is awed by people with passion, as she’s yet to find her own.

“Not really. Get good at anything with practice. I’ve been playing all my life. My stepfather taught me to play the guitar when I was five.” He speaks as if telling a tale. “He was a violinist with the Boston Pops. My mom was a piano teacher at Berklee School of Music. She could pick the harmony out of a vacuum.” He seems to drift, like he’s hearing her sing. “She had the most amazing ear, and perfect pitch. I mean
perfect
.”

“Are your parents still in Boston?”

“They’re dead.” And he’s back in the car with Kate.

She’s astounded by his admission, and for the first time feels a real connection to James. “Mine, too.” She practically whispers. “My dad died of a heart attack about a year ago. My mom, of cancer in late November, almost three months now.” She shuts her mouth, holds her breath and swallows back the lump in her throat.

“I lost my parents when I was thirteen in a plane crash on their way home from a benefit concert in Haiti. So much for Karma.” He stares out the windshield. “Everyone said it would hurt less with time. But the longing is often still intolerable.”

Kate crumbles. He’s right, of course. She still thinks of calling her mom almost every day, the impulse always followed by that horribly empty realization no one’s there to answer the phone. Tears spill down her face, and she can’t stop them. She stares out the windshield.

James stops at the crossroad of Hwy 50 and looks at her. “No shame in grief, Kate.” He reaches out to her and wipes her tears away with his huge thumb, strokes her cheeks gently, first one, then the other, his glassy eyes filled with compassion focused on her. “Cost of love is often illusive. Until we lose it.”