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Ethan laughed. “Yeah there’s some of that in the mix. Though maybe more Crosby, Stills and Nash this time. But also a big dose of that famous band, American Sky.”
Frank chuckled. “Flattery will get you nowhere.” He gave a thoughtful nod. “But yeah, I could hear a few little riffs and phrasings that I could claim to be like mine. But that aside, I liked it, though you might consider lifting the chorus to the next key at the end. You know, bring it to a G major. That would give it a more hopeful twist.”
Ethan gave him a wry look. “Maybe I wasn’t looking for hopeful.”
Her father shrugged. “Think about it. Think about what’s best for the song.”
Ethan raised his brows, but after a pause he nodded. “At the moment it doesn’t feel like G major, but I’ll think about it. You know I respect your opinion.”
“But it’s your song, in the end, Ethan,” said her father.
“Thanks,” Ethan said.
Kate stifled a yawn. Her head felt far too wired for sleep, this conversation, this encounter, anything but calming, but her body had other ideas. It was 4 a.m. by her body. And she’d endured a long day of travel, including the stop at the New York City gallery.
Her father looked at her, concern on his face. “You must be dead on your feet. Time to get you to bed.” He turned to Ethan. “Sorry I’ll miss your second set. See you tomorrow.”
“No, don’t worry about it, it’s fine. Nothing new in the second set. Tomorrow then.” Ethan nodded to Kate. “Good to see you again.”
Her father slid off the stool, clapped Ethan on the back. “Oh, and thanks again for “Suzanne.” You know that gets me every time.”
Ethan grinned. “Better than singing Happy Birthday?”
Her father laughed. “Ha. No contest.”
Her father pulled her arm and Kate slid off her stool, glad he was directing her movements, her mind too stuck on the word “tomorrow.” Tomorrow? Ethan was coming tomorrow?
Two
It was a kitchen full of warm smells and worn wood. The cracks and stains on the table, the counters, and the cabinets, all spoke of morning breakfasts, boisterous dinners, and rushed lunches. All memories that evoked so many complicated feelings for Kate.
Max nudged her arm, his wet nose tickling the skin near her elbow. From her seat at the kitchen table, Kate laughed and looked down at his baleful eyes, his head cocked slightly to the side. She could see there was white around his muzzle amid the golden fur, more evidence to add to the small sway in his movement and lumbering gait that told her things she didn’t want to know. He was nearly fourteen, she calculated in surprise. The golden retriever in his prime that had been in her memory had grown old.
He nudged her again and she smiled down at him. “Still up to your old tricks?” She looked at the stack of pancakes on her plate, the maple syrup soaking the layers, and broke off a small chunk from the bottom one. She glanced over at her father, his back to her at the stove. The bacon in the pan that he held hissed and spat. She heard him mutter a little curse as a droplet of fat hit his hand. Kate smiled at the familiar sight and turned back to the dog, sliding the piece of pancake down her lap and in front of his nose. Before she could blink, the morsel was gone from her fingers and inside Max. She grinned at him and shook her head.
“He’s still up to those tricks because you encourage them,” said her father, his back still facing her.
She wrinkled her nose. “I can’t see that it’s all my fault. I mean, when was the last time I fed him?”
“Dogs have long memories,” said her father. “Especially when it comes to food.”
She forced a laugh. It was hard not to find hidden meaning in those words, that it was a dig at her long absence, though practically, she knew her father wasn’t like that. To be fair, she’d been the one who had inferred her long absence with the statement about feeding Max. She felt momentarily annoyed at herself.
“Do you have everything you need for the barbecue today? Is there anything I can get from the supermarket?”
“Nah. It’s all under control. Tom’s bringing the steaks. Stokey’s bringing burritos.”
“You mean his wife is.”
Her dad laughed. “Yeah. And Phil says he’s got the beer covered.”
“Any wine? Some people might want wine.” She still hadn’t decided what she would have to drink. Water? She wasn’t sure she could stomach the kind of beer Phil would bring, or the wine that would be there.
“No, don’t worry about the wine. Ethan’s covering that. And bringing some beer, too.”
“Ethan?”
“Yeah. And I almost forgot. Tamzin said she would make some kind of herby salady thing. We’ve got the macaroni salad already made up, but if you want to do the potato salad, that would be good. You know I always loved your potato salad. Only you could manage to make it just like your mom made it.”
