One Summer by David Baldacci
over, Jack looked at Mikki, grinned, and said, “Let me show you something.”
“What?”
“Stand up.”
She did so.
“Okay, grab me.”
“What?”
“Just come at me and grab me.”
Mikki looked around, embarrassed, at the others. “Dad, what are you doing?”
“Just grab me.”
“Fine.” She rushed forward and grabbed him, or tried to. The next instant she was facedown on the sand.
She lay there for a second, stunned, then rolled over and scowled up at him. “Gee, Dad, thanks. That was really a great closer after a picnic on the beach.”
He helped her up. “Let’s do it again, and I’ll show you exactly what I did.”
“Why?” she asked. “Is this like National Kick Your Daughter’s Butt Day and nobody told me?”
Sammy interjected. “He’s showing you some basic self-defense maneuvers, Mik.”
Mikki looked up at her dad. He said, “So you can handle yourself in certain situations. Without me helping,” he added.
“Oh,” she said, a look of understanding appearing on her face.
They went through the moves a dozen more times, until Mikki had first her dad, then Sammy, and even Cory lying facedown in the sand. Jackie begged until she did it to him too, and then started crying because he got sand in his eyes.
“Hello!”
They all turned to see Jenna Fontaine walking down the beach. She had on shorts and a tank top and a broad-brimmed sun hat. She was waving and holding up a picnic basket. “I brought you some things from the café.”
Jack came forward. “There was no need to do that.”
“No trouble. I know how it is coming to a new place.” She showed him what was in the basket, and then Jack introduced her to Cory, Sammy, and Jackie. His youngest son hid behind his dad. She smiled and squatted down. “Well, hello, little man. You look just like your daddy.”
“Daddy,” said Jackie shyly, hiding his face.
Mikki asked, “So where do you live, Jenna?”
Jenna pointed to the south. “About a half mile that way. We have a rocky point too. So when you hit the rocks, our house is the pile of blue shingles with the vibrating roof.”
“Vibrating roof?” said Mikki curiously.
Jenna looked at Jack. “It’s another reason I stopped by. Charles Pinckney said you were a whiz at building things. He was the one who told me you were staying here. What I really need—to stop myself from either killing my son or committing myself to a mental institution—is a soundproof room for his music studio.”
“He has a music studio?” exclaimed Mikki.
“Well, he calls it that. Most of the equipment is secondhand, but he’s got a lot of stuff. I don’t understand most of what it does, but what I do know is it’s killing my ears.” She looked at Jack again. “Want to come by and give me an estimate?”
Jack looked uncertain for a moment but then said, “Sure, I’d be glad to.”
“You want to stop by tomorrow evening? Liam will be there, and he can sort of tell you what he needs.”
“It might be a little expensive,” said Jack. “But we’ve done soundproofing before. You’ll notice a big difference.”
“I think saving my hearing and my sanity is worth any price. Say about eight?”
“That’ll be fine,” said Jack.
Jenna told them her address, waved, and headed off.
Jack watched her go. When he turned back, he saw Mikki and Sammy staring at him. Jack said nervously, “Uh, I’ve got some stuff to do.”
He handed the picnic basket to Mikki and trudged back to the Palace.
Sammy looked at Mikki. “Is he okay?”
Mikki glanced in Jenna’s direction, then up to her dad, who was just entering the house. “I don’t know,” she said.
Jack fell asleep that night with the tiny pair of pink sneakers on his chest.
26
Mikki had insisted on coming along with Jack to the Fontaines’ house, so Sammy stayed behind to watch the boys. They drove there in Jack’s pickup truck.
Jenna met them at the door and ushered them in. The house was old but well maintained, and the interior was surprising. Instead of a typical beach look, it was decorated in a Southwestern style, with solid, dark, and what looked to be handcrafted furniture. There were textured walls faux painted in salmon and burnt orange, oil paintings depicting both snowcapped mountains and smooth deserts, and brightly colored woven rugs with geometric patterns.
Jenna sat across from him. Jack ran his gaze over her and then looked away. She was wearing white capri pants and a pale blue pullover, and her feet were bare.
“Nice place,” said Jack.
“Thanks. We tried to make it feel like home.”
“Where’s that?” asked Mikki as she looked around. “Arizona? I was just there recently.”
Jenna laughed. “I’ve never been to Arizona or the Southwest in general. That’s why I decorated the house this way. Probably as close as I’ll ever get, and I love the look and feel of it. We originally came from Virginia. I went to college and law school up there. Ended up in D.C., though.”
“You look pretty young to have a teenager,” said Mikki.
“Mik!” her father began crossly, but Jenna laughed.
“I’ll take that as a huge compliment. Truth is, I had Liam while I was in high school.” She pursed her lips but then smiled. “The best thing that came out of that marriage was Liam.”
“So how did you end up down here?” asked Jack.
“Got tired of the rat race in D.C. I’d made really good money and invested it well. We came down to Charleston one summer, took a drive, happened on Channing, and fell in love with it.” She glanced keenly at Jack. “When I talked to Charles Pinckney, he told me about his sister leaving you the Palace. It’s a great old place. Never been inside, but I’ve always loved that lighthouse.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” said Mikki, looking at her dad.
“My wife grew up in that house,” said Jack.
“Charles told me about that too.” She paused and added solemnly, “And I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks,” said Jack quietly.
Jenna stood and reassumed a cheery air. “Well, do you want to see the mad musician’s space?”
Mikki jumped up. “Absolutely.”
Mikki could see at a glance that it was set up as a recording studio, albeit on a tight budget. To her expert eye, the soundboard, mixing devices, mikes, and the like were old and looked jury-rigged. She knew because she and her band had done the very same thing. New equipment was far too expensive. A piano keyboard was against one wall; a bass guitar sat in a stand in a corner. A banjo and a fiddle hung on hooks on the wall.
And yet there were no sheets of music. No songbooks.
“Where’s Liam?” Mikki asked. “I thought you said he’d be here.”
“He’s on his way. He was taking some inventory at the restaurant. What will you be next year, a junior?”
“Yeah.”
“Liam too. He goes to Channing High. Only high school in town.”
“He’s a big kid,” said Jack. “Does he play ball?”
Jenna smiled and shook her head. “He’s a good athlete, but this”—she pointed at the room—“this is where his heart is.”
Mikki slid over to the bass guitar. “Do you think he’d mind?”
“Go for it.”
Mikki strapped the guitar on, placed her fingers, and started to play.
“Wow,” said Jenna. “That’s really good.”
She started to take off the guitar, but a voice said, “Play those last two chords again.”
They all turned to see Liam standing in the doorway. He had on wire-rimmed glasses and a T-shirt that said SAVE THE PLANET, CUZ I STILL LIVE HERE.
“Liam, I didn’t hear you come in,” said his mother. “Everything okay at the Little Bit?”
Surprised, but pleased at his request, she did so. The sound rocked the room again.
He walked over to her and placed her index finger on the guitar neck in a slightly different spot. “Try that; it’ll give the sound more depth,” he said.
Her grin disappeared, and she flushed angrily. “I know how to place my fingers. I’ve been playing since I was eight.”
He seemed unfazed by her hostility. “So let me hear it now.”
“Fine, whatever.” She checked the new position of her index finger and played the chord. Her eyes displayed her amazement. The sound was far richer. She looked at him with new respect. “How did you figure that one out?”
He held up his hand. His fingers were amazingly long and the tips heavily calloused. “Anatomical.”
“What?”
“The fingertip has different strength points on the surface. Once you understand where they are and place your fingers accordingly, the tightness on the strings is increased. Gives a fuller sound because there’s less vibration coming off the neck.”
“You worked that out on your own?”
“Nope. I’m not that smart. Read about it in a article in Rolling Stone,” he said. “So what’s your name?”
“Mikki Armstrong. That’s my dad.”
Jack and Liam shook hands.
“Mr. Armstrong is here to see if he can save my hearing,” said Jenna.
Jack said, “Just call me Jack.”
Liam grinned. “Think you can help Mom out? I don’t want her going deaf on me. But then again, that might have its advantages.”
Jenna smacked him lightly on the arm. “Don’t make me put you over my knee at your age.”
Jack surveyed the room and then went around the space knocking on the walls. “Drywall on two-by-four studs set at standard width.” He reached up and tapped the low ceiling at regular intervals. “Same here. Yeah, I can handle it if the hardware store has what I need.”
Jenna looked impressed. “When can you start?”
“Soon as I get materials. I’ll work up an estimate so you know how big a hit your pocketbook will take.”
Mikki blurted out, “My dad is great at this stuff. He can build anything.”
Jenna smiled. “I believe it.”
Mikki eyed the room. “Liam, where’s your music?”
He tapped his head. “All up here.”
“But what about new pieces? You need sheet music to learn them.”
“I can’t read music. I play by ear.”
“Are you kidding?”
He grinned. “Want to test me?”
She looked down at the bass guitar she was still holding. When she saw what it was, she exclaimed, “This is a Gibson EB-3 from the late sixties. Jack Bruce from Cream played one. It’s vintage. How’d you score it?”
“EBay. Saved up two summers for it. Got a great deal. It’s box is so smooth, and the sound is so pure. I think it’s the best four-string ever made.”
Jenna looked at Jack. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t speak this language. You want some coffee while our kids talk shop?”
Jack hesitated, but after a pleading look from Mikki he said, “Sure.”
After they left, Mikki said, “Okay, Mr. Play-by-Ear, here’s your test.” She played a minute-long piece of a song she’d recently composed. She handed him the Gibson.
“Okay, go for it.”
He strapped on the bass, set his fingers, and played back her song, note for perfect note.
Mikki exclaimed, “You’re like Mozart only on percussion and bass. Ever been in a band?”
He scoffed. “There are no bands in Channing.”
“Who’re your favs?”
“Hendrix, AC/DC, Zeppelin, Plant, Aerosmith, to name a few.”
“Omigod, they’re like my top five of all time.”
Liam picked up his drumsticks. “Want to score a few sets?”
She strapped the bass back on. “I’m dying to try out my new fingertip strength points.”
27
Jenna and Jack were sitting out on her rear deck with their mugs of coffee when the music started up. The deck flooring really did appear to vibrate.
“Now do you see why I need the soundproofing?” she asked, covering her ears.
Jack nodded and laughed. “Yeah. I get it. We finally had to get Mikki to start practicing at another kid’s house back in Cleveland. Even with that I’m not sure I can hear out of my right ear.”
“The long-suffering parents of musical prodigies. Want to carry our coffee down to the beach? My head is already hurting.”
They strolled along the sand together. It was well after eight but still light outside. A jogger passed them heading in the opposite direction, and an elderly couple were throwing tennis balls to a chubby black Lab. As the dog ran after a ball, the man and woman held hands and walked along.
Jenna eyed them and said, “That’s how it’s supposed to turn out.”
Jack glanced at her. “What?”
She pointed at the couple. “Life. Marriage. Growing old together. Someone to hold hands with.” She smiled. “A fat dog to throw balls to.”
Jack watched the old couple. “You’re right, it is supposed to turn out that way.”
“So your wife grew up here?”
“Yeah.”
“Is that why you came down here? Memories?”
“I guess so,” Jack said slowly. He stopped and turned to her. “And my wife planned to bring the kids down here this summer. So I thought I’d do it for her. And I wanted to see the place too.”
“You’d never been here before?”
Jack shook his head. “My wife had a twin sister who died of meningitis. They lived here for a while longer. But then I guess it just wasn’t that… um… good,” he finished, a bit awkwardly.
“I’m so sorry.”
They started walking again. She said, “So how’re the kids dealing with the move and all?”
“With three kids, they all sort of handle things differently.”
“Makes my job seem simple. I’ve only got one.”
“Well, Mikki is pretty independent. Just like her mom.”