“I’m a fisherman’s mother, dear. Cursing is part of the vocabulary.”
Piper was being Hannah’s supporting actress for once, and that fact wasn’t lost on her. The role reversal, coupled with the warm pressure behind her eyes, probably accounted for Hannah doing something totally out of character. “Can you help me out with the scruffiness? Just for tonight.” She poked a finger through the thumb hole of her sweatshirt. “There’s a cast party at one of the houses we’re renting.”
Her sister slowly laid a hand on her arm, nails digging in lightly. “Are you asking me to dress you up?”
“Just for tonight. I need all the professional confidence.”
“Oh my God,” Piper breathed, teary-eyed. “I know just the dress.”
“Nothing flashy—”
“Zip. Zip it. Not another word. You’re going to trust me.”
Hannah swallowed a smile and did as she was told. There might have been a speck of vanity inside her that wanted to catch Sergei’s attention at the crew party tonight, and she wondered if a Piper-style dress might do it. But that definitely wasn’t her reason for dressing up. If she wanted to move to the next level in this industry, people had to start taking her seriously. Plain and simple? In Hollywood, image mattered, whether it should or not. Sparkle got attention and forced people to listen. To consider. No one would ever ask Piper or Brinley to hold their straw or stir their coffee counterclockwise, would they? I’m looking at you, Christian.
Nor would they expect Brinley to do all the heavy lifting at the studio without paying her properly. For a long time, Hannah had reasoned that it didn’t matter what her paycheck looked like. She lived with her parents in Bel-Air, for crying out loud. They had an Olympic-sized swimming pool in the backyard and a full-time staff. Since getting back in her stepfather’s good graces, money was available to her again, if she ever needed funds beyond her paycheck. But her meager earnings were becoming a matter of principle. They wouldn’t have managed this location shoot without her—and Latrice—pulling several all-nighters. The difference being, Latrice got paid what she was worth.
Dressing for success seemed almost too easy compared to the hard work she’d been doing lately, but giving it a try wouldn’t hurt.
“All this movie-soundtrack and Fleetwood Mac talk reminded me of something,” Opal said, pulling Hannah from her ruminations. “I have something to show you girls.”
Their grandmother got to her feet and power walked to the other side of the living room, taking a slim blue folder off the top of her bookcase. Knowing whatever was in that folder would pertain to her father, Hannah’s stomach started to drop. This was the part of catching up with her grandmother she always dreaded: when Piper and Opal would be moved to tears over some piece of Henry’s history, and she would feel like a statue, trying to relate.
“One of Henry’s old shipmates brought these into Blow the Man Down over the weekend. I was out with the girls.” Their grandmother said the last part with pride, winking at Piper. For a long time, Opal’s grief over the passing of her son had kept her inside the apartment. At least until Piper came along, gave her a sassy haircut and some new clothes, reintroducing her to the town she’d been missing. Hannah liked to think her playlists had helped motivate Opal to get social again, too. “These were written by your father,” she said, opening the folder.
Both sisters leaned in and squinted down at the small handwriting that took up several pages of stained and age-worn paper.
“Are they letters?” Piper asked.
“They’re songs,” Opal murmured, running a fingertip over a few sentences. “Sea shanties, to be exact. He used to sing them around the house in the early days. I didn’t even know he’d written them down.”
Hannah felt a tug of almost reluctant interest. She’d gotten her hopes up a few times that a photograph or a token of her father’s might bring on some tide of emotion, but it never happened, and it wouldn’t now. “Was he a good singer?”
“He had a deep voice. Powerful. Rich. A lot like his laugh, it could pass right through you.”
Piper made a pleasurable sound, picking up the folder and leafing through. “Hannah, you should take these.”
“Me?” Mentally, she recoiled but tried to soften her tone for Opal’s sake. “Why me?”
“Because they’re songs,” Piper said, as if she’d been crazy to ask the question. “This is what you love.”
Opal reached over and rubbed Hannah’s knee. “Maybe Henry is where you got your love of music.”
Why did she want to deny that so badly?
What was wrong with her?
It was right there on the tip of her tongue to say no. No, my love for so many kinds of music is mine. I don’t share it with anyone. It’s a coincidence. But, instead, she nodded. “Sure, I’d . . . love to take them for a while and give them a read.”
Opal lit up. “Fantastic.”
Hannah accepted the folder from Piper and closed it, a familiar desperation to change the subject from Henry settling over her. “Okay, Pipes. We’ve been in suspense long enough. Tell us about Brendan’s parents. How is the visit with your future in-laws going?”
Her sister settled back into the seat, crossing long legs that had been buffed to a shine. “Well. As you know, I brought them down to Seattle this week, since Brendan is out on the boat. I planned all our time there, down to the second.”
“And then?” Opal prompted.
“And then I realized all the plans were . . . shopping-related.” Her voice fell to a scandalized whisper. “Brendan’s mother hates shopping.”
Opal and Hannah fell back in their seats laughing.
“Who hates shopping?” Piper whined, covering her face.
Hannah raised her hand. Piper smacked it down.
“Thank God Brendan is coming home tonight. I am running out of ways to entertain them. We’ve been on so many walks, Hanns. So many walks to nowhere.”
The spread of anticipation in Hannah’s belly had nothing to do with Fox coming home tonight along with Brendan. She was simply excited to see her friend again and not be alone in his oddly barren apartment.
Piper split a look between Opal and Hannah. “Give me some ideas?”
Hannah thought for a second, slipping into her supporting role as easily as a second skin. “Ask her to teach you how to make Brendan’s favorite childhood meal. It’ll make her feel useful, and it’s not terrible knowledge to have, like for birthdays and special occasions, right?”
“That’s genius,” Piper squealed, wrapping her arms around Hannah’s neck and wrestling her down to the couch while Opal laughed. “I’m totally going to bond it up with my future mother-in-law. What would I do without you, Hanns?”
Hannah pressed her nose to her sister’s skin and inhaled, absorbing the hug, the moment, “Time After Time” by Cyndi Lauper playing in the back of her mind. It was tempting to stay there, to bask in the comfortable feeling of being the one to prop others up. There was nothing wrong with it, and she loved that role. But being comfortable had kept her in the second-fiddle position so long . . . and tonight she was finally going to conduct the orchestra herself.