By the time he made it to Braddock, the jam session was well underway. He grabbed a folding chair and put together his trombone, latching the slide to the bell, then screwing in the mouthpiece. The familiar process relaxed him. He couldn’t wait to lose himself in the music.
Alvin nodded at him, and gave him a signal that he wanted to talk. Jason scooted his chair over. In the group, Alvin switched between bass guitar and vocals, with an occasional stint on the drums. Tonight he was gently plucking a bass line that he could have played in his sleep.
“Got some texts from Kendra, but I can’t take my hands off this guitar,” he murmured to Jason. “Take a peek for me, you mind?”
Damnit, so much for losing himself in the music. “Your phone is supposed to be off.”
“Ringer’s off. I was about to turn it off when I saw the texts.”
Jason set his trombone across his knees and picked up Alvin’s phone from the extra chair where he’d set it down.
Dominic wants me to go to London with him. What should I do?
Jason’s chest clenched so hard it felt like a heart attack.
Another text had come in ten minutes after that one.
U there, Pop? I really need your help. Can you call me during the break?
Then another one, about five minutes after that.
He’s making really good arguments. We could sell the business to a huge firm that could really do something with it. They want me to work for them. I could write my own ticket, according to Dom. But can I trust him?
Of course not! Jason wanted to scream.
In a neutral voice, underneath the music flowing around them, he read the texts to Alvin.
“Did you say she’s going to London?” Alvin hissed.
“She’s trying to decide.”
He scanned through more of the texts. “Jesus, he wants her to go tonight. She’s thinking about doing it just so she can meet with these guys for herself. Or it could just be a vacation. But she wants to make sure you’re covered at the restaurant. She wants you to call her when you’re done here.”
Alvin focused on the strings for a moment. Jason stared down at the phone. She hadn’t sent him any texts. Would she really leave without saying goodbye?Without even letting him know?
Another text popped onto the screen.
Maybe I need to see for myself if there’s anything for me in London. I owe it to myself. I’ve been in professional limbo too long. If I can kick my career back into gear, it’s worth it, right?
In the next moment, his own phone dinged, drawing a glare from the keyboardist. It was a text from Kendra.
Jason, can we talk?
No. If she wanted to break the news that she was leaving for London, she’d have to wait until the damn jam session was over.
He turned off his phone and shoved it into his pocket. He wasn’t even supposed to have it on right now.
Alvin hissed at him, jerking his head toward his phone. “Tell Kendra to do what’s in her heart.”
“You tell her,” he whispered back. “That’s a dad thing to say.”
“From my phone. No capital letters and all that. Just the words.”
Jason typed out the words and sent the message. Then he firmly handed back the phone. “I’m done playing secretary and I need two hands for this trombone.”
“London,” Alvin muttered, shaking his head. “It does nothing but rain there. She ain’t going to like it, I’ll tell you that. They might not like her much, either. Look at that girl that married the prince.”
Jason put his mouthpiece to his lips so he couldn’t say what he wanted to. Which was, Kendra is going to knock them out with one smile, especially when she followed it up with her keen mind and can-do attitude. Any business anywhere would appreciate those qualities.
He waited for a good moment to join the flow of music. There it came, a shift in the chord progressions, the perfect chance to jump in. He softly blew into the trombone, adding a quiet deep brassy note to the mix. Most people thought of the trombone as a loud, almost obnoxious instrument, but not the way he played it. He liked to create a lovely sonorous understructure with his playing. He didn’t blow out all the other instruments—unless the piece called for it.
He glanced down at Alvin’s phone as more texts popped onto the screen, but he ignored them. It wasn’t his business. Kendra was texting her father, not him. She was making her choices on her own. Doing what was best for her. He couldn’t blame her for that. In fact, he wanted that for her. So where did that leave him?
Blowing on a damn trombone in a dusty rehearsal room in Braddock.
Twenty-Eight
Kendra stopped at home to pack an overnight bag.
“Bring enough for a week. If you decide to stay, you can buy everything you need there,” Dominic told her. “You’ll love the stores in London. Some of them serve tea.”
“Not a tea drinker. Stay in the car, I’ll be right out.” She didn’t want to have to introduce Dom to her dad, in case he came home early from the jam session. Her mother wasn’t due back from Arkansas until next week. Most likely, Kendra would be back by then. I’m not moving to London. I’m just possibly selling my business and checking out an opportunity.
She filled an overnight bag with her most chic business-type attire, then grabbed her sharpest pantsuit—white with a black camisole underneath—and zipped it into a wardrobe bag. That outfit always filled her with confidence. If she had to face a hiring committee or a CEO, she wanted to be wearing that, along with her four-inch Louboutin heels that made her feel like a warrior.
She hadn’t worn any of these clothes since she’d left Minneapolis. They felt like old friends she hadn’t seen in a while. A tingle of anticipation danced through her. She’d been licking her wounds for too long. There was so much more for her to accomplish in the world than running her dad’s restaurant. She wanted to get out there and make something happen. She was ready.
Sleepwear. She needed something for bed, but her favorite sleep shorts were at Jason’s. She was rummaging through her drawer of nightwear when she found one of Jason’s t-shirts—a comfy faded oversized shirt with a cowboy-hat-wearing trout on the front. Holly had given it to him for his birthday, and he loved it for its random goofiness. He’d lent it to her after they’d gone skinny-dipping one night in the lake.
She tossed it into the bag, and immediately felt better about this trip. She’d have a piece of Jason with her.
Silly, she scolded herself. It was just a dumb t-shirt. But even in her rush to pack, she knew it was more than that. It was like a hug in the form of a t-shirt. A smile from someone who cared about her. Who always supported her, no matter what.
She scrawled a note for her father on the dry-erase board mounted on the kitchen wall. Read your texts. They explain everything. Carly will handle things at the Blue Drake while I’m gone. I love you!
Outside, she found an Uber already waiting. Dominic was chatting exuberantly with the driver, but he cut off his charm-fest to help her load her things into the trunk of the Honda.
“Only two bags, that’s my girl, always the efficient packer.”
“Not your girl,” she reminded him.
“Of course not. You’re your own person. An independent, modern woman.”