“Joelle told me that, but I think it’s important,” Carlynn said. “Music can touch so many parts of the mind and heart in a way that nothing else can. So bring it, please.”
In the corridor outside Mara’s room, Joelle said quietly. “I don’t know if he will.”
“I hope he does,” Carlynn said. “I think it can make a difference.”
They walked together down the hallway, and Joelle could still feel the grip of Liam’s fingers on her hand and recall the way he’d looked at her. The moment had been brief, a mere few seconds, but she hadn’t felt that close to him in months.
CARLYNN SAT ON THE VERY EDGE OF THE TERRACE FLOOR LOOKING out at the sea. She hadn’t sat this way, with her legs dangling over the terrace’s stone floor, in a very long time. Probably not since she was a child. She could feel the cold of the stone through the fabric of her slacks, and the sensation was not unpleasant. It let her know she was still alive.
“Carlynn?”
She glanced behind her to see Mary McGowan walking toward her from the house.
“Hello, Mary,” she said.
“It gave me a start to see you sitting out here like this,” Mary said as she neared her. “Are you all right? Can I get you something?”
“I’m fine,” Carlynn said. “And no, you can’t get me anything, thank you. But why don’t you sit down here with me for a bit?”
“On the cold ground like that?” Mary sounded a bit stunned at the suggestion.
“Yes. Come on.” Carlynn waved her hand through the air in invitation. “My sister and I used to sit like this all the time when we were children.”
“Not sure I can get down that low.” Mary laughed, but Carlynn knew she would be able to. She’d seen Mary scrub the kitchen floor on her hands and knees more than once.
“Come on,” Carlynn said again, reaching toward her. “I’ll give you a hand.”
Mary held on to Carlynn’s hand and gingerly lowered herself to the edge of the terrace, letting her own legs and her sensible shoes dangle over the side.
“How are we ever going to get up?” Mary chuckled.
“We’ll worry about that later,” Carlynn said. She’d given that some thought herself. She lived in a house of old people.
“Ah,” Mary said, looking out to sea. “This is beautiful. I feel closer to the water down here.”
“And the trees,” Carlynn said. She studied the milky horizon, where the overcast sky and frothy sea met in an indistinct line. “I was thinking before,” she said. “Thinking about the perennials.”
“The perennials?” Mary asked.
Carlynn nodded. “I realized this was probably the last year I’d ever see them.”
“Oh, Carlynn.” Mary gently touched her shoulder.
“Don’t feel bad,” Carlynn said. “I don’t. But it was just a shock to realize that. I wish I’d paid better attention to them over the summer.”
Neither of them spoke for a moment. “I know Alan’s worried about you,” Mary said finally. “He doesn’t think you should be going to that nursing home, seeing that brain-damaged girl.”
“Well, he’s wrong about that,” Carlynn said.
“How is she doing? The girl with the brain damage?”
Carlynn smiled to herself. “She’s at peace,” she said. “Smiles all the time. She’s not the one who needs healing.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s Joelle and Liam who need to be healed, though they don’t realize it yet.”
“Who’s Liam?” Mary asked.
Carlynn watched a pelican fly through her cypress-framed view of the ocean. “He’s a man whose forgotten how to make music in his life,” she said. “And he’s also the man Joelle is in love with.” She looked squarely at Mary. “
“Oh,” Mary said with a knowing nod, and Carlynn heard the understanding in that simple word. Mary knew all about forbidden love, love that must remain hidden.
Just as she did.
CARLYNN STEPPED INTO THE HOSPITAL ROOM, WHERE THE LITTLE boy lay in the bed nearest the window. The room was dark, except for a low-wattage lamp on the boy’s night table, and his mother sat in a chair near his bed. Carlynn did not know this child or his mother, but she’d received a call early that morning from the doctor treating the seven-year-old boy, asking for a consult. Carlynn had a reputation as a gifted pediatrician. No one, save Alan, understood the depth of that gift, but she was called on regularly by her colleagues to see their patients who were difficult to diagnose and harder still to treat.
She and Alan shared a practice in their office on Sutter Street, where Carlynn specialized in children, while Alan saw adults. There was crossover, of course. A great deal of it, actually, because Alan often called her in to “meet” one of his patients, in the hope that such a meeting would lead him to a better course of treatment through Carlynn’s intuitive sense of the patient. It was gratifying work, something she seemed born to do. Still, she was not
