turned to the studio technician and recording engineer. “Hey, guys, long time no see.”
Both men stood to high-five and man-hug him. Even the session musicians tuning up in the isolation booth dumped their instruments to come through.
“Man, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”
“Good to see you! Back for good, I hope?”
Mark waited for a lull. “What are you doing here?”
In all that friendliness and back-thumping, his accusatory tone struck a harshly discordant note. The other guys turned to stare at him.
“Among other things, catching up with old friends,” Devin said coolly, and turned back to his buddies. Mark had imagined that when he saw Devin again, his mentor would be full of hangdog apologies, might grovel even. His first wild thought on seeing him was that Devin had come to talk him into going home. Now Mark wasn’t so sure.
“So no one sent you to find me?”
Devin glanced over. “Why? Are you lost?”
Mark swallowed hard against a rush of homesickness. He’d been miserable in his week in L.A. Not because Zander mistreated him; in his own careless way the man had been kind, even getting him this job.
“No one sent me,” Devin added, then looked at the studio manager. “Okay if I take Mark away for a few minutes, Tom?”
“Rehearsal room four is empty.”
“We’ll catch up later, guys.” Devin left the sound booth, not even checking to see if Mark followed him. Mark dawdled to stress his resentment. Rehearsal room four was a large empty space with white, soundproof walls, a parquet floor and a comfortable couch. Devin sat at the grand piano-the only instrument currently in the room- running his hands lightly over the keys, seemingly unaware that he’d just been taught a lesson.
Bunching his hands in his jean pockets, Mark remained standing in the open door, trying to look aloof instead of sulky.
“Called your parents yet?”
Mark tried not to look guilty. He’d been meaning to call, except he couldn’t deal with their questions or inevitable hurt. “I’m getting round to it.” He had another day before Suz got home from Dubai and posted his letter.
He braced himself for criticism, but Devin only said, “What do you think of this?” and started playing.
“Sounds old-fashioned,” he said impatiently.
“It came out before you were born. Listen to the lyrics.”
“It’s kinda schmaltzy,” said Mark after a few minutes. “All this holding on through the coming years. It makes me think, get another girlfriend and get over it.”
“What if the singer was female, sixteen and pregnant, and had just made the decision to adopt. What if it was a love song to her baby? Does that put a different spin on it?”
Devin sang another chorus, and suddenly Mark could feel the anguish in the song. He put his hands over his ears. “Stop.”
Devin closed the lid of the piano. “It’s Rachel’s favorite song.”
Mark clenched his hands at the mention of her name. “Why did you do it, Dev? Why didn’t you tell me as soon as you found out it was her?”
“Because she asked for time to get to know you.” His expression softened in the same frustrated, affectionate way Dad’s did when he was explaining some crazy female foible of Mom’s. “She wanted you to like her first.”
Mark snorted.
“It wasn’t her best idea,” Devin conceded, “but was she wrong to worry that you’d never give her a chance to explain?” With an effort of will, Mark held that penetrating gaze. “When she finally tried, did you listen?”
Mark clung to his righteous anger like a martyr to a hair shirt. “You know what I think? She never wanted me to find out she was my birth mother and that’s why she conned you into not telling me.”
“No, that’s-”
“She’s a liar, Dev. She said she gave me up because she had to but-” he paused to clear his throat “-her mother told me they wanted to keep me, and Rachel was the one who said no.”
“What if they were both telling the truth?” Devin stood up from the piano. “Mark, you need to hear Rachel’s side.”
He shook his head. “If it’s so damn important that I understand, then where is she? Why isn’t she here defending herself?”
“I am here,” Rachel said behind him.
MARK PALED, and tried to push past her. Heart pounding, Rachel blocked his way.
“Five minutes, then I promise you don’t have to see me again.”
He hesitated. To her relief he flung himself on the couch, glanced at his watch and folded his arms.
Devin got up to leave.
“Stay,” she croaked, “I want you to hear this.”
“And I don’t want to be alone with her,” Mark said savagely.
Rachel wiped her damp palms on her skirt. This was the most important conversation of her life and her mind was a blank.
Still standing by the door, she looked helplessly at Devin, trying to draw strength from his smile of encouragement as he joined Mark on the couch.
“This is a waste of time,” said Mark.
“The only time Dad ever hit me was when I told him I was pregnant,” she said. Rachel looked at her hands. “It was the only time Mom let him, although when the body blows started she intervened. I think that’s why I made contact after he died, but…” She glanced at Mark. “Did she show you the photo albums?”
He nodded.
Rachel went over to sit at the piano stool. “My father was influential in council, in the community, in our church… I don’t think there was a charity he wasn’t involved in. He never had any problem knowing exactly the right thing to do, the right way to dress and speak, the right opinions to have.” She grimaced. “Of course, he spent his life constantly disappointed in other, more fallible, people.”
She wasn’t seeing Mark anymore, seeing only the past.
“In our home everything revolved around Dad. He was a secret drinker, always brooding over some slight, real or imagined. It infuriated him when he wasn’t given the respect he deserved, and he’d take out his frustrations on my mother. The meal wasn’t hot enough, the house not clean enough, she was letting herself go…letting him down.”
Discordant notes echoed through the room; inadvertently, she’d leaned on the piano keys. Carefully Rachel closed the lid. “And my mother always agreed that it was her fault, always made excuses for him even when he’d hit her. Even now, when she’s finally free of him, he’s still a saint in her memory.”
She moved restlessly on the stool. “I couldn’t raise you on my own, but I couldn’t let them raise you, either. For a while I put my hopes in an open adoption, but I couldn’t trust Dad to leave you alone. So I canceled it.” Her words were coming out all wrong-bald and harsh-but if she gave way to emotion now, she wouldn’t finish what she had to say.
Rachel became aware that she was dusting the piano lid, over and over with the sleeve of her silk blouse, and stopped. “All I could give you was a future-parents who would raise you with stability, security and love. I’m sorry, but I can’t regret that.”
She’d promised five minutes. Rachel started to go.
“Devin said you wanted me to like you first and that’s why you delayed telling me,” Mark murmured.
Silly, so silly. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. He was looking down, kicking the toe of his sneaker against the floor. The lace was untied.
“My real dad wanted you to have an abortion?”
“Yes.” Rachel swallowed hard. “But I never considered it, not for a minute.” She looked to Devin for more unspoken support.
Mark bent down and tied his shoe. “Still,” he said gruffly, “three parents who wanted me isn’t so bad.”
