Hannah came to a stop outside her grandmother’s door and removed her AirPods, silencing her “Walking Through Westport” playlist. It mainly consisted of Modest Mouse, Creedence, and the Dropkick Murphys, all of which reminded her of the ocean, whether it be pirates or a hippie playing harmonica on the docks. As soon as the melody cut out, she knocked, pressing her lips together a moment later to stifle a laugh. Inside the apartment, Opal was muttering to herself about morons who let solicitors into the building, her footsteps ambling closer.
At what point would having a grandmother on her father’s side begin to feel normal? Opal’s existence had been kept from Hannah and Piper growing up, but they’d discovered her—by mistake—last summer. And the woman was a delight. Fierce and sweet and funny. Full of stories about Hannah and Piper’s father, too. Was that the reason Hannah had taken four days to come for a visit?
Sure, she’d been kept very busy on the set of their first location. On top of Hannah’s other duties, they’d needed her on set for the filming of the high school lovers’ reunion scene between Christian and Maxine outside the lighthouse. Getting it right had taken the full four days—but during the night she’d gone home to Fox’s empty apartment, instead of going to see Opal. Piper had been out of town those four days, having taken her in-laws for a side trip to Seattle, so Hannah decided she should just wait. That way they could all visit together. There was more to her stalling, though.
Hannah pressed a hand to her stomach to subdue the bubbles of guilt.
Now that her sister was back in town, she’d called and asked Piper to meet her at Opal’s this afternoon. Where was she?
Hannah was still craning her neck to see the end of the hallway when Opal answered the door. The older woman blinked once, twice, her mouth falling open. “You’re not selling magazine subscriptions at all. You’re my granddaughter.” Hannah leaned in, and Opal enveloped her in a back-patting hug. “When did you get into town? I don’t believe this. All I can make you is a ham sandwich.”
“Oh. No.” Hannah drew back, shaking her head. “I already had lunch, I swear. I just came to see you!”
Her grandmother flushed with pleasure. “Well, then. Come in, come in.”
The apartment had changed drastically since the last time Hannah was there. Gone was the outdated furniture, the combined scents of lemon cleaner and must that left a sense of solitude hanging in the air. Now it smelled fresh. Sunflowers sat in the center of a new dining-room table, and there was no longer a plastic protector on the couch. “Wow.” Hannah set her tote bag on the floor and unzipped her Storm Born windbreaker, shrugging it off to hang on the peg. “Let me guess. Piper had something to do with this?”
“You guessed it.” Opal clasped her hands near her waist, her expression pleased and prideful as she scanned the new-and-improved living space. “I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
Affection for her sister wiggled its way in next to Hannah’s guilt but did nothing to eclipse it. Over the last seven months, she’d spoken to Opal only a handful of times on the phone. She’d sent a card at Christmas. It wasn’t that she didn’t adore the woman. They got along very well. She’d made Opal a Woodstock-themed playlist last summer, and they’d totally bonded over it. Even now, the welcoming vibes of the apartment wrapped around Hannah and warmed her.
It was when the stories about her father—Opal’s only son—inevitably started rolling that Hannah got uncomfortable.
Hannah flat out couldn’t remember him. She’d been two years old when the king crab fisherman had been sucked to the bottom of the Bering Sea. Piper could remember his laugh, his energy, but Hannah’s mind conjured nothing. No melancholia, no affection or nostalgia.
For Piper, restoring Henry’s bar had been a journey of learning about herself and connecting with the memory of Henry.
For Hannah, it was about . . . supporting Piper on that journey.
Of course, seeing the finished product after weeks of manual labor had been satisfying, especially when they changed the name to Cross and Daughters, but the coming-full-circle feeling never happened for Hannah. So whenever she came to see Opal and her grandmother brought out pictures of Henry, or stories were told about him over the phone, Hannah started to wonder if her emotions were stunted. She could cry over a Heartless Bastards song, but her own father got nothing from her?
Hannah joined Opal on the new indigo-colored couch and cupped her knees through her jeans. “I’m actually in town because the production company I work for is shooting a short film. Kind of a heartbreaking art house piece.”
“A movie?” Opal winced. “In Westport? I can’t imagine people being too thrilled with the disruption.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I thought of that. We’re giving as many background parts and walk-on roles as we can. Once the locals realized they might be in a movie, it was smooth sailing.”
With a sound of delight, Opal slapped her thigh. “That was your idea?”
Hannah fluffed her ponytail. “Yes, ma’am. I made my director think it was his idea to add locals for authenticity. It’s a good thing I don’t use my powers for evil, or everyone would be in big trouble.”
It would be fantastic if she could use her powers to move ahead in her career, too, wouldn’t it? Greasing the production wheels was easy for her. There were no personal stakes. No risk. Applying herself to music coordinating was scarier. Because it mattered.
A great deal.
Opal laughed, reached over to squeeze Hannah’s wrist. “Oh, sweetie, I’ve missed your spunk.”
The sound of a key turning in the lock made Hannah whip around, and Opal clapped happily. Piper was only halfway through the door when Hannah launched herself over the back of the new couch and plowed into her sister, tension she’d hardly been aware of seeping from her pores. Hugging Piper was like walking into a room filled with your best memories. Her sheer-sleeved romper, impractical heels, and expensive perfume made Hannah feel like they were back in Bel-Air, sitting on the floor of Piper’s room, sorting her jewelry collection.
They hopped in a happy circle, laughing, while Opal fumbled with her phone, trying and failing to open her camera app.
“You’re here.” Piper sniffed, squeezing Hannah tightly. “My perfect, beautiful, hippie-hearted little sister. How dare you make me miss you this much?”
“I could say the same to you,” Hannah said, voice muffled by her sister’s shoulder.
The sisters pulled back, wiping their faces in very different manners. Hannah swiped for efficiency, while Piper dragged a careful pinkie in a perfect U shape to repair her eyeliner. Arm in arm, they moved around the couch and sat down plastered up against each other. “So when are you moving here permanently?” Piper asked, her tone still slightly watery. “Like . . . tomorrow. Right?”
Hannah sighed, resting her head on the back of the couch. “Part of me doesn’t hate that idea. Get my job back at Disc N Dat. Haunt the guest room at your house forever”—she poked at a sequin in Piper’s bodice—“but LA is keeping me, I’m afraid. It’s where my dream career awaits.”
Piper stroked her hair. “Have you made any headway on that?”
“Imminently . . .” Hannah responded, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I think.”
Opal leaned forward. “Dream career?”
“Yes.” Hannah sat up straighter but kept her side pressed to Piper’s. “Movie soundtracks. The making of them.”
“Isn’t that interesting.” Opal beamed.
“Thank you.” She moved some of her hair out of the way and performed a show-and-tell with the bandaged knot on her forehead. “Unfortunately, this is what happened the first time I tried to ask.” Piper and Opal both looked at her wound with an appropriate level of concern. “It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt.” She laughed lightly, letting her hair drop back into place. “Fox bandaged me up and gave me ice cream.”
It was fleeting and subtle, but she felt Piper stiffen, giving off definite protective-older-sister vibes. “Oh, did he?”
Hannah rolled her eyes. “This is your one and only reminder that me staying with Fox was your idea.”
“I took it back right away,” Piper fretted. “Has he tried anything?”
“No!” Hannah squawked. Never mind that she could still feel the shape and exquisitely defined musculature of his shoulder on her midsection. “Stop talking about him like he’s some kind of sexual predator. I’m adult enough to make these judgment calls by myself. And he’s been a perfect gentleman.”
“That’s because he hasn’t been in town,” Piper grumbled, smoothing her romper.
“He decorated my room with a Himalayan salt lamp.”
Piper sputtered, “He might as well be mauling you!”
“Someone explain to me what is going on here!” Opal scooted her chair closer. “I want to be involved in a conversation about men. It’s been an age.”
“There is no conversation to have,” Hannah assured her grandmother. “I am friends with a man who happens to . . . appreciate women. Frequently. But it has been established that he won’t be appreciating me.”
“Tell her about the Fleetwood Mac album,” Piper said, patting Hannah vigorously on the knee. “Go on and tell her.”
Hannah released a gusting breath toward the ceiling. Mostly to hide the weird twist that happened inside her when she thought of the album and how she’d gotten it. “It’s no big deal, really.” Liar. “Last summer, we all went to Seattle. Me, Piper, Fox, Brendan. We broke off for a while, and Fox took me to this record convention. And I found an album that sang to me. Fleetwood Mac. Rumours.” A paltry description for a shock to the nervous system. “But it was expensive. At the time, me and Pipes were on a tight budget, so I didn’t buy it . . .”
“And then the day Hannah left to return to LA, there it was. On my porch. Fox went back and bought it without her knowing.”
Opal made an O shape with her lips. “Oh my. That is romantic.”
“No. No, you have it all wrong, ladies. It was kind.”
Piper and Opal traded a very superior look.
Part of her couldn’t even blame them. Fox buying her that album was the one thing she couldn’t seem to define as one hundred percent friendly. It sat in a place of honor back home, facing out on the hanging rack that displayed her albums. Every time she passed it, she replayed the moment at the convention when she’d gasped over the find, tracing the square edge of the album with her fingers. The warmth of his arm around her, the unsteady pound of his heart. How for the first time, she’d let someone into the music with her, instead of disappearing into it alone.
Hannah shook herself. “You’re actually helping me prove my point, Pipes. If he wanted to . . . appreciate me, why would he wait until I was leaving to hand me his golden ticket like that?”
“She makes a good point.”
“Thank you, Opal. Case closed.”
Piper rearranged the perfectly curled ends of her hair, physically accepting the end of the subject. “So. How is LA? Does she miss me?”
“She does. The house feels even bigger without you in it. Too big.”
Their mother, Maureen, had left Westport over two decades earlier in a cloud of grief after Henry Cross’s death, relocating to Los Angeles where she’d worked as a seamstress for a movie studio. She’d met and married their stepfather at the pinnacle of his success as a producer. Seemingly overnight, the three of them had gone from residing in a tiny apartment to a Bel-Air mansion, where Hannah still lived to this day.
With Piper in residence, the mansion never failed to feel like home. But ever since Piper moved to Westport, Hannah felt more like a visitor. Out of place and disconnected in the gigantic palace. It had become obvious that their parents led a separate life, and lately, she’d started to feel like an observer of it. Instead of someone who was happily off living her own.
“I’m thinking of moving out,” Hannah blurted. “I’m thinking of a lot of things.”
Piper angled her body to face Hannah, head tilted. “Such as?”
Being the focus of the conversation was unusual, to say the least. It wasn’t that it embarrassed her to be the center of attention. There was simply no use involving everyone in problems she could fix herself, right? Like finagling a trip to Westport because loneliness and a sense of missing something had started getting to her. “Never mind.” She waved a hand. “How are things going with Brendan’s parents?”
“She’s changing the subject,” Opal pointed out.
“Yeah. Don’t do that.” Piper poked her with the tip of a red fingernail. “You’re going to move out of Bel-Air?”
Hannah shrugged a shoulder. “It’s time. It’s time for me to . . . grow up the whole way. I got stuck halfway through the process.” She thought of Brinley. “No one is going to consider a promotion for a girl who lives with her parents. Or they’ll consider me less, anyway. If I want adult responsibilities, I have to be one. I have to believe I am one first.”
“Hanns, you’re the most responsible person I know,” Piper said, hedging. “Does your interest in Sergei have anything to do with this?”
“There’s another man in the mix?” Opal split a glance between her two granddaughters and sighed. “Lordy, to be young again.”
“He’s my director. My boss—only. Nothing has changed on that front,” Hannah explained. “What I want from a career and my love life are totally separate, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want Sergei to look at me like I’m a woman, you know? Instead of the scruffy PA.”
The guy was jealous, you know. Back at the bus when I came to pick you up.
Fox’s voice filtered in through her thoughts. She’d been busy over the last four days, getting everyone settled in their temporary housing, unpacking supplies in the trailers, meeting with the local business owners. But she hadn’t been so busy that she wasn’t aware of Sergei. Of course she was always aware of him on set. With his passion on full display, he was a magnet for attention. But if the director had really been jealous of Fox, he’d forgotten all about it and gone back to treating Hannah with polite distractedness.
Trust me, if he’s worth a damn, the fact that I got to bandage your bump will make him jealous enough. There went Fox’s deep rasp in her head again, when she should be thinking of Sergei. Still . . . she couldn’t stop replaying what the fisherman said to her in the kitchen. About his reputation. About how he wouldn’t want people assuming they were an item, because he thought it would be a bad look for Hannah. He didn’t really believe that nonsense, right?
“Well.” Piper broke into her thoughts. “As someone who has only recently embarked on adulthood herself, I can tell you it’s scary but rewarding. There’s also lots of making my own meals and wearing jeans.” She pretended to cry, and Hannah laughed. “But I couldn’t have done it without you, Hannah. You made me consider possibilities I never dreamed of. That’s how I know you’re capable of anything. Don’t let a head injury and feeling scruffy stop you. My sister is dependable and creative and doesn’t take anyone’s shit. If this studio doesn’t give you the opportunity, another one will. Dammit.” Piper smiled prettily. “And I’m sorry for cursing, Opal. I’m just trying to get my point across.”
“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.
