“I saw the painting her father did of the midnight harbor,” Kari said. “Ian used that expression when he was talking about his aunt. The midnight harbor. I liked it so much, I decided to try to paint it. Then I saw her father’s work, and now I feel like he did it for me.”
Connor studied her a long moment. “You say that to Sylvie, she’ll probably break down and bawl. There’s a lot of history to that painting. Tales on top of tales.”
“I’d love to hear them.”
“Maybe we should leave that for another time,” Ian said. “Why don’t we get comfortable on the balcony?”
Connor took a long moment to study the starlit Atlantic, savoring the tropical breeze. When the doorbell chimed, Kari went back inside, took the trolley from the butler, and rolled it in herself. As she approached the open balcony doors, she heard Connor say, “I should go. You need to get some rest.”
“I never sleep before a live performance. It’s one of life’s defining traits. You’ll keep me from another few hours of tossing and turning.”
“Still, it looks to me like I’m interrupting.”
“I told you, it’s not like that.” Ian was seated with his back to the parlor. “We met less than a week ago. She’s dealing with her own set of personal issues. I offered to help. For the moment, that’s all it is.”
“For the moment.”
“We’ll get through these gigs, go home, see what happens. But I won’t lie to you. A guy can hope.”
Kari stepped through the doors, warmed by far more than the tropical breeze. “Come inside and help yourselves.”
They made plates and filled cups and took them back out on the balcony. From where they were seated so high up, they saw just starlight and silvery clouds and inky-black sea. Music and laughter drifted up, but they were immune to the city and the swirling crowds far below.
Finally, Connor set his plate on the low table and said, “Ever since I moved to Miramar, I’ve had these two lives. Home means the woman I love more than my own life. The twins. My music. You understand what I’m saying?”
Ian nodded. “I think so.”
Kari asked, “Should I leave?”
“I feel comfortable with the two of you.” A pause. Then Connor added, “Maybe it’s good to have a lady’s perspective here.”
Ian reached for Kari’s hand and said, “Stay.”
Connor went on, “The way things were, I chose the songs I love. I made them my own. When there was time, I invited friends to join me. We played in a setting that suited us all. A place filled withotherfriends.”
“A full house, or so it seems,” Ian said. “Every time. They love your work.”
“They should,” Kari said. “You play beautifully.”
“My songs,” Connor repeated. “My renditions. My stage. My friends. When it’s time, I go shoot my next picture. A hundred different people telling me what to do, how to stand. I speak the words they give me. I act. When it’s done, I go home.”
“Two worlds,” Kari said.
“And then I come along and mess everything up,” Ian said. “I’m so sorry.”
“For what? Giving me a taste of a lifelong dream I thought would never come?” Connor rose and walked over to the railing. “Nights after I get back from a shoot, I’m hollowed out. A long time lost, that’s how it feels. The chance to have those days with my wife and kids and home. It’sgone. Then, after a while, things steady up. And I get back into the rhythm of Miramar life. That’s how I think of it.”
“Miramar life,” Ian repeated. “A good place, a happy world.”
“There you go.”
Ian said it again. “Then here I come.”
“You. Danny. Arthur.” Connor gripped the railing, rocked back and forth. “My friends giving me the dream I thought was lost and gone forever.”
“I’d like to be that,” Ian said. “Your friend.”
“I don’t have any reason to feel as bad as I have.”
