Unfinished Business

settled the baby on her hip again.
    “Sure.” Joanie smoothed Lara’s hair. “I sent you a note right after she was born. I knew you couldn’t make it back for the christening, so we had a proxy. But I wanted you and Brady to be her godparents.” Joanie frowned at Vanessa’s blank look. “You got the note, didn’t you?”
    “No.” Vanessa rested her cheek against Lara’s. “No, I didn’t. I had no idea you were even married until my mother told me yesterday.”
    “But the wedding invitation—” Joanie shrugged. “I guess it could have gotten lost. You were always traveling around so much.”
    “Yes.” She smiled again while Lara tugged at her hair. “If I’d known… I’d have found a way to be here if I’d known.”
    “You’re here now.”

    “Yes.” Vanessa nuzzled Lara’s neck. “I’m here now. Oh, God, I envy you, Joanie.”
    “Me?”
    “This beautiful child, this place, the look in your eyes when you talk about Jack. I feel like I’ve spent twelve years in a daze, while you’ve made a family and a home and a life.”
    “We’ve both made a life,” Joanie said. “They’re just different ones. You have so much talent, Van. Even as a kid I was awed by it. I wanted so badly to play like you.” She laughed and enveloped them both in a hug. “As patient as you were, you could barely get me through ‘Chopsticks.’”
    “You were hopeless but determined. And I’m so glad you’re still my friend.”
    “You’re going to make me cry again.” After a sniffle, Joanie shook her head. “Tell you what, you play with Lara for a few minutes and I’ll go fix us some lemonade. Then we can be catty and gossip about how fat Julie Newton got.”
    “Did she?”
    “And how Tommy McDonald is losing his hair.” Joanie hooked an arm through Vanessa’s. “Better yet, come in the kitchen with me. I’ll fill you in on Betty Jean Baumgartner’s third husband.”
    “Third?”
    “And counting.”
     
    There was so much to think about. Not just the funny stories Joanie had shared with her that day, Vanessa thought as she strolled around the backyard at dusk. She needed to think about her life and what she wanted to do with it. Where she belonged. Where she wanted to belong.
    For over a decade she’d had little or no choice. Or had lacked the courage to make one, she thought. She had done what her father wanted. He and her music had been the only constants. His drive and his needs had been so much more passionate than hers. And she hadn’t wanted to disappoint him.
    Hadn’t dared, a small voice echoed, but she blocked it off.
    She owed him everything. He had dedicated his life to her career. While her mother had shirked the responsibility, he had taken her, he had molded her, he had taught her. Every hour she had worked, he had worked. Even when he had become desperately ill, he had pushed himself, managing her career as meticulously as ever. No detail had ever escaped his notice—just as no flawed note had escaped his highly critical ear. He had taken her to the top of her career, and he had been content to bask in the reflected glory.
    It couldn’t have been easy for him, she thought now. His own career as a concert pianist had stalled before he’d hit thirty. He had never achieved the pinnacle he’d so desperately strived for. For him, music had been everything. Finally he’d been able to see those ambitions and needs realized in his only child.
    Now she was on the brink of turning her back on everything he had wanted for her, everything he had worked toward. He would never have been able to understand her desire to give up a glowing career. Just as he had never been able to understand, or tolerate, her constant terror of performing.
    She could remember it even now, even here in the sheltered quiet of the yard. The gripping sensation in her stomach, the wave of nausea she always battled back, the throbbing behind her eyes as she stood in the wings.
    Stage fright, her father had told her. She would outgrow it. It was the one thing she had never been able to accomplish for him.
    Yet, despite it, she knew she could go back to the concert stage. She could endure. She could rise even higher if she focused herself. If only she knew it was what she wanted.
    Perhaps she just needed to rest. She sat on the lawn glider and sent it gently into motion. A few weeks or a few months of quiet, and then she might yearn for the life she had left behind. But for now she wanted nothing more than