Page 50 of Free to Believe
Fed up with the antics, Mugsy trots over and sticks his snout in my hands. Stroking his silky ears, I watch a woman who’s fighting an internal war bring smiles to everyone’s face around her—including mine—simply by being who she is.
And in my head, I hear the notes of John Coltrane. My fingers are suddenly itching to grab my sax and start playing. Again.
* * *
Brendanand I left Dani and Jenna over at Emily’s while we hauled all their shit out of their rented Lexus. Lifting another behemoth suitcase out of the car, I wheeze. “Jesus, she’s packed like this since she was a kid.”
Brendan manages to laugh as he struggles with Dani’s garment bag, makeup bag, and duffle that likely contains her shoes. “Normally, I give my road crew tickets to some sporting event to make up for when Dani travels with us.”
Struggling to make our way inside the front door, we finally get through and drop the bags. Both of us breathing heavily, we look at each other and burst out laughing. “You know, Emily’s sister didn’t just send a box up for her,” Brendan tells me conspiratorially.
“Wait, this is Corinna. The woman who actually managed to have you create edible food that didn’t poison people on TV?” I demand.
Brendan slaps a hand on my shoulder. “One and the same. What do you say we get the boxes out of the sun and we take the one earmarked for this house down to the studio?”
Throwing my arm around his shoulder, I readily agree. “You ready to listen to the new song I wrote for you?”
“Bet your ass I am. I need to pay for a wedding to a woman who packs like she’s moving.” We both laugh, but mine has an underlying tinge of gratitude.
When Brendan first came into Dani’s life, he wandered outside when I was playing one day and sat down and joined me. From blues, to jazz, to country, to rock, our musical tastes just clicked. Soon the two of us just started jamming. Before we knew what was happening, we’d cowritten two songs for Brendan’s album. That was five years ago.
I expected an acknowledgment in the album jacket, sure. What I’d never expected was a royalty check.
I tried to give it back.
Brendan schooled me on how music publishing worked. He explained every single time he sang the song live, every time it was played on the radio, every time someone bought the album, I would get a percentage of the composition fee. “So shut up, put it in a college account for your daughter, and deal with it.”
I did.
Brendan and I work well together. When he’s looking for something a little less country, a little smoother, we collaborate to make it happen. I have little doubt that by the time he and Dani leave the island, we’ll have another couple of songs for him to bring back to his band. And I’ll have more money to add to Jenna’s growing trust fund she knows nothing about.
We walk back to the car for the most precious of all our cargo: bakery boxes. Carefully, he hands me the first box before picking up two himself. He warns, “The one with aJisn’t to be touched until Friday. I’ve got to get that out of sight, stat.”
Incredibly touched, I verify, “It’s for Jenna?”
Brendan nods. “Corinna baked a hell of a cake for her. Dani and I watched her do it while we were in Connecticut last night.”
“Does it need to be refrigerated?”
With a wry smile, Brendan shows me the box. In a bright blue marker, it says, “Refrigerate, B, and DIE! Love, Cori” I read it out loud, chortling. “She knows you well.”
“Remember, she had to coach me through cooking on national TV. This was pretty much how she got me through it.”
Leaving Emily’s box on the kitchen counter—it’s hard to mistake when there’s a love note from her sister on it—Brendan and I make our way to the basement where he slides the cake onto the far side of the bar. “Cori’s the only woman I know who can make fondant taste like something other than chalk,” he declares as we make our way to the music room. “I swore I was going to get sick last night eating the hell out of the scraps.”
“You suck,” I say without heat. In answer, he just points to the box in my hands. “Do you know what it is?”
“No idea. But let me assure you, it’s going to be amazing.”
We cross into the studio before I think to ask, “Think we’ll need forks?”
“Pop open the top and let’s see,” he urges me. “Especially before the girls get back.”
Looking down, I see a few notes. There’s a message to Jenna, one to Dani, another one to Brendan, and one to me that shocks me. “‘Jake, take better care of my sister or the next baked goods you’ll see will be thrown in your face. CF.’I guess I know where I stand with your friend.”
Brendan just laughs as he reaches for my guitar. Quickly making sure it’s in tune, he slings the strap over his shoulder. “Cori’s not shy about her emotions, man. Never piss her off though,” he warns.
“Why’s that?” I pop the top and find it filled with every kind of brownie there could be. Chocolate upon chocolate, oatmeal with chocolate chips, something that smells like—I take a long whiff—cinnamon. “God, did I die somewhere between the car and here?” I ask aloud.
