Standing in front of the carvings on Robyn’s front door, she heard its creator yelling up the stairs for Jen. Grace couldn’t hear Jen’s reply but waited patiently knowing full well that it was her presence on the front porch that caused Robyn such angst. She smiled as she pictured the strong woman debating with herself about how to deal with the situation.
The door handle turned quickly but only just enough to disengage the tongue from the jamb. Grace tentatively pushed the door inward and almost laughed out loud to see Robyn scuttling to the kitchen.
“It doesn’t smell like anything is burning,” Grace said, humor in her voice.
Her words stopped Robyn in the doorway. While Grace’s blood thrummed at the memory of the kiss they had shared out at the state park, she realized that it was mean to tease. She turned to mount the stairs. Wanting to know more about Robyn, she risked a peek into the dim living room. In the wide doorway to the left of the staircase hung a string with upside down metal nesting bowls spaced in four-inch increments with a small brass stick hanging at the very bottom of the string.
Intrigued, Grace laid down her cello and grasped the stick, striking each of the bowls, the tones deepening as she pinged from the smallest on the bottom to the largest, the size of a small cereal bowl, at the top. The precise pentatonic scale of the bowls rang out and reverberated inside of her. Unable to resist, she tapped out a short melody before she gently released the striker.
“My grandfather brought it back from Japan, along with his bride.” Robyn said from the kitchen doorway, not chancing closer proximity to Grace. “Some people mark their growth with pencil on a doorframe. Each summer I visited, the first thing I did was see if I could reach the next one up.”
Grace waited, sensing there was something more. Robyn’s eyes found hers, and she seemed surprised to find her there listening. Without another word, she turned and disappeared out the back door. Puzzled, Grace climbed the stairs and entered the studio without pausing as she usually did to study the door with its glass inlays. “Lay it on me,” Grace said, plunking down her cello in Jen’s studio and waiting, hands on her hips.
“What?” Jen said unconvincingly.
“What you know about Robyn. Last time when I asked about her, you hedged. You know things.”
“I do?”
Grace folded her arms and eyed the clock. “Patty and Kim will be here in five minutes. Spill.”
“It doesn’t feel right to divulge Mom’s heartbreak. Why don’t you ask her?” Jen suggested, busying herself in the file cabinet that held her sheet music.
“Because she won’t talk to me. You know as well as I do that she didn’t even want to answer the front door just now.”
Jen handed her a copy of the Ravel she’d tracked down, squinting her eyes as she considered Grace’s request. “The relationship she was in for a long time didn’t end nicely,” she said vaguely.
“What’s her name?”
“I’m so not telling you,” Jen said emphatically.
Grace shook her head, remembering how awful it was to find out she’d dated Gloria’s ex. “This is a small town. I don’t want to inadvertently end up with Robyn’s ex.”
“Oh, that won’t happen,” Jen said, busying herself with music stands that didn’t need adjustment.
“What makes you so sure?”
“Nothing.”
“I won’t tell her you told me,” Grace assured her.
Jen held her temples, clearly distressed. “It’s just that…I bet you know her because she works at the university.”
Grace motioned with her fingers for Jen to continue.
“She books all the shows at the Van Duzer.”
“Barbara?” Grace said, sounding doubtful. “Barbara Rivers? That can’t be.”
“It is.”
“No. She just announced that she got married.” She raised her eyebrows, gauging Jen’s response. “To a man.”
Jen sat, stunned. “She married him? Are you sure?”
“You don’t seem surprised about the him part.” Grace still couldn’t match Robyn to the woman she knew from coordinating some projects for the gallery space in the foyer of the theater. She’d never had the impression that Barbara was gay.
“Robyn already dropped that bomb, but I didn’t think…oh, no. I bet she doesn’t know yet.” She took in and slowly let out a big breath.
“How long have they been broken up?”
“Only a few months.”
“Ouch,” Grace said, understanding a lot more of Robyn’s guardedness. She almost wished that she hadn’t asked. The doorbell rang, pulling Jen from the room. What had always felt like Jen’s studio suddenly felt like Robyn and Barbara’s home. She wondered what energy Barbara had contributed to the space and how she could have walked away from it.
Then it occurred to her that Robyn had compared her to Barbara out on Wedding Rock. I’ve dated you before. How exactly was she like Barbara? They looked nothing alike. Though maybe the same height, Barbara was willowy in comparison to Grace’s trim yet curvaceous form. She conceded that they both looked professional, but Barbara accomplished that with a natural sleek elegance, her glossy black hair always swept up in a way that accented her suits whereas Grace felt like the work she put into coordinating her wardrobe and taming her hair seemed more contrived.
She frowned, uncomfortable with the effort expended on comparing herself to someone she barely knew. That in turn reminded her that Robyn barely knew her, which added to the puzzle. At a loss, she decided that she didn’t want to be involved with someone who made such snap decisions anyway. Immediately, she heard her mother’s voice admonishing, sour grapes. Yes, she knew she would certainly grab Robyn if she could, but now she finally understood why she’d put herself out of reach.