Deal's a Deal

The wheels of her Mazda kissed the curve of the road like an old friend, the shoreline's rolling waves in the distance. Wow, has it been some time since she's been back here. Sandra glances into the rearview to see Jonah staring through the glass, slightly despondent. This wasn't the plan for him. This wasn't the plan for her. This wasn't supposed to be the trip they were taking in general. And yet they somehow were back in Herald's Cove, like she had never left it. 

"We'll call your dad once the movers arrive, okay?" 

He sighs heavily. "He's probably with that lady." 

"Her name is Jessica, Jonah." 

"Yeah, well... I don't like her." Sandra smugly agrees, glad that someone is in her corner of this divorce.

They pull into the driveway of her mother's dusty blue cottage. The house looks smaller than she remembered, but she knows her mother has covered every nook and cranny of this place with memories in the form of tchotchkes.

She slams the door of the car and helps Jonah out, and in the corner of her eye, she sees it. The swing set is still present in Mr. Whitaker's yard; the wood appears weathered and has been replaced multiple times due to its survival through far too many hurricanes. 

Naturally, Jonah can't help but notice it too. 

"MOM! There's a swing set! Can I go over and play on it?!" he says, elation seeping through his bright, blue eyes.

"No, bud. That's the neighbor's house. Let's see Grandma. I bet she's excited to see you." 

And yet, as she walks into the blue cottage, she can't help but recall her time next door at the pink house.

Summer at seventeen was glorious in the way summertime always is, but she was able to shine differently at this point because Eric was still a part of the picture.

Sandra would relentlessly tease him and call him 'Stormy' not only for his eye color, but also for his persistent moodiness. He even had a small scar on his forehead, and everyone and their mother would say he may as well be Harry Potter growing up. She thought it made the situation that much more hysterical.

"It's not a lightning bolt, though," he would say with just enough warmth to his voice, like the piano on the lower register. He'd always shove his dark, wavy hair in front of it to avoid this comment consistently, which would make her giggle relentlessly each time.

And that's how simple it was. She would sit on her swing on the left. He would sit on his swing on the right. And they would both stare out at the ocean and wait until the stars came out. And all was right with the world.

Her mother kept claiming she would end up with Eric in the end, the more consistently she sat by on the swings each night with him.

"I don't know why you can't just play the whole thing for me. The first part is fucking amazing!" Sandra said.

"Because it's not ready yet. Plus, it's really not that good, so please don't get your hopes up too high here," he grumbled, his calloused hands gripping the plastic ropes of his swing.

"But you wrote a song for me! Like-- how cool is that?! I can't play an instrument to save my life, and you're just going full Mozart on me, here," she squealed.

He sighed, yet the smallest smile appears on the corner of his mouth from this comment. It simultaneously pained and entertained him. Sandra loved it when she was able to crack this open from him, since it seemed nearly impossible for everyone else. It was like winning a tiny trophy that only she could add to her collection of mementos.

"I'll make you a deal," Eric hummed as he twisted the ropes of the swing too far to face her, "When it's ready and you leave here for college-- I'll send it to you."

"Goddddddddddd, that's going to take forever!" she groaned.

"Yeah, well. Greatness takes time," he said, his rolled-up sleeves emphasizing how much strength he'd gained in his arms from playing his piano on a near-constant basis.

"I don't need greatness. I want my dang song!" Sandra complained.

"Well, that's how I'm playing this."

"You're going to play me right now?" she throws back to him with zero hesitation. 

"Like a fucking piano, yes," he said smugly, his dark grey eyes cracking into hers.

Sandra didn't know why, but this pulled at her heartstrings like an ache. He had his way of doing this to her.

With a huff, "FINE. But I'm the only person who gets to hear this nonsense? Deal? No writing it off to a record label when you become a big music star?"

The warmth of his laugh bubbled out of him—another win.

"I can make that deal," he said, confident and yet entirely relaxed.

And the crash of the waves in the distance was like a confirmation from heaven that this was signed off as an excellent idea by the gods.

And she went off to college. And so did he. And time happened. The way time always has a way of clinging, holding on to youth and gently taking away some of life's sparkle as we age. And just like that, Eric faded from her life—and she let him. There were bigger dreams waiting for him.

"Sandra? Did you hear me?"

Her mother is holding on to Jonah, although he is now too large to be doing so anymore. His little legs dangle at her sides.

"No, sorry- what's up?"

"I was saying that I can bring him down to the beach later while you get unpacked."

"Oh yeah, that'd be super helpful. Thank you."

"Can you show me how to build a sandcastle, Jonah?"

"Uh-- YES! It's going to have a whole set of towers, Grandma!" he chirped.

"I bet!" she guffawed, thoroughly amused by Jonah's lack of trepidation. She puts him down, and he runs out of the room at warp speed. He'd already hauled out of his suitcase one of his favorite remote-controlled dinosaurs.

"I'll have to see if I can find him something to do while I try to take some work calls," Sandra said exhaustedly.

"Oh. Well, down the boardwalk there are some businesses that I bet would keep him preoccupied?" her mother suggested, as if this thought should have been obvious to Sandra. A small twinkle lingered in her eyes.

"Okay. Well... Thanks, Mom. For... You know, helping out right now," Sandra's voice cracked. She'd done a decent job of holding it together while moving stuff into the Mazda, but the more she sat in quiet, the more desperately she needed an escape from reality. 

Her mother stares at her with concern.

"What an asshole."

She said it so bluntly, Sandra couldn't help but laugh. This didn't seem like the orthodox reaction she'd get from her traditionally stoic mom. But she could go there if needed, thankfully. Sandra deeply appreciated it.

Later that afternoon, Sandra fumbled with her phone, scrolling through a mess of voicemails. Her coworkers were panicking—again.

Were the files in Dropbox? Did they still have access to Teams?

Yes. Obviously. Still operational, still functional, still her job—even from four states away.

She sighed and tucked the phone under her chin as she walked Jonah down the boardwalk. Her mom had kept him busy earlier, but now Sandra was entirely in 'single-mom mode', holding his hand as they scouted for the town's version of "daycare that's not really daycare." Hopefully, something her mother had vaguely alluded to actually existed. The coffee they picked up on the way had already gone cold from simply sitting in her other hand too long. 

And then Jonah stopped in front of one of the small boutiques and stuck his small hands against the glass to see beyond the glare.

"This looks so cool, Mom! Can we go in?!" Jonah asked. "Maybe they have drums I can play!"

"That's the least thing you need, bud, I promise you." 

But then she looked up at the freshly painted sign. 

Whitaker Music Maker.

Her stomach dropped. That's a coincidence. It has to be. Granted, how many other Whitakers did she know?

"AWESOME!" and without a second thought, Jonah was grabbing the door handle and swinging it open with a chime of the doorbell.

They stepped into the space, and it smelled of old books and varnish, with the sound of piano scales being played —poorly —in the background. It sounded like someone was wrapping up the ending of a lesson.

"Are you Jonah?" the blonde teenager politely asked from behind the counter.

"Well, that's terrifying," Sandra thought.

"YEAH! You know my name!?" Jonah's face lit up with magic as if Mickey Mouse himself had been talking to him.

The girl giggled to herself.

"Andddd, I'm assuming you must be Sandra Hart?" She directed her attention towards her.

"That is correct. How did you--?"

"Your mother called about a trial lesson at 4 o'clock? She did say something like this would happen, although I didn't believe it when she said so on the phone? One of our instructors is free today and next Tuesday, so we said we could squeeze him in this afternoon," the teenager confessed.

"Oh," Sandra said, "That's... unexpected, but we were just-"

And before she could finish her thought, footsteps echoed from the hallway, accompanied by a little girl about Jonah's age with a neat, chestnut brown French braid.

Sandra looked up — casually, at first. And then—

No.

There he was.

Just… older.

His hair was a little shorter than it used to be, but it still fell in soft waves that curled just slightly over his ears. His scar peeked out on the one side as if it had faded somewhat with the years, and he still walked as if he didn't want to interrupt the moment, but also wasn't afraid to enter it. His sleeves were rolled up. Of course they were. They always were. Why would that have changed?

Eric paused when he saw her. As if the downbeat was about to lead into a greater song.

Not in shock. Not even surprised.

Just that look — like he'd been expecting her all along.

"Sandra Hart", he gruffed, low and warm.

"Do they just know us everywhere, Mom?!" Jonah squawked with his usual enthusiasm. 

She should have known the moment she walked into this building that something was awry. And here it is.

She laughed, a little too nervously for what the moment was calling for.

"Hey little man," Eric said gently, crouching down to his eye level, "sounds like you have a piano lesson with me. Does that sound like something you may want to try?" he said with absolutely no pressure behind his voice.

"That sounds awesome!" Jonah said, bouncing on his toes.

"Well, head on down the hallway and make yourself comfy on the bench. I just need to wait for Isabella's mom to arrive. Sound good?" he said, being careful to pull the little girl with the braid into the equation.

He glanced at the little girl beside him — the one with the French braid. Isabella gave a polite wave, half-hidden behind her sleeve.

"Hi! I'm Jonah!" he chirped with no fear.

"I'm Isabella," she said shyly. 

"Do you want to be my friend?!" he asked in his overly rambunctious way.

"Yeahhhh. That sounds nice," she said innocently, a tiny smile creeping in.

Kids. They don't even realize how easy it is for them to make friends. Just ask, and it usually happens.

The blonde girl noticed the kids, "You know, guys, I think there's some sheet music over here I can show you while we wait for your mom, Izzie?"

Sandra mouthed the words "Thank you" to this teenager, grateful to have some time to chat as an adult for a while.

So Jonah and Isabella wander off, following the teen assistant. Jonah could already be heard asking her about her favorite dinosaur.

"You're welcome to stay," Eric said, in a lower voice "Unless you plan just to heckle my teaching methods."

"You know, some things don't change, Stormy. I guess I'll stay and see if you're any good."

"Come on in then," he chuckled, as he grabbed the doorknob of the practice room.

She hesitantly enters - it feels far too private, entering into his dominion after all this time.

Eric gestures towards the piano against the back wall of the small space.

"You can sit if you'd like. I won't charge you for the extra emotional damage."

She snorted and eased down on the bench beside him. She wholeheartedly deserved that. 

He didn't say anything, but she could feel the weight of him watching her. Looking around the room, she couldn't help but scour the memories he had that she had missed. Stacks of sheet music were cluttered everywhere in the room. It looked like him performing at various rock shows and concert performances, and receiving numerous accolades — how did she miss all of this? 

"So..." she finally said, breaking the silence, "Whitaker Music Maker, huh? This is all yours?"

"Needed to do something after touring. This felt like the logical transition coming home."

"Touring?" Her curiosity was piqued.

"Yep. 7 years on the road. Then my dad had a bit of a stroke, so I needed to come home. It was good while it lasted. I still get calls from Universal every now and then if they need something special, but... I like the kids."

He awkwardly shifts on the bench. "Layla mentioned your mom called, so forgive me for having an hour to mentally prepare to see you."

She chuckles. Is this real? Was this happening? It felt so wholly familiar and yet entirely different at the same time.

Eric glanced at a particular frame on the wall and then stared back at Sandra, the grey in his eyes looking as though thunder was brewing in them.

Just hovering above the piano was a simple frame. Gold-trimmed. Inside it, a slightly yellowed page of handwritten music.

The title, "Deal's a Deal."

"That's... That's not," she started.

Eric didn't need her to finish. 

"Yeah. It is."

Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at the score that adorned the walls.

"You kept it?"

"I never stopped playing it."

She turned, slowly. His eyes were on her, steady and unflinching.

"I just... Finished it, is all."

"But I-- I never got to hear it?"

"I know. And nobody else has either. Sucks. Still think it was my magnum opus. It was all downhill from there", he dryly joked.

A long beat passed.

"I didn't think you-- I thought you forgot about it," she said softly. 

"Well, lucky for you, I'm fairly confident I can still play this from memory purely because I practiced it a million times. I just wanted to be extra ready for this moment."

And his fingers moved to the keys, and she remembered it. The same opening chords- the same delicate melody. And she is immediately brought back to that summer of seventeen. It sounded like the breeze, like the rhythm of the swings, like them. And how they were.

As his hands ease off the keys with the lightest grace, Sandra sinks slowly into the bench.

"You never played it for anyone?" she whispered.

"Not till just now," Eric said, looking into the piano.

"It's incredible."

She blinks hard. 

His mouth curved up in the corner in the way that it always did for her.

"Told you it was all downhill from here."

She laughed through the ache in her throat.

"And... yeah. A deal's a deal. I made it for you. You deserved to hear it first."

Sandra didn't say anything else—she didn't need to.

Only the sound of the door swinging open broke the moment.

"Mom! Guess what?!" Jonah came tumbling into the room, out of breath and electric. "Isabella lives down the street from Grandma! She said she wants to come over tomorrow and see my Dino Robot! Can she? Please? I also want to show her how to make the best sandcastles!"

Sandra blinked, taking in his joy, and made a mental note to thank her mother the moment they got back. Of course, she had something to do with this.

"Yes, Jonah," she said, her voice a little softer than usual. "That sounds like a great idea."

She turned toward Eric, still seated at the piano bench.

"But before we go—I'd like to introduce you to an old friend of mine."

She looked back at Jonah.

"He's going to be your new piano teacher."

Jonah nodded with a grin, already bopping up and down again. Eric stood, and as Sandra turned to leave with her son, his hand brushed lightly against hers.

Not an accident. Not quite a promise.

She paused, glancing back at him.

"I'd love to hear it again sometime."

Eric's eyes held hers with ease, like they were in complete harmony.

"I think I can safely make that promise."

And for the first time in a long time, she believed it.

She was ready to strike that chord. Even if the melody had taken some time to return to her.