My Mother’s Lie

Chapter 1

ONE

FRANKIE

Now

Everything is fine. Frankie Lavigne sucked in a breath, and it seemed to her as if the sound of it echoed through the quiet before she looked down to where her fingers were perched against the black and white keys of the piano.

Her entire field of vision was black and white.

Black like the massive iron candelabra to her right, white like the candles lit within it.

Black like the suit jacket on the man in the first row, white like the handkerchief his wife was clutching in her hand.

Black like the casket at the front of the vast space, white like the roses cascading over it.

Yes, everything is fine, the little voice in her head said again. She just had to concentrate on the task at hand and get on with it. The piano was her safe place. Her escape. Her joy.

Somewhere in the church, a man cleared his throat, the noise quickly followed by a few more as if a secret go-ahead had been issued from the pulpit.

They were waiting for her, and in wait, silence could be agonizing.

She got that, and yet she couldn’t make her hands move.

For the first time in her life, they didn’t want to play. How embarrassing.

She studied the ring on her left index finger—a silver treble clef with a white pearl in the middle that had been a gift for her high school graduation. She’d lost the matching necklace at some point over the years, but she always wore the ring, even though it tended to snag on things.

“Because music will always be a constant in your life, even though we’ve decided it’s wiser to pursue a different degree,” Estelle had said as Frankie ripped open the wrapping paper.

And her mom had been right. She was always right.

Well, except when she’d predicted she’d live to a hundred. She’d been wrong about that. Thirty-three years wrong to be exact, which made no sense at all.

Frankie’s vision blurred, and she briefly withdrew her hands to her lap before steeling herself against the aching pit in her gut and trying again.

Fingers set for the starting A minor chord.

She knew this song. It was part of the very fabric of her life.

All she had to do was press her fingers down and start.

She could hear Estelle’s voice and her guitar in her head.

A baby in the back let out a loud wail, pulling Frankie’s gaze across the congregation before she could stop herself.

She had deliberately avoided picking out faces in the crowd, but now there they were, red-eyed and sympathetic.

The mayor was in the front row, having given a lovely eulogy for the local news cameras that were set up in the middle aisle, and even he was dabbing at his ruddy cheeks.

Every seat was taken, and according to the priest, the overflow space in the high school gymnasium next door was full—several hundred more people who at this very moment were watching Frankie choke on live stream.

What would Mom do? Frankie thought. She closed her eyes and attempted to summon Estelle’s voice. It was there with more ease than she’d expected. The show must go on. Mind over matter. A tremor rushed down Frankie’s spine. Estelle had been so much stronger than Frankie. Her anchor and her guide.

Oh God, what would she do without her mom?

Frankie’s fingers came off the keys again, her thumb slipping and sending a bright C into the rafters, which made the congregation stir as if a wind had blown through the room.

She had time to think that she must have been keeping them waiting a long time if a single note could do that, then a low “psst” reached her from the end of the first pew.

Frankie turned her head, spotting her friend and colleague, Kayla, there with her hand on the shoulder of one of Frankie’s more advanced piano students.

“Hey,” Kayla whispered, her eyes soft. “You okay?”

Frankie wanted to say yes. She should have been able to say yes. Lavignes didn’t crumble. But maybe a day like today it would be acceptable to admit this small slip? Especially when the alternative was dragging this silence out longer. She shook her head just enough for Kayla to see.

“Do you want Mira to do it?” Kayla mimed.

Frankie looked to the teen, at her blue, knee-length dress and yellow hairband, and her shoulders relaxed at the sight of color.

Any color. She found the Kopps, Mira’s parents, in the crowd, her dad nodding to Frankie in encouragement, as if to say they were fine with this turn of events.

Which, of course they were—any parent who sent their kid to Starview Conservatory would see this as an opportunity as much as a way to be helpful.

Not that Frankie begrudged them that stance—Estelle had made it part of the school’s original mission statement after all.

Whether a student of piano, voice, guitar, violin or ballet, there would be plenty of chances to perform.

It was one of the reasons their school had reached such renown.

No, not their school anymore. Now it was Frankie’s. Alone.

Frankie beckoned Mira forward and got up, the chair scraping mournfully against the wooden floor.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Frankie,” the girl said in a low voice as they switched places. “We all miss her.”

Frankie swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Thanks, Mira.” Then she let Kayla tuck her close in a way she hadn’t done since they were teens and steer her into a seat.

With a new player at the keys, the congregation straightened in anticipation, and before Frankie could conjure even a shred of protective armor, the first chord rang out, an arrow to the heart.

How many times had she heard Estelle play this song?

In small bars, on big stages, in their living room, on the radio, at festivals.

It had been the pinnacle of Estelle’s career and the foundation for Starview, but more than that, it was a love letter to Frankie, the miracle child who’d almost been lost. Stolen but returned.

Even though Mira’s version was strictly instrumental, the words still floated on the air, as if every person in the room could imagine Estelle’s voice brought to life, and Frankie closed her eyes as tears streamed down her cheeks.

She wasn’t in her room; not hiding in our van,

Her teddy bear left upon the floor; that’s how it all began.

One hour was enough; she slipped into thin air,

A misguided moment of trust; a heavy burden to bear,

I searched through every nook; her name a precious song,

Lifted in prayer to the sky; please help me right this wrong,

Each second steeped in fear; I’ll never let her go

I will not rest until she’s back; this alone I know

Quiet places where laughter should be,

My only child is gone

Gone is she.

Empty arms and a desperate plea

My only child is gone

Gone from me.

The reception was held at city hall, a large turn-of-the-century building with a wooden clock tower and immaculate gardens just off the town square.

With less than five thousand in residence, Aspen Creek wasn’t a big town, but much thanks to Starview, it had become the kind of place where once you settled, you stayed, and as a result, everyone knew everyone, and everyone especially knew Estelle.

If Aspen Creek had any claim to fame it was the music conservatory and its colorful owner, and consequently, two hours after the service had ended, Frankie was still shaking hands and nodding at shared memories of her mother.

“Such a loss for the town.”

“Only reason my daughter got into Juilliard.”

“So grateful to have known her.”

“I know you’ll make her proud.”

Just when Frankie’s feet were going numb and her knees threatened to buckle, her sort-of cousin, Matt, sidled up next to her with a glass of white wine, a hand pie, and an apologetic expression that he leveled on the next mourner in line.

“I’m so sorry, but Mayor Halloran needs her.

” Then he steered Frankie to a quiet corner of the room and set her down in a chair.

Frankie looked around. “Where’s the mayor?”

“Somewhere over there.” Matt tipped his head into the crowd. “But no one will be the wiser. Now eat or I’ll shove that pie in your pie hole myself, Frankenstein.” He sat down next to Frankie and crossed his arms.

“You don’t have to be so mean about it,” Frankie muttered before taking a bite and allowing the fruity filling to awaken her numbed senses.

She sighed in relief as the sugar hit her bloodstream and rinsed the bite down with a gulp of wine.

Not that she condoned the lying, but it would have looked even worse had she fainted.

Kayla, who was married to Matt, stepped up behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders. “How are you holding up, Frankie?”

“Better now,” Frankie said, licking pie filling off her fingers. “All these people—it’s just a bit overwhelming. But I’m okay. Everything’s okay.”

“Everyone loved Aunt Estelle,” Matt said simply, standing and letting Kayla take his seat.

They weren’t actually related, but Estelle and Matt’s dad, Raymond, had known each other forever, so when Frankie and Matt were little, that’s how they’d always thought of each other’s parents.

Aunt Estelle. Uncle Ray and Aunt Darla. Though Aunt Darla had not been with them for a good while, having upgraded her husband for a younger version and moved to Portugal when Matt was in college, only to pass away unexpectedly from diabetes complications a few years later. Uncle Ray was here somewhere though.

“I saw someone from work I need a word with over by the coffee, but I’ll leave you in my wife’s competent hands.” Matt gave Frankie a smile, kissed the top of his wife’s head, then stalked away.

“Is he ever not working?” Frankie asked Kayla as she finished her wine. A warm and fortifying buzz had settled in her legs, but she wasn’t quite ready to head into the fray again.