Luke and Laura had one long discussion before he made his decision, and then never really spoke about it again. Laura's bottom line was simple: she wanted a real partner and a real family, not a public relations exercise. Other than that, she put no rules or restrictions on Luke; she just trusted him. So it wasn't because of her that Luke cut off contact with Emmett; no, he made that choice himself.
He suggested relocating and she had no objection. He picked Seattle not only for the distance – whatever that was worth, when he was rich enough to charter a plane any time of the day or night and be with Emmett in a matter of hours – but because he'd heard that interesting music was coming from the area and thought it might be inspiring or at least distracting. The other option was Austin, and Luke didn't see himself living in Texas.
Being a father turned out to be everything Luke had hoped for. Laura must have conceived on one of their very first tries, because Julia was born in March of 1987. By then Laura was 36 and afraid to wait any longer, so Jason arrived just nine months later. They had both left their own families behind on the east coast; their parents came out for extended visits when the kids were born, but otherwise they were on their own except for paid help.
At first, of course, Luke felt unequipped and relied too heavily on others. But Laura wanted the full experience of parenthood, and after watching her figure things out, make mistakes, and try again, he knew he wanted to do more as well. He started getting up when the kids did, learned how to make them breakfast and get them dressed, read them stories, give them baths and put them to bed. He found the patience to teach them how to drink from a cup, tie shoelaces, catch a ball, turn cartwheels, ride a bike, make music. And in exchange he got to see those two mysterious creatures grow into small people he knew intimately: Julia, who took after him – creative, impetuous, curious; and Jase – precocious, wise, earnest. When he looked at the two of them, he had no regrets.
Making those phone calls – first to Emmett, and then to Leo, Pete and Gordon – had probably been the hardest thing Luke had ever done, the lowest point in his life – worse even than the call to Lexi. His memory of that time was a vague blur, as though the experience was so painful his brain refused to record it. For the first year or so afterward he tried not to think about any of them at all.
Of course, he couldn't avoid thoughts of Emmett – they were almost non-stop at first – but he taught himself that Emmett hadn't had enough faith, hadn't loved him enough, and forced his mind to move on. The distance helped; you didn't hear much about the Philly scene out on the west coast, and he didn't see many of his old friends – except Eddie occasionally, who was too smart to mention Emmett's name – so he didn't get regular news or updates. He did hear about Emmett buying Forge, and sometimes saw his name in record credits as a performer or producer. Once in a while Luke would be out somewhere a radio was playing and hear a trumpet or harp solo that he instantly recognized; Emmett's playing was unmistakable to him. He always wanted to stay and savour every note, but he'd force himself to move along quickly instead.
***
The property Luke bought outside of Seattle was similar to the one in Pennsylvania: a big old house surrounded by fields and trees. Like before, he converted one room into a studio and one into a gym. As always, he had plenty of songs in the hopper, so he was able to record his first solo album in the small spaces between child-raising. His heart wasn't exactly in it, but it kept his mind busy, and Jerry constantly warned him about the dangers of fading from the public eye. After the record’s release Luke declined to tour – he was not interested in forming another band, or in being away from home while the kids were so young. Instead, he and Laura played a couple of small local shows and a launch party in LA, and called it a day.
They didn't know many people on the west coast so Luke was alone more than he was used to. That wasn't a bad thing, since the kids took up a lot of attention and he mostly wanted to forget the past anyway. Whatever energy he had left over from parenting he poured into music, working out, and reading – he'd always been a bit self-conscious about his lack of education, so he took this opportunity to start filling in some of the gaps in his knowledge by reading books about history, politics and culture.
It was when he started working on the next album that Luke found himself thinking of his old band mates again. He'd checked out the local music scene when he first arrived and realized he wasn't particularly inspired by the grinding punk-metal sludge that was currently emerging as the Seattle sound. So he'd focused on simple singer-songwriter material for the first solo album. He was growing bored of that by the time he started on the next, and wanted to add a few more instruments. He and Laura covered vocals and guitar, and it was easy enough to find a session bassist and drummer, but there was still something missing. Not a horn section or harmonica – that would be unendurable. There was a piano in the studio, only when Luke tried to play it, he knew he just wasn't good enough for what he wanted. All he could think of were Gordie's delicate, intricate accompaniments and breathtaking breakouts.
Surely there was no way he could ever talk to Gordon again after what he’d done, though – much less ask to work with him. Why would any of the former B-Sides even give him the time of day?
But he couldn't stop missing that piano, the old sound. He still couldn't remember much about his last conversation with Gordie. Had it been as bad as he thought? Probably. Gordie, in particular, had tended to be a bit acerbic at the best of times. When Luke mentioned his thinking to Laura, she fixed her clear green eyes on him and said it might be worth trying to fix that relationship.
Eventually, he did. He weathered Gordon's cool greeting, expressed his honest regret for how he'd handled events in the past, offered apologies, and finally explained the reason for his call. To his surprise, Gordon easily agreed. They arranged for him to fly out a couple of weeks later and Luke waited with excitement and nervousness in almost equal measure. Even this small connection with his broken past seemed momentous.
In the end the sessions were magical. It wasn't like going home, exactly; too much had changed. Luke's music was different, and Gordon himself – who had always been the most accomplished and caustic member of the B-Sides – had mellowed, grown more patient and tolerant. But his technical brilliance shone even brighter now and he responded to everything Luke asked for with instinctive grace. Working with him reminded Luke of everything he'd most loved about making music.
After the first day's work, Laura asked Gordon to stay for dinner, and after dinner they all had a few drinks before Gordon headed back to his hotel. Luke found himself a little tongue-tied at first; he longed to ask how the other B-Sides were doing but didn't quite dare; it didn't feel earned.
“So what have you been up to lately?” he asked instead.
It turned out Gordon had been doing session work in New York and recently landed his own record deal with a well-respected jazz label. Luke was genuinely thrilled for him.
“You were always too good for us,” Luke said, laughing. “Way better than anyone else in the band.”
“Yeah, and back then I never let myself forget it,” Gordon said, disarmingly. “I must have been unbearable. Blame my parents.”
“Why your parents?”
“Oh, they're total bohemians, they were big deals in the Harlem Renaissance. You know, they live for art and despise mainstream culture – and boring white people.” Gordie laughed. “I'm afraid I picked up a lot of that from them when I was younger.”
“Must have been hard for you, working with so many of us.”
“Not when I told myself I was lifting you all up.” Gordon smiled and toasted Luke lightly with his cognac. “Seriously, you've always been great to work with.”
Later Luke found himself wondering about that. In all the years they'd played together, he'd never learned Gordon's history or how he viewed the world. How could Luke have considered himself a leader when he lacked such a basic understanding of the people he worked with?
After Gordon's visit, Luke had to admit how much he missed playing with other people, as well as performing live. He pulled together a loose group of local musicians he could call on when needed – not a band, exactly, he told himself – and asked Jerry to book him a few gigs in the region, just to keep his hand in. Though his old fans were still out there, Luke preferred smaller venues now, and didn't play much of his old music.
Laura joined him for some of the new shows, but not all. They could leave the kids with a nanny if they wanted, but sometimes she just preferred to be at home. In between parenting, Laura was working on her own songs with a few musicians she knew. Luke understood that she too had to make a life for herself in this isolated new world, and that she wouldn't always be available for his needs.
He often thought about contacting Leo and Pete, but hadn't quite worked up the nerve. Once or twice, Eddie, now in Chicago with his family and his band, flew out to join Luke for a show, and Luke enjoyed it so much he returned the favour with Eddie.
By the time Luke got that sudden call from Emmett, his life had started to feel stable and manageable. Hearing Emmett's voice was heady in the moment, but left him overwhelmed and agitated afterward. He cried all that night. Laura heard him when she woke up to nurse Jason, and wrapped her arms around him in silent sympathy. In the morning, when Luke took Jase downstairs so Laura could get some uninterrupted sleep, and made oatmeal for Julia’s breakfast, he looked at his kids and tried to remind himself, again, that it was worth it.
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
***
In the spring of 1990, Luke played a show at a mid-sized concert hall in Seattle. Laura elected to stay home with the kids, but Luke had a couple of regular musicians he usually played with now – nothing fancy, just bass and drums when Laura wasn't there – while he covered lead guitar, vocals and occasional piano. His new songs leaned into folky Americana, or bright pop beats under lyrics that spoke of hope and resilience. Not his greatest work but the best he could manage for now.
He'd abandoned his previous habit of scanning the audience for familiar faces during a show; too much had changed, and while he still tried to build a sense of community through his performances, he didn't always feel the same sense of kinship he once did.
As usual, a small group of fans hung around the backstage door after the show, many clutching old copies of Saving Grace or other B-Sides vinyl for him to sign. He'd released three solo albums by now, but he saw those more rarely.
After he'd finished signing, chatting, and posing for photos, the group mostly dispersed. One last figure stepped out of the shadows in the alley and came up to him. Luke glanced once, did a double-take, and stared again.
“Robbie!”
Robbie burst into his familiar laugh. “Uncle Luke!”
They threw their arms around each other, and then Luke pulled himself away to study the young man in front of him. Robbie was well over six feet tall now and his formerly scrawny frame had filled out; he had close-cropped black hair and the same lively and expressive face Luke remembered but with more defined, adult features.
“Holy shit, Robbie, how long has it been? Almost five years? How old are you now?”
“I'm twenty-one. It's so cool to see you – you sounded great, by the way.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Oh, I'm in town for a couple of days with my band.”
“Your band? What – are you playing sax for them? Who are they? Where are you – ” Luke stopped himself abruptly and grabbed Robbie's arm. “C'mon, there's a bar right over here. Have a drink with me and you can fill me in.”
Robbie agreed, and over a couple of pitchers of draft and several hours, Luke heard all about Robbie's life. He'd finished high school and done two years of college before leaving to play music full-time. Over the last couple of years, he'd joined a series of bands, the latest of which, a kind of loose neo-soul ensemble, was currently touring the west coast.
“I love playing with these guys,” Robbie said, “but there's too many people, no focus. I don't see us lasting past this tour.”
Luke wanted to hear everything about everyone; he couldn't stop himself from asking about one person after another. Walt was studying sound engineering at Lincoln, Mary-Ann about to start kindergarten, Angela enjoying her gig in Vegas, Robbie's grand-parents in good health, his mother remarried and active in her church.
“What does your dad think about your career choice?”
“He wasn't so happy when I dropped out of college but, you know, he can't complain about me choosing music.”
“And…how's he doing?”
“He seems fine. You know he has his own band now – the Mountain Tops.”
Luke laughed. “Great name. What do they play?”
“Oh, jazz and soul mostly. I've sat in with them once or twice. It's not a real serious set-up, they mostly just play for fun around Philly.” Robbie glanced down for a moment then met Luke's gaze a bit awkwardly. “Hey, I know something went down between you and my dad but, I mean…you were always real nice to me and Walt. I hope there's no hard feelings.”
“Never,” Luke said, squeezing Robbie's hand. “Hey, listen, if you're still around tomorrow why don't you come out to the house? I'd love to hear you play, maybe we could jam a bit?”
Robbie turned out to be an accomplished sax man and a joy to play with – not just because of who his father was, Luke told Laura, and himself. When Robbie's band inevitably dissolved at the end of their tour, in LA, Luke could not resist offering him a semi-permanent position as the new horn section for Luke's live appearances, with a promise of regular recording sessions as well, to lure him into staying in Seattle.
While his original motivation might have been mixed, Luke knew he'd made the right decision after they played a few gigs together. Robbie was an easy-going, energetic and hard-working multi-instrumentalist, with great stage presence and a fresh, contemporary sound that Luke thought his own music had been sorely lacking. Working with him rekindled some of Luke's old memories, and for once they weren't entirely painful. After a couple of months, Luke worked up the courage to call Leo, and then Pete; like Gordie, they were both surprisingly forgiving.
Robbie found a small, shared apartment in Seattle, but Luke and Laura invited him over so often he almost became one of the family, a quasi big brother for Jason and Julia, and a built-in accompanist on almost any instrument when Luke wanted to work. In August, Robbie mentioned he was going home for a visit, and Luke said, “Give my best to your old man.” When Robbie returned he said casually, “Dad sends his love.” Luke had to turn his head away to blink back the sudden tears. After that, whenever Robbie travelled between Philadelphia and Seattle, he carried greetings from one side to the other.
***
Sometime around the middle of 1991, Robbie brought back a slightly different message: “My dad says if you ever feel like sitting in with the Mountain Tops, he'd love to have you.”
Luke almost dropped his coffee cup. He raised his eyebrows and exchanged a look with Laura, who shrugged, smiling. “What brought that on?” he asked.
Robbie lifted one shoulder as he rifled through their fridge, looking for something to make a sandwich with. His appetite was prodigious. “I dunno. He was telling me about the old days when you guys used to hang around downtown Philly and play with the local bar bands.”
Luke smiled a little, remembering. The last time he'd sat in with anyone else's band was Eddie's, in Chicago. Of course he knew musicians everywhere, but there weren't a lot of groups in Seattle he had any interest in joining, even temporarily.
All day Luke found himself thinking about the invitation Robbie had passed along. As he and Laura were getting ready for bed that night, he raised it tentatively.
“Wonder what Em's band is like. And – and why he suggested that.”
“Well, I imagine it would be great publicity for him if you showed up,” Laura said, brushing out her hair. “Are you thinking about it?”
“It's…hard not to think about it.”
Laura put down the hairbrush. “We've hardly been back to Philly since we left. I'd love to see my family and everyone else. We could bring the kids.” She looked at him with eyes that were darker now than they used to be. “If you're up for it, Luke.”
How could he know if he was up for it? Would he ever really be ready to see Emmett again?
He watched Laura as she slipped under the bed covers. They still maintained all the outward appearances of their marriage, and he'd always honoured his promise to her. Maybe, once, she'd hoped that if they played their parts long enough, the act might become real – maybe once he'd hoped so too. As the years passed, they must have both realized that wasn't going to happen. He loved her and thought of her as his best friend, but she had never sparked in him the kind of electrifying rush he felt now at just the thought of seeing Emmett again.
***
They ended up going back to the east coast for a few days that fall. Luke and Laura both spent time with their families, and Laura planned a few events – group dinners and receptions – to meet up with many of their old friends and fellow musicians, most of whom they hadn't seen since moving west. Luke also arranged lunches with Leo, who still lived in town, and Pete and Gordon, who were both in New York now. He had Jerry connect with Kaye, Emmett's manager, to negotiate an arrangement with the Mountain Tops (four songs – three of his plus one of theirs, which they sent him on tape so he could learn ahead of time; no advance promotion of Luke's appearance). Outside of that, he didn't make plans to see Emmett – either because he still didn't think he could manage it, or because he didn't believe Emmett could have actually forgiven him; he wasn't sure which.
The night of his appearance, Luke showed up at the club alone, after the band had already started playing. He managed to slip inside the front door without being seen, then stopped in a quiet corner of the room to scope out the scene, his guitar slung over his back. There was Emmett, front and centre on the small stage. The band's sound was loose and swinging, and the stage crowded with players – a small horn section behind Emmett, keyboard, guitars, bass, drums, and were those congas? – everyone obviously having a good time. The room was warm and full but not overly crowded, with what looked like a lot of regulars in the audience.
After a quick survey Luke focused back on Emmett. He looked good – older, of course; a little heavier, maybe; the lines on his face a little deeper, his movements a little slower – but still larger than life, his presence as familiar and comforting as ever. As Luke watched quietly from the shadows, he was struck by how naturally Emmett led the band – switching easily between vocals and instruments, jiving effortlessly with the crowd, bringing the other players in and out with small gestures, setting the tempo and keeping a natural flow between songs. Of course, Emmett had occasionally helped manage Luke's audience, but Luke had never seen him in full control of a show like he was now. It suited him.
Finally, during a pause between songs, Luke stepped out into the main room. Emmett saw him immediately and stopped mid-sentence, his whole face transforming at the sight. There was that brilliant, sunny smile Luke had always loved; the look of unalloyed joy Luke used to see during every show.
“Luke!” Emmett cried out, and every head in the room turned to follow his gaze.
“Moun-tain!” Luke switched into public mode instantly, striding across the room to leap onto the stage beside Emmett. He saw Emmett reach out for him instinctively and then stop himself, turning his movement into an exaggerated gesture of introduction instead.
“Luke Clarkston, ladies and gentlemen! Luke Clarkston!”
The crowd rose to their feet in disbelief, and somehow seemed to swell at the same time. Flashes started going off in Luke's eyes, and the roar of applause filled his ears. He returned Emmett's gesture playfully: “Emmett the Mountain Evans – and the Mountain Tops!”
“Thanks so much for joining us.” Emmett's wide brown eyes glittered as he stepped back to make room for Luke at the front of the stage.
Luke was already scrambling for a cable to plug into his guitar. “Thank you for inviting me. 1-2-3!”
They launched straight into the first of the four songs they'd agreed to play – one of Luke's old party staples – and then immediately into the next, and the next. Then they paused briefly to let the crowd go wild before Emmett introduced the last song, a Mountain Tops original. It was all very awkward and imperfect – Emmett played every line of Luke's songs flawlessly, but the rest of his band struggled to keep up; Luke kept forgetting they weren't his band, giving them hand signals they didn't understand, feeling irritated one moment and embarrassed the next, trying to follow Emmett's lead for the last song and messing up his own parts. At the end the crowd gave an ecstatic ovation despite all the flaws – Emmett and Luke gestured awkwardly at each other again – and then Luke yanked the plug out of his guitar, waved one last time, and ducked backstage.
“Luke – ”
He turned and saw that Emmett had followed him off the stage, leaving the rest of the band to cover with some kind of instrumental bridge. They were both panting a little from the exertion, their faces glowing with sweat and flushed from the heat, if not the uneasiness of the situation.
“Em – ” Luke lifted a hand vaguely, helplessly. “Thanks for inviting me – ”
“Thank you for coming. Luke, it's so good to see you.”
“Yeah, man – it's – ” Luke bit down on his lip to stop the trembling, and fussed with his guitar. “We should – ” He looked up again, totally unable to complete a thought.
Emmett simply stood there, smiling at him. “Any time. Just say the word.” He stared at Luke for another moment, as though memorizing his face, or maybe looking for something he remembered. Then he pointed back at the stage. “I gotta get back. Love you, brother.”
“Love you too, Em.”
Then Emmett was gone, and Luke slipped quickly out the back door of the club.