Music of the Heart

A Mandarin Bay Novel - Book 2

Talented high school music teacher, Carly Baxter, is making a new start in Mandarin Bay. The heartbreak of infertility coupled with a divorce after a “loving” ten-year marriage, had her reeling for a while. But now she’s all in with renting a house while getting to know her new school and students in the Tampa Bay area. In addition, she’ll continue with her personal singing gigs to insure her financial stability. One day soon, she’ll be able to buy a home of her own.

Master electrician, John Smith, raised in the foster care system, is the single dad of fourteen-year-old twin girls who love music. When his wife left him to try for a singing career in Vegas, his daughters were only a year old. John raised them with the emergency help of his buddies in the trade as well as his last set of foster parents. Buying a home in Mandarin Bay is a dream come true for his little family. Until he personally discovers that the beautiful redhead he meets there and the first woman in years he wants to date, earns her living singing in supper clubs. He’s definitely not interested.

In the meantime, among the senior set, Donna Roberts, a close friend of Libby Burman from the Welcome Committee, takes a chance with on-line dating. After three unsuccessful meet-ups, she connects with Pete Messing, a widower, who’s ready to welcome a new woman into his life. Donna’s had a loving marriage behind her, too. So what could go wrong with two lovely people seeking the same thing? But real and imaginary conflict abound—children, grandchildren, finances, location—even with a mature couple. As the song says, that’s life.

Chapter One

A warm breeze blew through Mandarin Bay’s tree-lined streets, setting palm fronds swaying, while the leaves on the pin oaks shimmered and sighed. Longtime resident, Libby Burman with her tote bag in hand, raised her face to feel that slight movement of air. Even a gentle gust would be welcomed during Florida’s midsummer heat. And welcome it, she did!

It was not yet dark on this August evening. The days were still long although the summer solstice had passed. Beautiful winters and hot hellish summers—that was Florida, but Libby embraced every season. And why not? She couldn’t control the weather, so she might as well make the most of it and adapt. Her cap of dark hair with that streak of white in front had replaced the shoulder-length style of years ago. Long hair was just too hot!

She refocused on her evening’s goal and homed in on the address of the community’s most recent newcomer—234 Coral Circle. She enjoyed her meeting-and-greeting role on the Welcome Committee, answering questions and helping newbies become familiar with the area. Some people moved in after they’d retired from their careers—the Silver Lakes Drive crew on the west side of the big lake—while others were still raising families. Her target today belonged to the latter group.

Glancing at her tote bag, bulging with goodies someone might need but had forgotten or couldn’t find on moving day, she raised her hand and rang the doorbell. A divorced guy with two kids lived inside, and she was ready to meet the whole family.

A man answered almost immediately, his dark hair mussed, jeans faded, and his work boots well-worn.

She extended her free arm. “Hi there. I’m Libby Burman from the Welcome Committee,” she said, “and I’m hoping you’re John Smith.”

“The one and only—in this family at least,” he replied with a wink as he shook her hand. “You’re a welcome sight if you’ve got some coffee in there,” he said, nodding toward the hefty bag. “I can’t seem to find—” He turned his head as if seeking his missing joe.

From the back of the house came the sound of running feet, getting louder with each step. “Hey, Dad. Is this what you wanted?” A young girl held up a carton marked COFFEE. “What was it doing with my stuff?”

“Who knows? And now I don’t care. Coffee is in my future.” John took the box, reached out and gently pulled his daughter forward. “Daisy, I want you to meet Mrs. Libby Burman, a nice neighbor, who’s brought some stuff we may have forgotten.”

The girl’s bright blue eyes matched her dad’s. Libby reached into her tote. “Tissues, toilet paper, markers, scotch tape …”

Daisy turned toward where she’d come from. “Jasmine,” she called. “Come here. Our little issue may be solved … at least for tonight.”

A second girl appeared, and Libby blinked. “Two of you? Well, isn’t that something? No one on the committee told me to expect twins in this house.” Straight honey-blonde hair lay past their shoulders, and Libby guessed them to be about fourteen or fifteen years old.

“They keep me hopping, but we do okay, don’t we?” asked John, tossing the coffee aside and putting his free arm around Jasmine.

The girls’ eyes gleamed. “Since we waited to move until after the school year was over, I guess we’re doing just fine,” said Daisy.

John glanced at Libby. “Pulling them out of school before their end-of-year big concerts would have put me in the doghouse forever.” He winked and kissed the top of Jasmine’s head.

“And now all we have to do is figure out how to survive in a new school,” said Daisy. “A new high school.”

“But, we will,” added Jasmine. “Even if everyone knows everyone else already. Except us.”

Libby waved a finger back and forth at them. “I think you’ll have an advantage. You mentioned concerts? The music department’s great, and you’ll meet lots of nice kids there, including my grandchildren. What instruments do you play?”

“We’re singers,” said Jasmine, “with a little piano on the side.”

“That’s terrific.” Libby smiled. “You must have a great time together. I wish you the best of luck.” She stepped closer and leaned in. “I think you have a very smart dad. I’da been madder than a junkyard dog if I’d been pulled out of school mid-year.”

The girls grinned, then sobered. “But we did lose a chance to buy a less expensive house because we weren’t ready to move,” said Daisy.

“Doesn’t matter,” said John quickly. “All’s well that ends well, right girls? This one’s a tad bigger.”

Libby glanced at John, then grinned at the kids. “They’re lovely girls, but I bet you have your hands full. After all, it’s two against one.”

With a studied look at his daughters, he said, “It’s not too bad-—usually. You’re really good kids. Right?”

The two girls eye-rolled the ceiling in tandem. John laughed. “Okay, cut it out. Back to unpacking.” In a flash, they disappeared back down the hallway.

“When the house is straightened out and everything in its place,” began Libby, “you’ll be very happy with your choice of homes. Lots of space in this model.”

“Yup,” said John. “The girls each have their own bedroom for the first time.”

“Nice,” said Libby, “and your kitchen and living room are spacious, so you’re all set.”

“I wanted a real home,” said John softly, “something more than just a rented apartment. It’s taken me a little time to figure it out, and make it happen, but …” He looked around the rooms as though viewing a spectacular sunrise, his smile stretching from ear to ear.

Libby heard him inhale deeply as he shook his head. No words followed. And Libby recalled the times in her life when words wouldn’t come, when her heart was too full for them. The important times. Holding her daughter a minute after birth. Holding her again when she was widowed. And now this young man had achieved a dream.

“You did well, John. I know you and your daughters will be happy here. Your neighbors are great. Take advantage of all the amenities—swimming pools, tennis courts…”

He began to protest about his working life—an electrician with a large contracting firm. “I often work overtime and take on as many side jobs as I can hustle. I don’t live in the Mandarin Bay retirement section,” he joked, “at least not yet!”

“I can certainly see that,” said Libby with a laugh. “Then give me some business cards. I know lots of people, and I’ll pass them around. It’s all part of the service!”

***

John closed the door behind Libby and shook his head. What a character! But nice. Must keep her husband on his toes! With her positive attitude, Libby Burman reminded him of his last foster mother—the last and the best. Ellen and Mike DeAngelo had remained close to him in the years since he’d left their home. Good people. Truly special people. If it weren’t for Mike … well, the man had put John on the right track as high school graduation loomed.

Do you want to wind up on the streets with nothing to aim for? Or do you want to earn a good living and be your own man? You’re smart, Johnny-boy. You can’t hide it, not with us. If your grades suck, you’re doing it on purpose. Talk to your probation officer about it. He’ll agree with me.

You’ve been talking behind my back? Of course, John had been defensive, but he’d kept his voice down and tried to act mature. His childhood, however, had been littered with truancies and petty crimes—shoplifting, drinking, and hanging out on the streets. Fingers pointing at him. In the beginning with Ellen and Mike, he’d still been quick on the trigger. Later on, he began to trust them … a little.

“I’m talking to you now,” Mike had said. “Face-to-face. My idea is for you to learn a trade just like I did. Then you can be independent. Live a decent life.”

Independent. That word appealed to him, and Mike knew it.

“It’s got a lot of upsides, Johnny. No one pushing you around, telling you where to go, how to live ” Mike paused, looking him in the eye. “No more being treated like a stupid kid who’s always in trouble.”

Ellen had stepped in then. “And you’ll continue to live with us while you go to school. Another year.”

He couldn’t believe it. Why? Why? He looked from one to the other, his thoughts becoming so jumbled, he was silent. But Mike had always been a straight shooter, and Ellen wouldn’t lie. That’s why they’d gained John’s growing incipient trust during the time he’d stayed with them. They were different from the others. No way they’d become foster parents just for the money. John wouldn’t, actually couldn’t, believe that. He’d never eaten so well in his whole life. He was street-wise enough to know their allowance wouldn’t cover their expenditures.

Later on, he’d understood their reasons. But at that time, he’d simply latched onto Mike’s sound advice, and now John was a licensed electrician. Ellen and Mike had come through for him again several years later, after the girls were born and their mother, Michelle, walked out. Their mom; his wife. A short-lived union when all John had wanted was a normal life—a family—like everyone else had. Michelle wanted something else and followed her stupid dreams.

But his girls? No foster care for them! Not like him. Jasmine and Daisy would have a dad, and they’d know it.

He sighed heavily. A lot of water under that bridge … and now, he needed that cup of coffee. Tomorrow would come soon enough, and he still had unpacking to do.

A few minutes later, with mug in hand, he started down the hall and heard his daughters’ voices harmonizing softly before he arrived at their bedrooms. Colors of the Wind. Nice. It seemed to him that they’d sung before they could talk. If twins had a special language, singing was theirs.

The girls were together in Jasmine’s room. Daisy’s was right across the hallway, but, as usual, they worked together.

“We’re getting there, Dad,” said Jasmine, waving her arm with a flourish. “Even made the bed.”

“And then we’ll attack my room,” added Daisy, “and the bathroom.”

“I can’t believe we have our own bathroom!” Jasmine bestowed an impulsive hug around her father, and John kissed her cheek and returned the hug.

“We did the right thing, Dad,” said his practical Daisy. “More room for us, and the new school will be fine. I didn’t want to stop Miss Libby’s talk, but I already did some research, and they have a great music program—and living here, we can swim whenever we want!”

“I agree” replied John slowly, a grin inching across his face. “We made a good move. After all, I now have my own private bathroom, too! And that’s a big deal.”

His daughters giggled. “But won’t you miss our hairbrushes and ribbons and skin creams … and …”

“Not a bit.” As he watched, Jasmine hid a yawn.

“Let’s call it a night, girls. C’mon, Daisy, I’ll help you make your bed.”

With a flourish of her arm and a theatrical pitch in her voice, Daisy recited, “Tomorrow … I’ll unpack more tomorrow, for tomorrow is another day.”

“Time for bed, Scarlett.” John motioned her across the hall and followed.

His girls kept him sharp. As a single parent, he needed to keep one step ahead of them. So far, so good. He hoped these high school teenage years would continue that way.

***

Libby checked her watch when she left John’s house. She still had time to make one more visit. A second new resident actually lived near her. A temporary resident. A renter, not an owner. Living on Golden Lakes Circle would make the young woman a fish out of water in the active senior section. No matter her status, however, every newbie needed a bit of a welcome.

Libby’s knock was answered quickly by a woman in her thirties, red hair, green eyes, and wide smile. Libby responded to the smile with her own.

“The Welcome Committee says hello and welcome to Mandarin Bay,” she began. “I’m Libby—”

“Burman,” completed the woman. “And I’m Carly Baxter. I’ve sort of been expecting you.” She waved toward the window. “Jennifer Miller helped me find this place and sang your praises.”

Libby put her tote bag on the floor. “Of course! Jennifer and Adam—two of my favorite people.” She leaned toward the other woman. “They’re still newlyweds, and I’m happy to claim credit for the little introduction. One of my successes. They live just on the next street.”

“I know,” said the woman. “I’ve been to Jen’s house. Just dumb luck that I walked into her realty firm for help. We’ve become friendly.”

“Good. In this community, friendliness counts! So, I’ve brought some things you might need …”

But Carly waved her gesture away. “I’ve been here for three days already and stocked up. So save those for someone else.”

Libby scanned the rooms. Monet, Renoir, Van Gogh prints on the walls—the woman loved the Impressionists. “Three days? The house looks comfortably lived in already. With that art work, your house is already a home.” She pointed to a baby grand piano. “In the dining room?”

Carly laughed. “I really don’t need a dining room. I’m single. But I do need a comfortable place for music and students, out of the direct line of vision.” She paused and dramatically whispered, “A place that can get messy.”

“High-five, Carly! I love how you think. My family’s got pianos and keyboards everywhere. People have to be flexible or you know what happens?” Without waiting for a reply, Libby leaned toward the woman and whispered the answer to her own question. “They break.”

Carly’s happy smile disappeared. “You are absolutely right. They do break,” she repeated. “But in the end, I didn’t. I managed to put myself in forward gear and move ahead.” Her grin returned. “And aren’t you lucky I landed here?”

Libby felt her laughter bubble up from deep inside. “I certainly am. In fact, I just welcomed another nice new resident about your age. Also single. He lives across the lake. Hmm …”

But Carly immediately shook her head. “Fuhgeddaboutit. I’m new to the whole Tampa Bay area and need to work, save my money, and figure my life out.”

“Welcome to Mandarin Bay, Carly Baxter. I predict your life will be terrific.”