“I can play all the shows up until April ninth. But as soon as you find a replacement they can take over—I won’t make them or you wait until I leave.”
He nodded slowly. “Okay. I’m very sorry to see you go.”
“Thanks, Gabe.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “This isn’t because of Ross, is it?”
Amelia blinked, surprised. “No—not at all.”
“I know that he, um—”
“No, really, it’s not about him.” Please don’t make me have this conversation.
“Okay, I’ll take your word for it. But if there’s anything we can do to convince you to stay, just tell me what it is.”
Amelia couldn’t believe he wasn’t jumping at the chance to let her go. “There isn’t. But thanks.”
He nodded. “Now, would you like me to tell the troupe, or would you prefer to do it?”
“You can.” She was grateful to not have to bear that responsibility. Maybe he’d wait until after rehearsal and she’d be able to sneak out before he said anything.
Together they walked back to the front and Gabe motioned to the stage. “Places, actors. I want to run ‘Morning Glow’ and focus on really nailing that ending. It was getting a little mushy this weekend.”
He cued in Amelia, who launched the song, and she found she was better able to concentrate now that she knew her time with the troupe was limited. She was fine until Ross came in during the song and sat in the front row. Then her nerves kicked up again. What would he say when Gabe told him Amelia’s plans?
The song ended, and Ross took his place on the podium to conduct the band. They ran three more songs before Ross declared himself satisfied and left the rest of rehearsal up to Gabe.
“I think we’re good too,” Gabe said, “but before I dismiss you we have some business to discuss.” He glanced at Amelia, and she trained her gaze on her music notebook, unable to withstand the weight of everyone’s stares as they followed Gabe’s. “Amelia won’t be with us after April ninth, so we’re going to need to find a new pianist.” A murmur arose from the group, but Gabe continued to talk. “Ross and I weren’t thrilled with any of the other pianists we auditioned, so if you know of anyone you think might be interested, give them mine or Ross’s number, and tell them we’ll audition them immediately.”
“Touring, Amelia?” asked the drummer.
“No. It’s … It’s a long story.”
Amelia began to pack up, her face burning from the curious looks. She knew that several people in the group had never warmed to her—she could hardly blame them—and although she could swear she heard someone say “prima donna,” she hoped that it was only paranoia.
“I can’t believe you’re leaving,” Ross said when he came up beside Amelia as she tucked padding around her keyboard. “Is this because of me?”
“No, it’s not. There are a lot of reasons.”
“You’re going to Nebraska, aren’t you?” Ross ran a hand through his hair. “You know you’re throwing your talent away, right? I mean, I get that your husband is there and all, but you’re totally compromising here. What did he do to get you to leave? Threaten you with divorce? You’d be better off without him if that’s the kind of guy he is.”
Enough is enough. “That’s not the kind of guy he is.” Who did Ross think he was? Amelia shoved her binder in its pocket and stood tall. “Thanks for making this even harder than it already is, Ross. Thanks for bringing up every fear I’ve got and then trying to smear my husband’s character. You’re right, I should totally dump him and come to you. You’re the most upstanding guy on the planet.” Sarcasm wasn’t a tool Amelia typically employed, but this time the words rolled off her tongue.
She was slightly mollified by Ross’s obvious regret. “I’m sorry, Amelia, I didn’t mean—I mean, I just can’t believe—”
“Yeah, I know. Me neither.” She shouldered her bag and turned for the door. “Don’t follow me out, all right? I really don’t need your ‘help.’”
From seat 21F, Amelia watched the snowcapped Rockies slowly glide beneath her and shuddered at the sight of the snow. Marcus had warned her that a late winter storm was to move in over the next day, yet in some kind of subconscious defiance, she’d boxed her cold-weather clothes to be ground shipped and packed in her suitcase the outfits she’d been wearing for LA’s unseasonably warm spring. She hadn’t noticed until she’d boarded the plane in a tank top and skirt. Now she was freezing.
The drone of the plane and its subtle vibration lulled her toward sleep, but the cold air coupled with her thoughts kept her from nodding off. Nebraska. If she’d ever wanted proof that God didn’t care about her—not that she was looking for it—this had to be it. Why would God bless her with talent and then ship her off to a place where it would atrophy?
The plane hit a patch of turbulence and her stomach lurched. She pressed a hand to her abdomen and closed her eyes, willing the nausea to abate. She’d finally gotten over her weird flu during the last week, and the thought of being dogged by that sick feeling again made her … well … sick. At least the flight was almost halfway over. They’d be in Denver soon, where she’d connect on a smaller plane to Omaha. Knowing those small planes, though, her nausea was only just beginning.
When they landed, Amelia dragged her carry-on on its rickety wheels to the new gate where she waited an hour for her next flight. She used to love flying, and especially loved layovers. More time to read, to listen to music uninterrupted, to people-watch while indulging in snacks she normally avoided. This time she sat at the window and stared at the runway, hardly noticing the aircraft that arrived and departed right in front of her. She felt numb. This couldn’t possibly be her life. She was living someone else’s existence.
There was only a single ray of hope that she felt in all of this. The depression, as Marcus had called it, seemed to be abating. Not that she was happy-go-lucky or anything, but the depth and opacity of her sadness seemed to have lessened over the last couple days. It didn’t make sense, given she was abandoning her career and moving to a place she had no desire to be in. She figured it was just from the relief of not being separated from Marcus any longer and not having to waste her days in two jobs she hated. Regardless of the reason, she was glad. She just wished she knew whether or not to expect it to last.
She boarded the plane with the other passengers and her prayer for an introverted seat neighbor was granted. She closed her eyes and pretended to sleep, hoping to fool the rest of her body. But no, she was conscious for the entire bumpy flight, and after she debarked she sat in the gate for several long minutes while she waited for her stomach to settle.
Marcus was waiting for her at the end of the escalator. He’d already taken her suitcase from the baggage claim. “I was beginning to worry,” he said after they broke their embrace. “I thought maybe you’d missed your connection.”
She should have called him. “There was a lot of turbulence. I felt awful when I got off the plane, so I sat in the gate until I was sure I wasn’t going to throw up.”
“Poor baby.” He kissed her forehead, then added her carry-on to the luggage cart. “Let’s get going, before we hit the commuter traffic.” She followed him to a set of double doors, where he paused and removed his coat. “You’re going to need this.”
“Oh. Thanks.” His warmth enveloped her as she pulled it on, and the scent of his cologne brought a rush of equally warm memories—of their first date, their wedding, nights spent snuggling on the couch. She wondered if she’d ever be that happy again.
The next morning Amelia woke to see snow drifting from the sky. She groaned as she pulled the duvet over her head and burrowed deeper beneath the sheets. She’d be spending another day in Marcus’s clothes. What kind of idiot packed shorts instead of sweats when heading to a place that hadn’t gotten the memo that it was supposed to be spring?
But there was no going back to sleep once she was up. Within seconds of waking, her mind was going full throttle. Marcus was ta
king the day off to help her acclimate—drive her around town; help her find a doctor to give her a referral to a therapist (even though Amelia insisted she no longer needed help with her depression, Marcus wanted her to at least talk to someone to ensure it didn’t come back); and buy her some winter clothes. Even though she had warmer things coming in her shipped boxes, they were meant for LA’s version of winter, not Wheatridge’s. She didn’t want to do any of it, but she wasn’t about to tell Marcus that. He’d made it clear yesterday through numerous hints that he couldn’t afford to take a lot of time off right now. It was either today or waiting until Saturday, and she knew he wanted to get her an appointment with a doctor as soon as possible. She wasn’t looking forward to that, but she didn’t have a choice. She’d abdicated responsibility for herself the minute she’d agreed to move. Marcus was in charge now. And she had to admit it was sort of nice not to have to figure things out on her own anymore.
She pulled on the sweatpants and sweatshirt she’d worn yesterday, knowing she wouldn’t go back to sleep now. Once again Marcus’s scent lit a tiny spark inside her, and even though it was brief, she was glad she could still experience happiness, even if it was so small and fleeting.
“There you are.” Marcus’s smile lit his face when Amelia came out of the bedroom. He was sitting at the dining room table with three thick books and his laptop open before him. “Breakfast or lunch? It’s almost eleven.”
The clouds hiding the sun had made her think it was earlier than that. She hadn’t slept so well since Marcus had visited her in LA. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry. I’m dying for coffee, though.”
“You really should eat something, babe. You barely had any dinner last night.”
“I will, I promise. Just a little later, okay?”
Marcus’s face told her he didn’t like her answer, but he said nothing as he entered the kitchen. “So I have a list of family doctors here in Wheatridge for you to look over. I figure you can pick your top three and we’ll make an appointment with whoever can get you in soonest.”
She shrugged, though she knew he couldn’t see the gesture. “Okay.”
“When you’re ready to go out, we’ll hit the mall and see what we can find for you, clothing-wise. There won’t be a lot to choose from, but all you really need are a couple items for now, right? Your stuff should be here by Monday at the latest, and they’re predicting the weather will turn by the weekend.”
“Okay.”
He set the coffee in front of her, then sat back down and reached out a hand across the table. She offered hers in return, and he grasped it, smiling. “I’m so glad you’re here. The apartment feels totally different with you in it—in a good way. A really good way. I couldn’t wait for you to come.”
She smiled with genuine warmth. In spite of her ever-present exhaustion and her reluctance to move—okay, flat-out rejection of moving—she was happy to be with her husband. “I’m glad I’m with you.” She pointed her chin toward the books. “Working on your sermon for Easter?”
“Yeah. I’ll stop, though.”
“No, go ahead. I don’t really feel like talking, anyway. What sounds really great is a bath.” She grabbed her coffee and smiled. “I’ll be taking this with me.”
“You rebel.” He grinned as he stood and gave her a kiss whose chasteness she appreciated. “Let me know when you’re ready to go.”
The bath and coffee worked together to chase the chill that had lingered since yesterday, and when she finally emerged she felt better about the day’s pending events. But when she followed Marcus to the car that he’d already began warming up, the brief time spent in the snow and cold irritated her. She hadn’t been in true winter weather since her days at Juilliard. She hadn’t minded it much back then, but now the gray expanse of the sky seemed to hang just inches from her head and made her feel claustrophobic, and the bitter wind that gusted just before she got into the car made her gasp. As Marcus backed the car out, Amelia doubted this place would ever feel like home.
“Isn’t the snow beautiful?” Marcus said, contradicting her very thoughts. “That ice storm we had back in February was brutal but made everything look absolutely amazing. I’m not going to say the weather doesn’t suck sometimes, but at least the aftermath is nice to look at.”
She tried to fake agreement, but this time it didn’t work. “I can’t believe I’m here.”
Thankfully, Marcus missed her real meaning. He squeezed her hand. “I know, me neither. Hey, let me know if you get hungry, because there’s a great little bar and grill downtown I’d love to take you to, okay?”
“Sure.”
She let Marcus play tour guide as they drove through Wheatridge toward the mall. The affection with which he described the town made it seem as though he’d been born and raised there. She never would have pegged him for a small-town kind of guy, but he really seemed to feel at home. And she could tell he was trying to engage her with the place—he kept pointing out places of musical interest, of which there were very few, but he hyped each one as though it was on Nebraska’s list of most treasured spots. “Blue Note—that’s the store I was telling you about. See that baby grand in the window? I went by there the other day and someone was playing it, though not nearly as well as you could. We should stop over there some time so you can try it out. I know how much you love the real thing. Oh, and the guys who work there are great—I think they even have a band, maybe you could jam with them some time. Do pianists do that? Jam with other musicians? Oh, and there’s that coffee shop that has the live music on Friday nights. I’ve heard some of the other acts, and they’re all right, but you’d blow them out of the water. When you’re feeling better we’ll stop by there and maybe you can sign up for a night. Maybe we could even find a recording studio somewhere; I bet there’s one in Omaha. You could record a few tracks so you have a CD to sell. The gal I saw sing had some, and I know she sold at least a handful …” He filled the silence, and for that Amelia was grateful, even if his words piled more expectations on her shoulders than she felt strong enough to bear.
She tried her best that day. And it seemed that Marcus was clueless about how much his plans for their future made her feel more hopeless, rather than hopeful. She knew he was just trying to show her that she could make a living as a musician in Wheatridge one way or another, but he’d say things like, “I looked into what substitute teachers make in this school district. You could sub for band, or orchestra, or general music classes and make a pretty decent amount of money,” or “The Blue Note offers lessons, too. We should see if they need a piano teacher” and all Amelia heard was “You’re never leaving here, so you might as well put down roots.” By the time they got home from the mall, she was lower than she’d felt since arriving in Nebraska, and the turn her thoughts had taken scared her more than they had that day she’d first felt vaguely suicidal on the way to Pippin. She was in a perfect Catch-22: Drown in LA or drown in Nebraska. Either way she was doomed.
The final nail in the coffin came when they arrived at the apartment. Amelia had planned on begging off for a nap the minute they walked in the door, but before she could open her mouth, Marcus said, “Hey, there’s something I want to show you.”
Amelia sat on the couch and rubbed a hand over her eyes as he disappeared into the kitchen. When he returned, he held a piece of paper in his hand. “Now, I know it would take some saving, and we might not get enough in time. But I saw this place when I first moved here, and every time I look at the pictures I can practically see us in them.”
He handed her the flyer. Pictures of a bare dining room space, of a modern kitchen flanked by 1930s woodwork, of a front room lit with large windows and graced by a shining petite baby grand slowly sank in. A house. He’d found them a house. He wanted to buy a house.
“The piano comes with the place. Isn’t that incredible? Hardwood floors, tons of upgrades but all this gorgeous structural stuff—wouldn’t it be amazing? Can’t you just picture us there, in front of that beautif
ul fireplace, maybe a kid sliding around in socks—”
“A kid?” Her tone was sharper than she’d meant for it to be, but the rising panic in her chest shut down the filter between her head and her mouth.
“I—yeah, well, eventually, I mean. Like I said, this place might sell before—”
“I’m not moving here for good, Marcus. We discussed this. I’m just here until I’ve got this—this ‘depression,’ or whatever it is, figured out, and then I’m going back.”
“I know, but—”
“No buts, Marcus. You act like it’s … like it’s decided that I’m staying but I’m not, I …” Her hand clutched her chest as it squeezed the air from her lungs. “I don’t want to … Oh God, I can’t breathe.”
Her body began to shake. She gasped for breath. Her hands clawed at her chest, as though she could dig a hole to her airway. The room began to go fuzzy. Marcus dropped to her side and gripped her knees with his hands. “Amelia, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t—I don’t—”
Marcus tried gently to take her hands, but she yanked them away, not able to stand the feeling of being restrained. “I think you’re having a panic attack,” he said, a note of authority in his voice but his face belying his concern. “You need to try to calm down. Here—try to breathe as slowly as you can.”
She gulped for breath, and suddenly Marcus stood and ran into the bedroom, then came back out holding her iPod and fumbling with her earbuds. “Wear these and we’ll put on some relaxing music. Maybe that will help.” He handed her the earbuds and she pressed them to her ears, unable to steady her hands enough to insert them properly. Marcus scrolled through her playlists and selected Bedtime, the list she’d made last month. Pachabel’s Canon began to play, and Amelia shut her eyes and tried to let the music soothe her. Marcus sat beside her as she continued to breathe as slowly as she could.
Things were not improving, but suddenly Amelia didn’t care. If she gave herself over to it, maybe it would overtake her. Could a person die from a panic attack? That’d be nice.
Composing Amelia Page 15
