Reese respected that.
I knew it couldn’t have been easy for him to do, to not tell my family what happened or take me straight to the police station. I could see it in his eyes, in the crease between his brows when he’d agreed to keep it between us. He didn’t like it, but he agreed because it was what I wanted.
True to his word.
And for the first time since it happened, someone else knew what I’d been through. It was the relief I never knew I needed, and it seemed to unleash what I’d been holding back at the piano.
After I’d dried my tears and blown my nose about eighty times that day, we had our first piano lesson since he’d kissed me. It was short, but it was our first step into normalcy — and after that, the rest came just as easy.
Within a few days, we were back into our lessons, picking up right where we left off. We were back to Reese instructing from the corner of the room, not touching me, not holding me, not looking at me like he wanted to devour me.
Within a week, we were moving on to new challenges — transposing, fighting the bad habits I’d developed from earlier teachers in my life, and, as always, vulnerability and tension at the piano. We discussed piano and nothing else, just like we should.
The Fourth of July passed with both of us working at The Kinky Starfish — Reese playing for the patrons while I bussed tables. On his break, we stood outside and watched the fireworks over the city, and it’d been the closest we’d stood since he hugged me in his kitchen when I’d told him about my wolf.
And now, a little more than two weeks after the night Reese pressed his lips to mine, we were completely back to normal — well, as close to normal as we could get. I saw him on lesson days and, sometimes, for brief breaks at work. He would assign me pieces and critique my execution of them, giving me new things to work on. I was getting stronger, feeling better — my wrists and fingers finally able to keep up with the demand I put on myself as a musician. I wondered if the strength came with my admission to Reese, or with our practicing, or perhaps a combination of the two.
Everything should have felt perfect.
But there was a stirring inside me, one that had come to life the night Reese had touched me. And though I knew it was the right thing to keep our distance, to put those walls back up between us, to move forward as student and teacher and nothing more — I couldn’t deny that I missed him.
I missed talking, missed laughing, missed opening myself up to him and listening when he did the same. I missed that connection, though it was still there, under the surface, buzzing like the universal om of the universe. It was the strangest thing, that we were still together, yet Reese felt so distant now.
He said he would never cross that line again, that he would respect me and the role he played in my life.
And, again, he was true to his word.
“I have a new piece for you,” he said to me at our Monday lesson, taking a seat on the bench next to me as he set up the sheet music in front of us.
He kept plenty of space between his leg and my own, and though it was what I’d said I wanted, what I said I thought was best, I wished in that moment that I could close the distance.
“It’s not classical. In fact, it’s quite modern. But… well, I think it will open you in a new way.”
“Why do I feel like I should be scared right now?”
Reese chuckled. “Don’t be scared.” He paused, eyeing me for a moment before his hands found the keys. “Do you sing at all?”
“Sometimes,” I said.
He nodded, fingers already moving over the keys as a slow, sad melody came to life at his will. “I want you to sing this as I play.”
I balked. “Uh… no. I’m not singing in front of you.”
“Come on,” he said on a laugh. “It’s just us. I’m not judging. I just want you to read these lyrics, sing them, feel them. They’re as important as the music in this particular assignment.”
I whined. “Reese, I’m terrible. I’ll split your eardrums.”
But he didn’t acknowledge me, just kept playing, his body moving more with the notes as the opening stretched on. Then, he closed his eyes, that crease between his brows making itself known before he opened his mouth and sang.
And the voice that came out of that man nearly knocked me off the bench.
My jaw dropped dramatically, though Reese couldn’t see with his eyes closed like that. Everything about that moment surprised me — the raspy, deep rumble of his voice echoing off the walls as he played, the way the lyrics melted with the music, the fact that Reese was singing in front of me. The lyrics spoke of no one knowing him like the piano in his mom’s house, and he sang on, moving with the dramatic notes in the music as he did.
His hair was pulled back, fastened loosely at the nape of his neck with the dark strands falling out of place to frame his jaw. That jaw was thick with stubble, the skin under his eyes dark like he hadn’t been sleeping. And as he bent and flowed with the music, singing each word like he felt it in his soul, I truly believed he did.
Reese Walker was only thirty-seven years old, but he’d lived a thousand lives. Of that, I was sure.
I was enraptured, pulled into that moment with him — like the music was a magic carpet that transported us to another world. And the longer I watched him, the more I wanted to reside in this world instead of the one we’d just been in before. In this world, I felt like I could hold Reese. In this world, I felt like he could kiss me.
In this world, we could lose ourselves between the strings of that piano forever.
When the song came to an end, he opened his eyes, bringing his hands to his lap as he turned to me.
“Reese… that was beautiful.”
His eyes searched mine, and for the briefest moment, it was the way he looked at me before. Before he knew. Before I’d said no, and he’d listened.
Reese cleared his throat, standing and crossing the room to his corner like he had to put space between us or he’d kiss me again.
Part of me wished he would.
The bigger part of me knew he couldn’t, that I wouldn’t let him.
“Thank you,” he said as he walked. When he was back in the corner, he turned, folding his arms over one another. “It’s called No One Knows Me by Sampha. Relatively new song, but when I heard it…” He swallowed. “It just hit me in a soft spot. And I feel like it will do the same for you.” He smirked. “Maybe help us get over this vulnerability mountain we’ve been climbing.”
I returned his smile, nodding gently before my hands found the keys. I read the music on the sheet in front of me, feeling out the new song, piecing it all together.
“Take that home with you,” he said as I played around with the music. “I want you to sing as you learn it, really listen to not just the music, but the lyrics. Okay?”
I pulled my hands away from the keys, reaching for the music to tuck into my messenger bag, instead. “Okay. But I’m going to tell Uncle Randall that it’s you to blame for the windows breaking when I sing.”
Reese chuckled.
Rojo lazily trotted into the room with us, drooling around a yellow tennis ball in her mouth. She dropped it at Reese’s feet and sat, looking up at him with her tongue hanging out.
“I know, girl. I know. We’ll go play soon,” he said, rubbing her head.
“She fetches now?”
He nodded. “When I lift outside, she likes to go out with me and play. At first, she just laid there in the sun, but now, she’ll bring me this ball and fetch it for a while. I was thinking about taking her to the dog park this weekend, get her out of the house a little.”
The image of Reese without his shirt on the day I’d come to tell him about Wolfgang was one I was sure I’d never get out of my head, and it was easy to picture him out back, sitting on the bench I’d noticed a few times with weights lining the bottom of it. I wondered if he did calisthenics, if the neighbors watched the sweat rolling from his hairline the way I had that day, following it in a tran
ce as it slid down his temple, his jaw, his neck, chest, abdomen.
I swallowed, shaking the thoughts away.
“Can I come?”
The words were out of my mouth before I realized I shouldn’t have asked, shouldn’t have invited myself to hang out with Reese outside of our lessons. That was what I’d asked him for — those boundaries.
Now, they sort of felt like prison bars.
Reese furrowed his brows, scratching at his jaw as he considered my request.
“I’m sorry,” I said on a sigh, shoving my folder into my messenger bag along with my new assignment. “I just… I don’t get out much on the weekends, other than our Sunday lesson. But that’s not your problem. I shouldn’t have asked you that. It’s your weekend, I’m sure you’d like to spend it without the student you have to put up with all week.”
I was trying to joke, aiming for lightness in my voice that I somehow missed.
“I don’t mind if you join.”
I glanced up at him from the bench. “Are you sure?”
It seemed like Reese was at war inside that head of his, like he was battling between what he should say and what he wanted to. “Yeah. I’m sure. Rojo would love it.”
Would you love it, too?
I smiled, swallowing that question down. “Okay. As long as you’re sure.”
***
Reese
“Wait, wait, wait,” I said, still laughing around a mouthful of pretzels. “You’re serious? You used to fish?”
Sarah nodded, swallowing the last bite of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “Mm-hmm. It was one of my dad’s favorite things to do on the weekends, and I was hell bent on being his fishing buddy. I’d help him pick out lures, hook worms, fix reels. The whole shebang.”
“You stuck hooks in worms, and now you’re vegan?”
She threw a pretzel at me. “I told you, I was young. I didn’t know any better!”
I was still chuckling as she smoothed out her long skirt, crossing one ankle over the other. We were both seated on an old blanket of mine, the shade from the dogwood tree we’d parked under offering reprieve from the hot sun. A cool breeze whipped in from time to time, blowing back the light, creamsicle-colored orange scarf Sarah wore around her neck. It was the brightest color I’d seen her wear, and it matched the gem stones in the small earrings adorning her earlobes.
She looked happy and free, and it was my favorite way to see her.
Rojo had played in the park all afternoon, but now she was sprawled out on her side, half in the sun and half in the shade on the other side of Sarah. I’d considered cancelling, telling Sarah I changed my mind and wouldn’t be able to take Rojo to the park like I’d planned. I knew being with her outside of our lessons was dangerous, a fire I shouldn’t play with or even stand next to for warmth. But, the temptation to spend more time with her won out, along with the dejected look on her face when she’d thought I was going to say no when she originally asked.
The truth was, I missed her.
I missed talking to her, missed her laugh, her jokes, her incessant need to give me advice on my life even though I hadn’t asked for it. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t have Rojo — and that dog had become my everything within a month.
Sarah had brought light into my life, and when we’d put those boundaries between us again, it was like a thick, gray cloud had returned.
I just wanted a little time in the sun again.
“When I was that age, I’d do just about anything to hang out with my dad,” she said after a moment, her smile back as her eyes gazed off in the distance. “He was my hero. Then again, I suppose that’s every little girl.”
“Did he listen to you play?”
She nodded. “Oh, yes. He’s the reason my dream is what it is.”
I frowned, reaching for one of the bottles of water we’d packed and cracking it open. “What do you mean?”
“He took me to a performance at Carnegie Hall when I was eleven.” She shook her head, eyes lighting up as she reached for her crystal. “It was when Daniel Barenboim played with the Staatskapelle Berlin string quartet.”
“Wow.”
She laughed. “Right? I remember sitting there in the audience, dressed up and holding my dad’s hand, mouth hanging open pretty much the entire performance.”
“I would have been catching flies, too.”
Sarah chuckled. “It was so incredible, and so moving. One moment I’d be smiling and laughing, bouncing with the music. The next? I’d be quietly crying. And my dad squeezed my hand and never let go the entire time.” She softened at that, picking at the grass near the edge of the blanket. “When the show was over and everyone got up to make their way out, he made me stay and sit. And when the theatre was nearly empty, he pointed up at the stage, and he said, ‘You belong up there. That’s going to be you one day.’ And from that moment on, it was my dream to make his words come true.”
The breeze picked up, blowing what was left of the spring blooms on the dogwood above us. Little puffs of white floated down and around us, surfing the wind until they landed on the grass or our blanket. I just watched Sarah pick at the grass until Rojo shifted, her head rolling over onto Sarah’s leg. She smiled at that, rubbing behind Rojo’s ear.
Suddenly, it all made sense — her passion, her drive, her optimism when it came to Carnegie, despite all the obstacles life had handed her. She could have quit after her father passed, or after her injury, or after her professor assaulted her. But instead, she’d taken that pain and used it as fuel. She’d made a promise to her father and to herself, and no matter how out of reach it seemed to get on that stage in New York, she was going to do it.
She believed it. I believed it.
It would happen. I knew that more than anything in my entire life.
I watched her petting my dog as all that sank in, as my heart swelled with respect and care. I’d never talked to anyone in my entire life the way I talked with Sarah, the way she talked with me. How was it that we’d only known each other a few months, and yet, she was so easy to open up to, to show my scars to?
And her scars didn’t scare me. They looked just like mine. I understood them — the shiny skin, the curve of the mark, the deep branding of the cut. I knew it all too well.
This.
This was what I missed.
Her stories, her unique way of looking at life, her optimism, her unmovable belief that she would make her dreams come true. Sarah was unlike any woman I’d met before. She was positive despite the cards life had handed her. Where I broke under the tragedies of my life, she flourished under hers.
“Anyway,” she said, shaking her head as she turned to me. “What about you? What are your dreams?”
I let my head fall back as a bark of a laugh left my chest. When I looked back at Sarah, her brows were drawn in. “Wait, are you serious?”
“Of course, I’m serious.”
I laughed again. “Sarah, I’m thirty-seven years old.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” She scrunched up her nose. “You can have dreams no matter how old you are. Surely, there must be something you want to achieve, somewhere you want to go, some place you want to see?”
The way she was looking at me, it was the first time in my life that I felt ashamed of my answer to that question. I’d always just embraced it, accepted that my life was never going to turn out the way I thought it would when I was twelve. My family was gone. The woman I wanted to marry married someone else. I pissed away my talent instead of putting myself to work in Manhattan. I was a mess in every sense of the word, and I’d always been okay with it.
Until I had to answer to Sarah.
“The only thing I want is to survive,” I said, and then I sort of scoffed. “And honestly, even that comes in waves.”
Sarah’s face crumpled at that. “Reese…”
“I don’t mean it like that,” I said quickly, yanking the hair tie from where it was holding my hair at the nape of my neck. I
ran my hands through it, situating it again before replacing the tie. “I just mean that my time for dreaming has come and gone. I just want to play piano and make enough money to pay my bills.” I looked at Rojo, who was panting from laying in the sun, her eyes closed and little mouth turned up into what could be a smile. “And take care of that one, now, too.”
Sarah rubbed Rojo’s head, but her mouth was pulled to the side when she faced me again. The way the sun streamed through the tree above us, it highlighted her mocha skin in little streams of gold, the flecks in her eyes coming to life with each blow of the wind.
“You’re not too old to dream, Reese,” she said softly. “But if you’re happy, that’s all that matters.”
I internally laughed at that. Happy. When was the last time I could say that word in a sentence that described how I felt? But, this was just another difference between us, Sarah and I. She was young, she had her whole life ahead of her. And I did not.
My time had passed, and whether I wanted to be in Mount Lebanon teaching piano to prep school kids or not didn’t matter. I had a job, and a house that was my own. I had my health — for the most part, though I knew smoking wasn’t going to help me keep that statement accurate for long.
I wasn’t necessarily happy, but I was okay.
That was enough for me.
“Have you ever written a song?” I asked her, changing the subject away from me. “For piano? Have you ever composed?”
Sarah took a deep breath, eyes floating up to the tree branches above us. “Only once. After my dad died.” She chuckled. “It was awful, but it meant something to me.”
“You should play it for me sometime.”
“That will never happen,” she said quickly. “It’s really hard for me to create music. I can play it, but asking me to figure out how to build a song, how to find a melody that conveys what I’m feeling? It’s like asking me to design a website. I know nothing.”
“That’s not true,” I said. “You just have to have the right inspiration. I didn’t write my first song until after my family died, either. And the first real one I wrote that I was proud of came when I least expected it.”
Best Kept Secrets: The Complete Series Page 69
