by Arlo Arrow
Now the attention was on me, and I wished I would have never come to the house at all. My intentions were to pay my respects and leave, not speak to those I had avoided for so many years and give an impromptu performance.
Still, I knew that I had to accede to Rachel’s wishes. It was the least I could do, anyway.
I examined her violin, and it brought back a flood of memories of sitting with her in my study, teaching her the instrument. Raising the pad to my chin, it even smelled like Susan, sweet and flowery. I inhaled slowly and began to play.
The music came from hours of repetition and practice I had endured, plus the emotions I was feeling now. I felt grief for the friends taken from this earth too soon, and the agony their daughter was in. But, I could also feel their spirits in the room with me and I played for them. Without really thinking about it, my somber melody turned lively, in celebration of the lives that were lost just days ago.
When I finished, I looked up at the small crowd. There was hardly a dry eye in the room. I, too, blinked back the moisture from my eyes, feeling things I hadn’t felt in years. Everything I pushed down inside of me felt as if it were an animal loose from its cage, running free.
“Thank you so much, Jeffrey,” Rachel said, reappearing into the living room. “I know my brother would have loved that.”
“It’s no problem,” I murmured. “It’s an honor to play for them.”
She looked around before lowering her voice and spoke into my ear. “Can we speak alone for a moment?”
My heart started pounding, wondering where she was going with this. I felt as if she had read my thoughts from earlier and was ready to admonish me for them.
“Sure,” I said, my mouth dry. I followed her through the kitchen, back to the patio where Susan and I had talked.
“As you can see,” Rachel said hesitantly, “things are not great with Susan right now. She blames herself for her parents’ and brother’s death. You see, they were on their way to her concert when they were hit by a drunk driver. Scott and Caroline were killed on impact,” Rachel explained, tears welling up in her eyes. “Luke was transported to the hospital, but he didn’t make it through surgery. By the time the concert was over, he was gone too. The poor thing didn’t have the chance to say goodbye.”
“That’s awful,” I groaned, resting my head in my hands.
“So, as you can imagine, she’s quite down on herself with anything pertaining to the violin now. In fact, I don’t think she can even listen to music at the moment.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. She’s an excellent musician.”
“The problem is, music is now her career. If she cannot play, she cannot make a living, unless she suddenly finds a new career path. That’s where I need your help.”
“My help?” I asked, completely caught off guard. “No, I don’t think there’s anything I can do.”
“You can, though. You’re her old instructor. You know her talent better than anyone. If anyone can help her play again, it’s you.”
I tried to swallow, but my mouth still felt dry. I wasn’t the right man for the job. I could hardly get my own life together; let alone someone else’s. Plus, I hardly felt like I knew her anymore. It had been years since we last sat down together and talked, let alone rehearsed together.
“I’m flattered that you thought of me, but I don’t think I’m the right pick for this. I hardly teach lessons anymore. I’m also not particularly good at dealing with other people’s problems. To be perfectly honest, I’m not that great at dealing with my own.”
Rachel frowned. “I don’t know what else I can possibly do. Her parents left her a little bit of money, but it’s not enough to last her more than a few years. If she can’t start working again, there’s no one to help support her. Besides, it’s more than just money—I don’t want her feelings of depression to get any worse. She refuses to see anyone and I can’t force her to. I figured if you could convince her to do a few lessons with you, then she’d be able to open up and start to heal.”
I studied the creases on her face. She looked exhausted and I felt terrible for telling her no. Rachel and I weren’t close friends or anything, but I knew her. She was a sweet woman who had committed her life to taking care of her husband with muscular dystrophy. She already had her hands full. I also knew that if no one could get through to Susan, it would be the end of her music career.
“So, what exactly do you want me to do?” I asked, wringing my hands.
A faint smile appeared across her lips. “Just go up to her room and talk to her. Tell her that you want her to take a few lessons with you and see what she says. I think if you’re convincing enough, she’ll agree to it.”
“Now?” I asked.
She laughed. “There’s no better time. Hers is the first one on the left.”
Rachel got up and went back inside. Once she was out of earshot, I let out a loud groan. I was in too deep already.
Forcing one foot in front of the other, I walked back inside and up the stairs. I raised my hand to knock on the door but it froze in mid-air. I knew that if I offered to help and she accepted it, then the strange feelings I had for her would only grow stronger. She could never be interested in an old man like that—I was twice her age!
Just like everything else, I would have to keep my feelings hidden, for her benefit. It would be difficult, but I had to give it a shot.
I mustered up the courage to knock and a teary-eyed Susan opened the door. She gasped.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” I said, feeling guilty for intruding on such a dark moment. “I was about to leave and I wanted to speak to you before I went.”
“Okay,” she said, moving out of the doorway to sit at her vanity. She dabbed at her eyes and quickly applied makeup to cover her reddened face.
“I know you’re going through a tough time, so I understand if you don’t want to,” I said nervously, “but I’d like you to come around to my place and take a few lessons. It might help.”
“Really?” she asked, surprised. “I don’t know, I’m not really in the mood to play.”
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “It was stupid of me to come up here. I’m sorry I bothered you. Of course, you wouldn’t want to spend time with me.”
I cringed harder than I ever had before. I had just made a complete fool of myself in front of Susan. I would have to go back to never speaking to her, and just wondering how she was doing from afar.
I felt as though I wanted to evaporate on the spot. From start to finish, this day was a disaster. I wanted to be at home, where at least I had a nice bottle of whiskey to help me forget all about it.
“No,” she said, as I turned to leave. “You’re right. Thank you for offering. That would actually be really nice.”
A tiny smile appeared on her face and I couldn’t help but wonder if this small victory would end in disaster later.
Chapter 3
Susan
One night, during my first year in college, I got way too drunk on flavored vodka and stumbled my way into a childish game of truth or dare. I was never the type to tell the truth, so I was dared into sending a racy text message to someone on my phone.
Being the foolish idiot that I was, I scrolled through my contacts, names blurring together until I found the one that stuck out to me. Seizing the rare moment of utter fearlessness, I pecked out a typo-ridden message to Jeffrey Knight. I told him that I was thinking about his sexy body and about how I wanted his nimble hands to touch me like he fingered the strings.
The next morning, between dry heaves, I apologized profusely and blamed it all on my drunk roommate. I think he believed me because he said he was surprised to see such words coming from me.
I suppose I didn’t even know if he had a sexy body or not, to be honest. I mean, he wore fitted dress shirts that showed the outline of his figure. I remember him talking about hiking trips and rock climbing expeditions, so he must be reasonably fit. If I had to guess, underneath the
slim-cut suits, he probably had a nice body for a man his age.
But that wasn’t the point. Even if my sober self denied it, I had a crush on Jeffrey. I would never in a thousand years admit it to his face, but it stuck in my subconscious. Seeing him in my parents’ home, in my childhood bedroom made the feelings bubble up under the surface.
But why now?
Why was he suddenly around at the lowest point of my life? Why wasn’t he around during the high points, like when I was accepted into one of the best performing arts colleges in the country? Or when I graduated at the top of my class? Or even when I took a job performing in the same orchestra that I watched him in all those years ago? Maybe then I would have been able to impress him as a fully formed adult. Instead, he shows up when I’m a complete mess.
Still, when one of the best violinists I’ve ever known knocks on your bedroom door and asks you to take lessons with him, you can hardly say no. Especially when the sight of him sends your internal organs into spasms.
After I wiped my tears and accepted his very generous offer, I tried to play it cool. I hoped that he had forgotten all about the text messages from my younger years. I was different now—a little more mature and a little wiser.
“I’m not sure if you know this,” Jeffrey said apprehensively, “but I have a different address. I can write it down for you if you want.”
I found a notebook and pen and handed it over to him. He scrawled a few lines on the paper.
“Redwood Avenue?” I asked, reading his chicken scratch. “Isn’t that over by the park? Why did you move from your house in the country? I always loved that place.”
“Grace and I,” he started, searching for words. “We, uh, split up a few years back. Did you not know about this?”
I shook my head. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“No, no, that’s all in the past,” he said, waving his hand. “You really don’t need to feel sorry for me. I did plenty to make that marriage fail.”
I felt incredibly uncomfortable digging up dirt on him. I suspected things weren’t great with his wife after hearing gossip between my parents. That was before he went off the grid. I suppose his gradual disappearance from the spotlight made sense now.
“Or,” he said quickly, “if you want, I can come by here for your lesson.”
“Oh, no,” I said. “I’m not staying here. I mean, I was for a short amount of time until I found my own place. I just can’t stand to stay here. I’m moving into Rachel’s guest bedroom until I figure out a new living situation.”
“Right,” he said, twiddling his thumbs. “Then my place, it is. When works best for you? I’m sure you’re busy, or you’ll want to take a little time off. Do you want to give me a call in a couple weeks?”
“Not really,” I replied. “I have nothing going on and no desire to spend my days around people who pity me. How about tomorrow?”
He raised his eyebrows. I hoped I wasn’t coming off too strong, or being too obvious. The truth was, I wanted his companionship just as much, if not more, than the violin lessons.
Having his wife out of the picture made everything even more appealing. I wasn’t going to try anything with him, but I couldn’t help but feel a tiny pang of jealousy when I’d see his hands all over her. I would smile when he greeted her with a kiss because they were very sweet together, but I always felt like there was some sort of void in my life when they did.
“Are you sure you want to come over tomorrow?” he asked, a little flustered.
“Is that a problem?”
“Not at all. I’m just surprised, that’s all. I’ll prepare some sheet music tonight. I suppose I’ll do a little tidying up as well. It’s been a while since I’ve had guests in that house.”
He smiled, but his eyes looked sad. I knew the feeling.
“Well,” he said, snapping out of his trance. “I should get out of your hair. I’ll see you tomorrow. How does three o’clock sound?”
“Sounds good,” I replied.
He leaned in as if he were about to embrace me, but the second I leaned in, he snapped back and briskly walked out the door.
After that, I had no desire to be around anyone, so I closed the door and crawled into bed.
Once again, I was in the position of being infatuated with a man that I had absolutely no business being interested in. For a moment, I wished my mom was around to talk to her about it, but then I remembered that this was one of her friends. It would be even more horrifying if they knew about it.
There was no chance that Jeffrey could ever find interest in me. For starters, I was the daughter of his late friends. Secondly, he had known me as a teen, when I was awkward and gross. Finally, I was just too young for him. He deserved a woman his age, someone worldly and fascinating. I hardly ever left the house when I was practicing for something, which was a large chunk of my life. I just wasn’t his type and he had made it clear to me time and time again.
I covered my face with my pillow, frustrated at myself for having these feelings at a time like this. Still, I was excited to go to his house the next day for a lesson. If anyone could pull me out of this funk, it would be him.
“Did Jeffrey talk to you?” my aunt asked a few moments later, poking her head in the door.
“Yes,” I replied, sitting up. “I’m going to his place tomorrow at three.”
“Excellent,” she said, sounding pleased. “You’ll get back to playing in no time.”
“No promises,” I said glumly.
“Do you want to come back down to the reception?” she asked gently. “I think the last people will be leaving within the hour.”
I thought for a moment before answering. “Not particularly, no.”
She nodded in acceptance. “I’ll bring you a plate of leftovers. You need to eat.”
After she left the room, I got up off my bed and examined my face in the mirror. My usually rosy cheeks looked pale and gaunt. I pulled the elastic band out of my hair, letting my deep brown hair fall to my lower back. My long, straight hair made me look even more emaciated. Maybe I would try to eat a sandwich after all.
I dug through my nightstand until I found a picture of him. I was in high school at a music contest and Jeffrey was standing next to me, his hand on my shoulder. He looked virtually the same, but I had changed. My lanky body had grown curves in all the right places. My face became more angular, more serious. I wasn’t the cheery girl in the photographs. I wasn’t the same girl he used to know.
Chapter 4
Jeffrey
I woke up at ten the next day and furiously scrubbed at every surface in my little cottage by the pond. I took out trash that had probably been thrown away a month ago and threw away the moldy food from out of the fridge.
Then, I ran to the store and bought hand soap for the bathroom and some fancy teas. While I was more of a coffee drinker myself, I remembered that Susan had a taste for fine teas after she returned from a young symphony tour of Asia.
On my way to the checkout, I spotted a beautiful bouquet of hydrangeas. I hadn’t purchased flowers since before things went south with my ex-wife, but I thought they would brighten things up and maybe make Susan feel a little more at home in my house.
I didn’t know how formal an event this would be, so I put on a pair of khaki slacks and a collared shirt. I rolled up the sleeves, hoping I would look nice, yet casual. My closet was full of clothes my wife bought for me, but I rarely wore. Like most of the things in my home, they were just taking up space and collecting dust.
After there was nothing else to do to make me, or my home more presentable, I waited. I paced back and forth for a while, but even that became tiring. Finally, I just sat down, picked up my violin, and played.
I hadn’t played a lot in recent months, but the music came easily. I usually played slow, sad songs, but the notes I was fiddling with were light and happy. In fact, I was so pleased with what I was composing on the spot, that I took out my tape recorder so I could make the nota
tions later. After a long dry spell with my music, I was finally able to string some notes together that didn’t sound like absolute garbage to me.
A knock at the door nearly sent me flying out of my chair, I was so startled. I raked my fingers through my wild hair and walked to the door. Though the small pane of glass in the door, I could see Susan’s outline. Her long hair fell into soft curls near her waist and she looked gorgeous in her light blue dress, the same color as the hydrangeas that sat in a glass jar on my kitchen table.
“Welcome to my home,” I said casually as she followed me in through the front door.
“Thanks,” she said quietly. “It’s very kind of you to try to help me out. I’m still not sure if I’m ready to play.”
“That’s okay,” I replied as she set her violin case on the table. “We’ll see how much you’re up to playing and we can always call it quits early. Shall we sit in the living room?”
I gestured toward the couch, one of the last remaining pieces of furniture from my old house. She sat down, tucking her legs underneath her flowing skirt.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” I asked, walking back toward the kitchen.
“Coffee would be great if you have it,” she called to me.
I stuffed my tea set back into the cupboard and got out my old coffee pot instead.
“Sugar or cream?” I called.
“A touch of milk, perhaps, but that’s it,” she replied.
I quietly hummed my new melody while I assembled our drinks. When they were ready, I brought them back out into the living room. I found Susan standing at my bookshelf, flipping through books of old newspaper and magazine clippings from my performance days.
“What was it like to play at the White House?” she asked, tracing her finger along a page.
“A little nerve-wracking,” I admitted, “but not as scary as playing for the Queen of England. Both were fantastic performances by me.”
Susan giggled. “I bet the fame never goes to your head, does it?” she teased.
