Solo (Symphony Hall)

by Lauren E. Rico

  “It’s been a long time,” I say slowly. “Are you…have you two…?”

  His brows knit together in apparent confusion.

  “I mean, did she marry someone else or something?”

  He’s staring at me so intently that I think I’ve pissed him off again. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it. Finally, he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and tries again.

  “Katherine, what do you think happened to my fiancée?”

  I shrug. “I heard you had a bad breakup. I just assumed that’s why sometimes you seem so—” I stop short. Not because I’m afraid to offend him anymore, but because he staring at me with wide, disbelieving eyes. Shit. Something’s very wrong here.

  “Who told you that?” he demands.

  “Well, uh, I’d hear other students talking about it—about you—in class.” I shake my head. “You know it’s amazing the things people will say in front of you when they don’t like you. It’s like I cease to exist because they don’t want to see me…” I can see he’s not interested in my little digression so I get back to his question. “Um, yeah, so I would hear people commenting on it all the time back then. Ugly breakup. She left you heartbroken. That kind of thing.”

  We just look at each other for what feels like a long time until, finally, he speaks again.

  “Katherine, Casey didn’t leave me. She died.”

  And just like that, I feel the air get sucked right out of the room.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Drew

  Is it really possible that Casey’s been gone so long that people don’t know? Don’t know her, or what happened? Christ, it was all over the news in the beginning. But I can see clearly that Katherine had no clue. I suppose just because I couldn’t get away from it doesn’t mean other people couldn’t.

  “Tell me about her,” she says from next to me.

  It’s the first time anyone has asked me to do that. I have to think for a second.

  “Uh, well, her name is—was Cassandra. Casey, we called her. We met as graduate music majors in New York. She was a pianist. And she was just this kind and gentle soul. It’s like her heart was bigger than other people’s. She cared about everyone. Worried about everyone. And she looked…a lot like you. But she was very different.”

  “Not a bitch then?” she says with the hint of a grin in her voice.

  “I never said you were a bitch,” I object.

  “Yeah, well, you didn’t have to,” she concedes so quietly that I’m not even sure I was meant to hear.

  “Difficult. You can be difficult, Katherine. But that’s not what I meant anyway. She wasn’t strong like you are. She was delicate. Fragile, really.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, when I say she worried about everyone, I mean everyone. She was empathetic to the point of being overwhelmed by other people’s problems. She worried about global things like world peace. She worried about local things, like her teacher’s brother’s daughter’s cancer. And then she struggled with depression—maybe because of all that empathy, but then again, maybe not. It’s hard to say. The crazy thing is that she had so much. She was a gifted pianist. Her family adored her. I adored her. This profound, constant sense of worrying—it was just part of who she was, you know?”

  I sense her nodding next to me but she doesn’t comment, just keeps listening with the utmost attention to every word. It feels good, having someone hear me for a change. No greeting card platitudes or awkward glances. Just an ear. It gives me the courage to share more than I’ve shared in a very long time.

  “Anyway, I was in love with her. So, so in love with her. We got engaged and then we found out she was pregnant.”

  Katherine takes a sharp breath from next to me. But still, she doesn’t comment, so I continue.

  “We were over-the-moon happy. She wanted to come back here to North Carolina—this is where she grew up—so she could be closer to her mother. And I could work wherever. We had a little money between us, and her parents helped us out, too, so we bought this house. We planned a wedding for after the baby was born. It was a wonderful time, we were really happy,” I say, hearing the wistfulness in my voice.

  “What happened? To the baby, I mean,” she asks when I’ve been silent for a long while.

  I sigh heavily. No one ever asks about him, either.

  “She lost him. We lost him.”

  She gasps and I feel her eyes on me, but I can’t bring myself to look. I don’t want to see the pity that I’m sure must be there, waiting for me.

  “They don’t even know why, really. It was just one of those things. Apparently it’s not uncommon to lose a pregnancy in the first trimester. But for us, well, it was just so devastating. All of our plans for the future were wrapped up in that baby.”

  When I hear a sniff, I can’t help myself, I cast a quick glance at the woman next to me. She’s swiping at the tears that are threatening to spill onto her cheeks. I’m shocked. Not by the tears, but by the sentiment. It’s not pity in her face. What is it? Sympathy? No, more like sadness, I think. Pure, utter, profound sadness for a couple who lost their child. A couple she never knew. I turn away from the raw force of her emotion. When I finally speak again, my tone is more composed.

  “Yeah, so, there was no coming back from that. Not for her, anyway. I was heartbroken, but I thought maybe, someday, we’d try again. But Casey, well, she wasn’t strong enough to weather that particular blow. Her parents and I tried so hard, but Casey knew. She knew what we were doing and she played along, pretending to be okay so we would relax a little. So that we wouldn’t be watching her so closely. And then, one day…she was gone.”

  “What?” Katherine breathes next to me and then catches herself. She puts a small hand on my arm. “I’m sorry, you don’t need to tell me…”

  I shake my head and give her a pained smile. “No, it’s okay, I understand. Um, well, she drove up to Andersonville Township and hiked up to Pikes Peak. She loved it there, especially in the fall when the leaves were red and yellow and orange for as far as the eye can see. At some point, she climbed over the guardrail and she just…let go. She didn’t even jump, really. She just let go of her life.”

  There is nothing. Not a single breath between us. It’s as if time has stopped and we’re suspended in this cloud of my memories. At last, she is the one to break the spell and send us plummeting back to terra firma.

  “I’d say I’m sorry, but that doesn’t make it any better, does it?”

  I shake my head, somehow not surprised that she understands.

  “And her parents?”

  “Ah, well, her mother is wonderful. Her father hates me. He blames me for what happened. I’m surprised he never told you that himself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  When I look at her face, I realize what I’ve done. Again, she has no idea.

  Fuck. Me.

  This just gets worse by the second. I take a deep breath and meet her eyes steadily.

  “Katherine, Casey’s mother is Maureen Clevenger.”

  She looks completely perplexed now, unable to fashion together the pieces of the puzzle that she’s holding in her hands.

  “But, Maureen is Russ’s ex-wife, isn’t she?”

  I open my mouth to solve it for her, but I see it on her face the instant it all snaps into place. She gasps again, her eyes growing large with her understanding.

  “Oh my God,” she whispers hoarsely. “Casey was Maureen and Russell’s daughter? You were engaged to their daughter?”

  I nod grimly as I watch her try to process this information; try to fill in all the blanks.

  “Okay,” she begins again slowly, “so how did you end up teaching at Shepherd, then?”

  “Maureen. The same way she brought Russell on staff, she hired me. It was the only way she could think of to help either of us. Maureen always seemed to know something like this might happen. But Russell—he was in denial. He kept telling her Casey was fine, that it was a phase. I thi
nk it’s what ultimately led to their divorce. And then, he was on the road all the time, conducting orchestras all over the world. Maureen was here. She helped me with Casey during the worst of it and we got to be very close. I just—I fell apart…after…and I didn’t want to do anything. I didn’t want to leave this house. Hell, I didn’t want to get out of the goddamned bed. And then, one day, she just showed up at my front door with a syllabus and a textbook. She hired me to teach a freshman theory class. Just one. Just enough to get me out of my own misery for a few hours a week.”

  “My class,” she whispers, more to herself than to me.

  “Yes, your class. It forced me to get out of this house and out of my head. I’d never taught before, so I had to concentrate on that. But I liked it and, before I knew it, I was teaching several classes.”

  “So, you’d lost a child, your fiancée committed suicide, her father blamed you, and when you showed up for your first day of work, you found me sitting there,” she summarizes.

  That’s exactly how it happened, but I don’t want to come right out and confirm it.

  “I didn’t tell you all this to make you feel guilty. Or even to make you understand why our…association…all these years has been so tense. I only tell you this so you have the story right, so you’re not depending on thirdhand, overheard gossip from those idiots in class with you.”

  She snorts and immediately looks horrified. I feel the corners of my mouth twitch up as I try to fight back a smirk of my own.

  “I know. I’m not supposed to think they’re idiots, let alone tell you I think they’re idiots.” I say before my face morphs into a full-on grin. “But, Jesus Christ. I’ve never seen a bigger bunch of idiots in my life.”

  She bursts out laughing and I’m right there with her.

  “Well, there’s something we agree on,” she says.

  I nod and stand up.

  “Something else we agree on is that you’re tired. You’ve got some serious circles under your eyes and you’re still pale. Are you okay with sleeping in here alone? Or would you prefer that I stay close by?”

  She gives me a smile that’s…what? Sweet, maybe? Yes. Sweet. Not sarcastic. Not a sneer. Not even a grin. Just a soft, sweet smile. I shake my head a little to dispel the thought.

  “No, Dr. Markham, thank you. I think I’m over the worst of it. You’re right, I’m just really, really tired.”

  I reach over to the nightstand and pull a remote control out of the drawer.

  “Here,” I say, tossing it onto the bed next to her. “It’s early yet and you may want to watch a little TV. I’ve left a bottle of Tylenol on the dresser for you, in case your headache comes back. Do you want anything else to eat or drink?”

  “Really, I’m fine. Thanks. But what about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Where are you going to sleep? I’m in your bed,” she reminds me, looking suddenly alarmed that she’s kicked me out of my bedroom.

  “Nah. I’ll crash on the couch. I do that a lot, anyway. I like to sleep by the fire. But you come downstairs—or, better yet—call down to me if you need anything. Otherwise, you just sleep in as long as you like tomorrow. Okay?”

  She nods her understanding and I walk to the bedroom door. My hand is already turning the knob when I stop and turn back.

  “And, Katherine, you can call me Drew.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Kate

  It’s close to ten in the morning when I finally feel rested enough to wander downstairs. Either that, or my body just can’t resist the amazing smells that are wafting up from the first floor. When I follow my nose to the kitchen, I find him standing in front of the big stove, cracking eggs on a griddle in the middle of the burners.

  “Hey,” I say.

  He looks at me over his shoulder and smiles.

  Nice.

  “Hey yourself. How’re you feeling this morning?”

  “Much, much better,” I assure him. “That extra ten hours of sleep seems to have done the trick.”

  And it has. I was too exhausted—and confused—to continue our conversation last night. To discover that Drew Markham was engaged to Russell and Maureen’s daughter and that the poor woman was so distraught that she killed herself… It’s just more than I could process. And, I think, more than he wanted to continue discussing.

  I walk to the window, taking in the winter wonderland outside. Except, it looks more like the frozen tundra. There are only flurries blowing now, but there must be more than four feet piled up in some spots.

  “No way you’re getting out of here today,” he says, reading my mind. “Or anytime soon, for that matter.”

  He’s not kidding. I can’t even distinguish the hump that was once my car. It’s just part of the huge snowdrift that contains the curb, the mailbox, and the hedges. I give a long, low whistle.

  “So I slept through the whole blizzard?” I marvel.

  “Well, yes and no,” Markham says, flipping some bacon. “Why don’t you have a seat at the table? How about some eggs and toast? Do you think your stomach can handle that?”

  As if on cue, it growls loudly enough for him to hear it across the room. His eyebrows go up and he smiles again.

  Double nice.

  “Or maybe you’d like something more substantial? I can throw in some bacon and home fries if you want.”

  “I want.” I smile broadly and sit where he’s already placed a carafe and a mug. I pour myself a cup of tea while he starts pulling items out of the fridge. “So, what do you mean, ‘yes and no’?”

  “Ah, well. Yes, you slept through the first blizzard. No, you haven’t slept through the second blizzard.”

  I set the carafe down with a dull thunk on the table.

  “Wait. What?”

  He nods as he empties a bag of potatoes, peppers, and onions on the other side of the griddle.

  “Yup. The only thing worse than a storm of the century is two of them. We’re getting a quiet day today, but there’s another blast heading our way early tomorrow morning.”

  “No, not possible!” I squeak in dismay.

  “Oh, possible. Very possible. Hey, would you mind popping some bread in the toaster for me?” he asks, nodding toward a fancy looking four slicer and a loaf of multigrain on the counter.

  I get up and do as he asks.

  “So, I could be here, with you…”

  “For a while yet,” he finishes my thought. “You okay with that?”

  I glance at him over my shoulder, but his back is to me as he flips the bacon and pushes the potatoes around. Am I? I don’t have a choice either way.

  He reads my thoughts.

  “I’m sure the snowplow will be through here today, just to get a jump on clearing before the next hit comes. We won’t be able to get your car out, but I’ve got a four-wheel drive truck in the garage. It wouldn’t be easy, but I could probably get you home this afternoon. If you really wanted to go.”

  I consider this. I consider him.

  “I don’t know which would be less of an inconvenience to you,” I admit, grabbing a plate for the toast and setting it on the table. “Having me here or asking you to go out there.”

  He doesn’t say anything as he offloads the cooked food onto platters and brings them all to the table. He nods for me to have a seat while he serves us both. Once he’s sitting, he faces me again.

  “Having you here isn’t inconvenient. It’s a little awkward, all things considered, but not entirely unpleasant. That being said, I will find a way to get you back to your apartment if that’s where you want to be.”

  “Oh, huh,” I consider. Do I want to be there? All alone with no supplies?

  “Do you have food at home?” he asks, reading my thoughts. “You could be snowed in for another few days, easy. And nothing’s open right now.”

  “I think a couple cans of soup…” I mutter, trying to visualize the contents of my tiny kitchenette.

  “Does your building have an emergency backu
p generator if the power goes out? Otherwise you might be without heat. And you’ve been sick.”

  “You think I should stay here,” I deduce.

  He nods.

  “I do.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Yes, okay. What? You expected a fight?” I snicker.

  He grins as he spears a potato with his fork.

  “Well, yeah, actually. You’re never this accommodating. In fact, I think you enjoy being a pain in my ass during class.”

  I feel my face grow warm with the blush that I know is spreading across it.

  “I can neither confirm nor deny that statement, Dr. Markham,” I say enigmatically and take a sip of tea.

  He smiles and we chew in companionable silence for a minute.

  “Can I ask you something?” he asks.

  I shrug, picking up a piece of bacon with my fingers. “Sure.”

  “Why didn’t you just walk up to the door when you got stuck?”

  Oh. I pause, bacon halfway to my open mouth.

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  I put the bacon back on my plate, clear my throat, and swallow.

  “Uh, well,” I begin, stalling for some divine inspiration. The last thing I want is to go back to square one. The nasty square. The square where he’s mean and I’m defensive and angry and we hate one another. But The Divine leaves me hanging, so I cock my head to the side and scrutinize his expression.

  “Oh, come on,” I say at last. “You know why.”

  “I assure you, Katherine, I do not,” he says, suddenly rigid.

  And there it is. That formal, tight-ass tone that I know so well. I sigh and shift my mindset back into guarded mode.

  “Dr. Markham,” I begin, my tone letting him know that two can play this game. “Had I not fallen asleep in my car, I would have walked down the hill to Main Street and tried to hitch a ride closer to home.”

  He stares at me, unblinking, for what feels like an eternity.

  “In flip-flops? Really?”

  I nod soberly. “Yes. Waiting for a snowplow was Plan A. Walking down the hill was Plan B.”