Solo (Symphony Hall)

by Lauren E. Rico

  “We didn’t…?”

  “No. We didn’t,” he assures me. “You were a perfect gentleman.”

  I snort and then we’re both silent for a long minute.

  “Drew?” I ask, plucking up my courage.

  “Hmm?”

  “What does this all mean? For us?”

  I feel him take a long, slow, deep breath from behind me. “I don’t really know, Katherine. Not exactly, anyway. I think we don’t hate one another.”

  “I’d agree with that statement.” I chuckle.

  “Good. I think we have some unexpectedly strong feelings for one another.”

  “I’d agree with that statement, too.” I don’t chuckle this time.

  “Very good,” he comments with a smile in his voice. “But I also think that we both know that there’s not much we can do about those feelings for right now. Not without one or both of us getting into a world of shit.”

  Time for me to take my own deep breath. God, I’m so glad I don’t have to look at his face right now. “But, Drew, I don’t want things to go back to the way they were. Before.”

  He sits up suddenly, and I find myself flat on the couch, looking up at him. His face is crumpled with confusion and concern.

  “What? Of course not. Is that what you think, Katherine? That I want to go back to…to that?”

  I blink hard. “I don’t really know what to think, Drew. I don’t really know what this is.”

  The tension leaves his face all at once, raising his brows, softening his mouth and opening his dark eyes. It’s a reminder of just how devastatingly handsome this man is. And how I’ve been ignoring that fact for a very long time.

  “I do,” he whispers as he leans down and kisses me. “It’s just got to simmer on the back burner a little bit longer. Do you think you can wait for me, Katherine?”

  His breath is a soft breeze against my lips. It tickles me and I giggle a little.

  “I can wait. But can the waiting wait until I leave this house?”

  “Oh, I insist,” he says and I feel his hands on my rib cage. If he’d just move up a little. Or maybe down a little.

  He shakes his head, as if reading my mind. “Same rules apply in the meantime. This is as far as it goes for now. Agreed?”

  I see the conflict in his eyes. He believes what he says, but it’s a struggle for him. Somehow that makes me feel better. I’m not alone in my confusion.

  “Agreed.”

  He hunkers back in behind me and I sigh contentedly at the feel of his arms around me. I think we’re going to drift back asleep again until I feel the rumble of his voice in his chest.

  “Katherine, why didn’t you audition for the New York Conservatory this year? You could have started their doctoral program in the fall.”

  I consider lying to him, but I just don’t have the energy. Or the desire, for that matter.

  “I couldn’t afford the application fee,” I admit softly. I don’t know why, but this makes me feel ashamed. He senses it.

  “Oh, Katherine. I’m sorry. Was it very expensive?”

  I feel unbidden tears pricking at my eyelids and I blink rapidly to stave them off.

  “It was two hundred dollars.”

  The words come out as a whisper and I feel his arm tighten around me even more.

  “It might as well have been a thousand, right?”

  I nod, not trusting myself to speak without choking up. The truth is that I am embarrassed. Embarrassed that I work so hard and still, in the end, it came down to a choice between applying for the opportunity of a lifetime…and eating. A month’s worth of ramen noodles and Kraft mac and cheese.

  “Did you ask for a waiver?” he pries gently.

  I nod. “Yes.”

  “And they turned you down,” he surmises.

  I nod again.

  He doesn’t ask again so I swallow hard and offer. “It’s the name. My name. No admissions office is going to believe that I have financial challenges so long as I’m the daughter of a senator. Especially that particular senator. They weren’t going to do me any favors, even if I provided proof of financial need, which I didn’t. I couldn’t do that to my father—air our dirty laundry like that. Let people know how disconnected we are.”

  I feel Drew stiffen behind me but he doesn’t comment.

  “So,” I continue, finally managing to swallow the lump in my throat, “I decided I’d finish up here and take the summer and fall to work as much as I can. I’ll take lessons with Russell privately and—so long as the Corolla keeps running and I don’t run into any unexpected expenses—I should have the cash to audition in the fall or early spring. It’s a good plan. A sensible plan,” I inform him, though we both know I’m just reassuring myself that I’ve made the right decision. “Not that it matters at this point, my window of opportunity has passed. Even if I could, by some miracle, get into the program, the scholarship funds have all been allocated by now.”

  “Did Russ know about this?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he didn’t help you?” I’m surprised by the harshness of his tone.

  “Help me what?”

  “Katherine, he could have easily loaned you that money. Two hundred dollars is nothing to him.”

  I flip over onto my back again so that he’s looking into my eyes. I need for him to hear this.

  “He did offer, Drew. He offered to cover it. He offered to loan it. He offered to call on my behalf and get them to waive it. I refused every offer he made.”

  He looks stunned. “What? Why would you do that?

  “Because I can take care of myself,” I say simply. “If I couldn’t pay for it on my own, or get a waiver on my own, then it just wasn’t going to happen.”

  He nods his understanding and I’m relieved that I don’t have to lay out all the reasons why it has to be this way.

  “Well, Miss Brenner, I have to say you’ve done a damn good job of taking care of yourself so far,” he says as he reaches down to stroke my cheek with his thumb. “Very, very impressive.”

  This makes me smile so wide that I feel my eyes crinkle.

  “Dr. Markham, I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

  And I mean it.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Drew

  The second storm hits hard, but fades fast as some unexpected warm front blows across the mountains. By Sunday, Katherine’s car has finally emerged from its polar ice cap. I’m looking from it to her and back again, my expression skeptical.

  “Are you sure you can get back home in that thing?” I ask her over my shoulder. She’s sitting behind me, on the couch, curled up with a book in front of the fire.

  “That thing has been getting me back and forth for a long time now,” she informs me without looking up.

  “Yeah, I know. That’s the problem. Too long,” I mutter.

  She sighs as she puts the book on the coffee table and comes to join me in front of the big picture window.

  “Look, it runs—when sneaky reporters aren’t messing around with it,” she says with a teasing smile, hooking her arms around my waist and pulling me close to her. And then she looks up at me with those incredible eyes. They’re the color of the Atlantic and just as tumultuous, I’ve discovered.

  “Drew, I don’t want to go back to the real world any more than you do, but we don’t have much of a choice. Classes are back in session tomorrow. I’ve got to work the breakfast shift and you’ve got to hand back all those midterm projects. You know, the ones you have yet to grade?”

  “Ugh, don’t remind me.” I groan and roll my eyes.

  “Drew, you know we can’t. That we, you know…”

  “I know. I know. This has to end here,” I agree, speaking the words that she can’t.

  She nods.

  “Can we revisit this in a couple of months after you graduate?” I ask hopefully.

  “Absolutely. That is, assuming I do graduate. I have it on good authority that I’m on ‘very thi
n ice.’”

  “Hah!” I snort. “Yeah, well, I hear the ice has firmed up quite a bit with the recent cold temperatures. So, I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” I murmur and lean down to kiss her, but her firm palm on my chest stops me in my tracks.

  “Hey, I’m serious, you cannot show me any special treatment. None. If I’m late, I’m late. If I pass, I pass. Anything else is unfair, not to mention suspicious to anyone who’s paying attention.”

  She’s right and I give her a curt nod of understanding.

  “I know,” I whisper, unable to take my eyes off her soft, pink mouth. “Miss Brenner,” I say, leaning down again to kiss her, “I expect you to follow all the rules. Or you’re going to be in some serious trouble…Miss Brenner.”

  She puts both palms to my chest and holds the distance between us.

  “Oh, Dr. Markham,” she chides me with one incredibly sexy raised eyebrow, “you’re not doing anything to discourage my bad behavior.”

  I rest my forehead against hers and close my eyes. When I open them again, she starts to giggle.

  “What? What could possibly be so funny during this incredibly, tragically, romantic moment?” I ask with a teasing grin.

  “You really need to step back. You’ve got this one big freaky looking eye when you get that close to me. It’s gross,” she says, wrinkling her nose.

  I straighten up and look down into her smirking face. “Seriously? I’m here baring my heart and soul to you and you’re envisioning a Cyclops?”

  Her smile fades into something much different.

  “No sir. I’m envisioning a lot of things and a Cyclops is definitely not one of them,” she murmurs, standing on her tippy-toes to put a soft, warm, frustratingly chaste kiss on my cheek.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Kate

  It’s not lost on me that we’re exactly where we were on Friday, me in the driver’s seat of my car, him hanging in the window. Only this time I’m not trying to keep him out. In fact, I’m wishing I could just take him home with me. Or stay here with him, in this perfect little bubble we’ve created for ourselves. But we both know that’s not possible. Not now, anyway.

  “So, tomorrow morning…” he begins.

  “I know, don’t worry. No touching. No long looks, no sappy smiles.”

  He continues my list.

  “No first names, no one-on-one meetings in my office or anywhere else. And,” he says, eyebrows going up now for emphasis, “it goes without saying that neither of us utters a word to anyone. Not Russell. Not Tessa. And, for God’s sake, not Maureen. Even a whisper of a relationship with a student is enough to get us both in some seriously hot water.”

  “Don’t you worry about me, Dr. Markham,” I assure him. “I won’t do anything to jeopardize you. In any way.”

  He lifts his head from inside my window and takes a quick look around him. But it’s late and we’re alone in front of his house, so he leans back down and gives me a tender kiss.

  “I’m not worried about you jeopardizing anything but your career, Miss Brenner. Please, be careful.”

  I give him a last kiss and fix my eyes forward through the windshield.

  “Call me when you get home?”

  I nod, afraid that if I open my mouth again, I’m just going to cry more. He stands upright and walks to the back of my car, tapping the trunk twice to signal I’m good to go. And I am. The Toyota pulls out from in front of his mailbox easily. I watch him in my rearview mirror as I circle the cul-de-sac and make my way down his block to the hill that will take me toward town. He’s standing there until I can no longer see him.

  When I pull into the parking lot of my building, I find things much the same as when I left them. Most of the snow has been cleared, but a car or two sitting away from the reach of the sun remain covered. I shuffle to the front door in the too-big tennis shoes that Drew gave me to wear in lieu of my flip-flops. I’m about to start up the stairs when the apartment door next to me opens.

  It’s my neighbor Clinton, glowering at me. He looks like one of those loveable, cuddly grandfathers you see on TV all the time. He’s got the potbelly, the straggly hair, and overgrown stubble. When you first see him, it’s hard not to just walk up and wrap your arms around him. But that would be a mistake because Clinton would just as soon take your arm off as give you a hug.

  “Hi, Clinton, how are you?” I ask, trying to keep my voice down so as not to disturb the other residents on this floor.

  “I was just fine until you woke me up,” he grumbles.

  This is not a new conversation. Clinton often falls asleep in his recliner watching Judge Judy. And, while he’s able to sleep through her animated deliberations, he’s somehow disturbed by every creak, squeak, and footstep outside his door.

  I give him my sweetest, most apologetic smile.

  “I’m so sorry, Clinton. I promise, I’ll try to be quieter next time. Maybe I can make it up to you? Pick up one of those sandwiches from Little Reggie’s that you like so much?”

  He eyeballs me suspiciously.

  “Hmph. Well, I s’pose. I ain’t got nothing planned for supper tomorrow night.”

  “Consider it done,” I say with a wave and start up the stairs again.

  I can still hear him muttering as I let myself into my third-floor apartment. It’s just as I left it, papers scattered all over the table, bed a jumble of sheets and pillows. Funny how the last time I stood here, my life was entirely different. It’s hard to believe that you can walk out the door as one person and then walk back in as another.

  I start the business of straightening up right away. There’s a stale smell. The smell of illness. I open a window and let the frigid air seep inside. If this doesn’t freshen it up, I don’t know what will. Then I change my bedding and give the tiny bathroom a quick scrub with bleach so I don’t reinfect myself. I don’t know if that’s even possible, but I’m not taking any chances of getting sick again. By the time I put on pajamas and collapse into bed, it’s close to midnight. I’m smiling as I drift off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Drew

  I’m tossing and turning, watching the clock. I promised myself I wouldn’t call her, but she should have been home more than an hour ago. Finally, I pull my phone off the nightstand, telling myself it’s about her safety, not because I can’t go another second without hearing her voice. But when I dial her number, I hear two things at one time, the digital ring coming through the phone, and the sound of digital Mozart coming from under my bed.

  I hang over the side of the bed and look underneath. Her phone is there, the display lighting up until I disconnect the call on my home line. I reach under and grab it. I wonder who she calls? Before I can help myself, I’m poking and swiping my way to her call listing. I see where she called her evening job to let them know she was stuck during the storm. There are a few older calls to and from Russell Atherton and one incoming from a Washington DC number. That contact is called “The Ice Queen.” I snort with laughter, wondering who that little ray of sunshine must be.

  Other than that, there’s nothing. Even her text messages are few and far between. Nothing from anyone even vaguely resembling a family member or friend. Aside from The Ice Queen, I can’t see anything that doesn’t pertain to work or school. I switch the phone off with a click and it darkens. I’m about to put it on my nightstand when I turn it back on again. Just to hear her voice on the outgoing message. Just once.

  Okay, maybe twice.

  …

  I glance down at my watch. It’s six twenty-five on a Monday morning and here I am, hopping around in the freezing parking lot on the north side of campus. I’m trying to remember the exact location of the North Dining Hall. When I spot a gaggle of students walking together toward a specific door, I follow at a distance. Yes, this looks familiar. It’s coming back to me now, the memories of Casey and me meeting Maureen here for lunch from time to time after we moved to the area. Before we lost the baby. With a
sigh, I start walking again.

  When I get to the entrance, I see that things haven’t changed much in the years since I’ve been here. There’s a student sitting at a small podium checking IDs.

  “Good morning. I’m a professor in the music department,” I explain, holding out my university identification card. “May I use this dining hall?”

  She nods. “Sure, but it’s à la carte for you. Just stop by the cashier on the far end and he’ll ring you up.”

  “Thanks.” I nod and make my way over to the huge coffee dispensers on the other side of the vast cafeteria. I use the spigot to fill a cup and take a quick stop at the cream and sugar station before I approach the register. I do a surreptitious sweep of the room, but still no sign of Katherine.

  “Good morning, Dr. Markham. That’s a dollar thirty-five, please,” says a young man I recognize from my freshman Music Theory class. Maybe I can get him to tell me where she is.

  “Good morning, Liam,” I say with a smile and hand him a couple of dollars. “I didn’t realize you work over here.”

  He nods. “Yup.”

  Stunning conversationalist, this one.

  “Does anyone else from the music department work here with you?” I fish.

  He scratches his head under the university baseball cap and appears to think hard.

  “Uh, yeah, Javier Moncayo. The violinist? He’s a line cook for the lunch shift.”

  “Okay…”

  “Oh, and that girl. The graduate student? She’s over there,” he says, thrusting his chin toward the dining area.

  I thank him and turn around, spotting her at last. Her back is to me as she busily wipes down one of the empty tables. Feeling a little conspicuous among all these students, I take my coffee and move across the room to a spot against the wall, where I can hide in the shadow of a soft serve ice-cream machine. Not likely anyone will be looking for a swirly cone before lunchtime, and from here I can wait for a good opportunity to slip the phone to Katherine.