“Marry? I thought you were just going out.”
“I wanted more, but I can’t have more. Look at me. I don’t have health insurance. I can’t even pay for therapy. My wrist will probably never heal right. This injury ended my career and any hope of making it with Brin—Brinley.”
“Let me go get my violin.”
“You don’t play the violin, Will.”
“Never mind. Inside joke.” Then she said, “Do we have a focus problem, Ivan? Did Brinley fall in love with your violin or the man behind the violin?”
“She deserves better than me.” Ivan sighed. “Such is my life, Will. You know that. It seems like I’m always a bottom feeder.”
“Why do you question everything God gives you, Ivan?” Willow opened the refrigerator to get a can of soda. She offered Ivan one, but he refused. He didn’t want to put her out.
“I don’t deserve anything.” Ivan walked around the folding kitchen table and plopped down on the futon in the living room. It sagged in the middle and was nubbly here and there.
“Yes, you do.” Willow came out of the kitchen after him and sat down beside him. That was the only seating in the entire living room not counting a couple of mismatched barstools next to an upright Kimball piano by the wall.
Willow had an apple on a paper plate and a knife in her hand. “You deserve death and eternal separation from God. You know that.”
She cut up a slice of apple and offered it to Ivan. He took it, grateful for the healthy dessert.
“Yet He sent His only Son, Jesus, to die for you and take your place,” Willow said. “So be thankful and stop questioning God.”
“It’s not that, Will.”
“You’re not questioning God? Seems to me like you have some sort of trust issue.”
“Trust issue? What are you saying?” Ivan chewed the apple carefully. Had to make it last. Savor every bit of it.
“All our lives, it’s been hard. You had it the hardest when Quincy moved out and it was just our grandparents, you, and me. You felt like you had to step in and keep an eye on the family. Life was hard for us, and you got so used to everything being difficult all the time, things not working out, things going wrong, things being messy and all that good stuff. So when things get better you can’t tell. Can’t see it.”
“Maybe.”
“You know I’m right, Ivan. I’ve had six years to think about it.” Willow offered Ivan another slice of apple. He took it. He hadn’t realized how delicious Granny Smith could be.
“When you learn to trust God, things improve, but in ways that sometimes don’t match your preconceived expectations. When they don’t, you, Ivan Benjamin McMillan, reject it as coming from God because you think you know better.”
“I don’t know better.”
“Exactly. But you think you do when you walk by sight and not by faith in our Mighty God, who provides in ways that are beyond our expectations. Drop your low-level expectations and trust high-level God.”
“That’s easy to say, Will.”
“What are you showing Brinley about your faith, Ivan?”
“She moved on.”
“On her own volition or did you push her away?”
“I spared her.”
“From what? From seeing that your faith is weak and your peace is fake?”
“Well, when you lose everything—”
“You haven’t lost God. You never lose God.” Willow rubbed her brother’s shoulder. “God is still here for you.”
“I know. That’s in my head, but my heart is hurting. It’s messy with Grandma gone.”
“I know.” Willow began to cry softly.
Ivan put and arm around his sister’s shoulders. He didn’t say a word.
After a while, Willow started to sing “Count Your Blessings.” “You remember how we used to sing that?”
“First song we sang in children’s choir when we moved in with Grandma and Grandpa.” So long ago now.
“We went to church a lot. Sometimes four or five times a week.”
“Just following Grandma around as she directed this and that choir.”
“Children’s choir was my favorite part of those years.” Willow blew her nose. “No idea why Grandma made ‘Count Your Blessings’ our theme song.”
“How easily we forget,” Ivan added, heart heavy. Maybe he wasn’t praying right or asking God the right questions. Instinctively, he flexed his left hand. The pain was still there, but not as bad as a month ago. Thank You, God.
It would take time, but step by step—
That’s it.
Step by step. That was how he had to trust God.
In his entire life, God had provided through good times and bad. When his parents abandoned him and his siblings, God provided his grandparents to take them in and raise them. When it was time to go to college, God provided him a full scholarship to not just any music school, but that prestigious, world-renowned Juilliard. The word full was not lost on him.
Full.
God hadn’t done things halfway, had He?
What about his left wrist? He lifted it into the air and felt it with his right hand.
Willow must’ve noticed his action. “Hey, you still have your wrist. That’s one more blessing to count.”
A realization dawned on Ivan. “That’s right. It’s still here.”
“And you have all your fingers on both hands. They still work, don’t they?”
“Yeah.” He had been googling for some freebie wrist exercises he could do that didn’t require a therapist. Whether they were any good or not remained to be seen, but he could thank God that his wrist was slowly coming back to form, though what form, he had no idea at this time.
Functionally, he could move his fingers, yes. So all was not totally lost, was it?
His sister stopped humming. “Want to teach some piano while you’re here? Sub for me while I study? I have an exam coming up in two weeks. Will you still be here?”
Ivan thought for a moment. “Maybe if you don’t kick me out of the house by then.”
“We’re getting along all right now. Maybe we’ve grown up.” She smiled. “Sub for me and you don’t have to pay rent.”
“Deal. But you know I won’t stay long. I just need a place to sort things out.”
“A pit stop? That’s okay too. But if you go negative on me, moan and complain, you’re out of here.” Willow got off the futon. “By the way, how long are you going to keep that beard?”
Ivan’s fingers scratched under his chin.
“You think your girlfriend would like it?”
“Not sure—”
Ivan stopped and wondered about his own words. He should have said, “I don’t have a girlfriend.” But what had come out of his mouth said otherwise. How could he consider Brinley still his girlfriend if they had broken up?
“Yep, you were right. You’re still in love with her.” Willow waltzed away.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
The Garnett Antique Shop facade with old world letterings on its glass doors and windows deceived Brinley into thinking that Matt’s store was small. The store might be narrow in the front, but once she stepped inside, Brinley realized that it was wider in the back and went up two floors.
Above the stairs up against the right wall were two signs with arrows pointing up. One said “Books & Music” and the other said “Watch Your Steps.”
Brinley wondered what Yun McMillan would’ve said about that second sign had she been alive. Perhaps she might have questioned whether it should have said “step” instead of “steps.”
Oh well. She would never know.
“Hello!” Matt was walking up to her. “Glad you stopped by.”
“Mom, this is Matt Garnett. He owns the store.” When there was no reply, Brinley looked around. “Mom?”
Matt chuckled.
“She was right behind me when I came in,” Brinley explained. “She’s probably somewhere in the store. She’ll want a tour.”
Just
then Mom appeared from around a step-back cupboard that was taller than she was. Before Brinley could introduce them, Mom had taken care of it herself before getting down to business.
“Is this poplar?” Mom pointed to the cupboard in distressed red.
“Poplar and cherry, ma’am. Got it out of Charleston,” Matt said.
“Charleston. That’s where my husband’s family was from.”
“Let me tell you when it was made. There’s a signature in one of the drawers…”
Brinley walked away before she could hear the rest of the conversation. She wandered around the store, overwhelmed by so many old things that she didn’t know where to begin. Her focus the last ten years had been on musical instruments, but today she was looking for something to fill that wall next to her panoramic window in her new bedroom. She was thinking of a secretary.
She saw a stack of painted boxes from the eighteenth century. Rhode Island. Next to the boxes was an old child’s high chair. Nineteenth-century Savannah. Funny how the design hadn’t changed. Somehow she was drawn to the high chair, but she didn’t know why.
Thinking of Zoe, maybe.
Past the dining and kitchen stuff, she saw a plain, walnut plantation desk. She looked at the year it was made.
“1853.” Antebellum Georgia. This will go nicely with my ergonomic chair.
The price looked about right too.
After browsing a bit more, she went upstairs. She was walking around when she heard footsteps coming up.
“I want to show you something.” Matt led Brinley to some old music manuscripts in a box on a table. The price per sheet was scribbled on the box.
Brinley picked up a sheet music. Then another. Violin. Solos. Duets. Some with accompaniments. Some not.
“I think there are about five hundred sheets in here. I’ve sold a few of the pieces already, but they’re so old, so brittle, and some of them were handwritten.”
“I see.” Brinley put the sheet music in her hand back into the box. “You’re telling me this because…?”
“The idiot who sold me these was getting out of town fast. He needed the money, so he sold it to me for what I think is a fraction of the value.”
“He? Do I know him?” Brinley asked.
“I just gave a clue.”
“You did?”
“Yes, he’s the village idiot.”
Brinley bristled. “I don’t want to hear that said of him.”
“You still have feelings for him.” Matt lifted a music sheet. “Some of these are originals from the 1700s and should be in museums. Stacked up in a box is a bad place for them to be.”
“They need to be in a temperature-controlled room.”
“Exactly. I don’t have that here. But if you want the entire collection I’ll give you a thirty percent discount.”
“Is that his price or your retail after your markup?”
Matt looked offended. “It’s not off the markup price. I want his collection to go to a good home.”
“Someday he’ll want all these back.”
“Right.”
“I’ll take it if you throw in a thirty percent discount on a certain plantation desk I saw downstairs.”
Brinley thought Matt was giving her some sort of “you’re crazy” look. She held her ground. “Thirty percent off both and I’ll take them off your hands.”
“I can’t operate this shop at that big a discount.”
“Yes, you can, Matt, because my mother and I are here. We shop.”
That gave Matt something to think about. “Well… I might be able to do ten percent.”
“Ten? That’s measly, Matt. My mother could buy your entire store.”
“Well…”
“Tell you what, Matt. Twenty-five percent across the board for both Mom and me, and we have a deal.”
“But I’ve got to stay in business.”
“Want to bet that my mom will ask to see what else you have in your warehouse? Tell me you have a warehouse somewhere.”
“Got one in Brunswick.”
“There you go, Matt. Do we have a deal?”
Matt sighed. “You’re quite a bargain hunter.”
“Would you be so kind as to help me take that box downstairs? I have to watch my many steps.”
As they went downstairs, Brinley took the opportunity to ask about Ivan.
“Still at his sister’s house. Said he’s subbing for his sister in her piano studio.”
“Good to know he’s doing something.”
“Not much he can do, really. No healthcare, no insurance, no therapy.”
Brinley stopped in her tracks. “Seriously?”
“I told him he’d have to find a way to get into therapy for that wrist or it’s going to lock up for good. He’ll never play violin again.”
“You can’t make him do it. We can only pray that God will reach him.”
“Yep. He’s a stubborn fool as far as I’m concerned. I’ve known him a very long time, but I’ve never seen him fall this low. I offered him a job next door, he took it, but when his grandma died, he upped and left town. I had to scramble to find someone else.”
At the foot of the stairs, Brinley saw Mom flitting from table to table, armoire to armoire. She floated past Brinley. “I think I’m going to start collecting American now. Kind of tired of European antiques.”
Tired of collecting? I doubt it.
Brinley followed Matt to the checkout counter, where he placed the box of violin music.
“Show me the plantation desk you want,” Matt said.
Brinley did.
“Nice one. It was in an old house in Beaufort for a long time. The owner died and the house was sold with everything in it. I found some other stuff there too if you might be interested.”
“Like?”
And so it went for another hour. By the time Brinley drove Mom home to Sea Island in Dad’s Bugatti, Mom had bought enough rococo chairs and a sofa to redo her upstairs library. And somewhere in the house, Mom would find a place to stuff the step-back cupboard that didn’t go with anything else she had.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Teaching Bastien on the piano to kindergarteners was super easy for Ivan. While he was a classically trained violinist, he’d spent some of his time maintaining his piano skills for music composition, especially the accompaniment.
If he kept his left wrist steady and only moved his fingers, he could handle those big notes in the primer music book. To show the students how the notes were played on the piano, he used his right hand, even if the notes were on the bass clef.
It had been a month since he’d been here trying to sort out his life and providing relief for his overworked sister. Willow had classes at Emory at various hours of the day, and when she wasn’t on campus, she was here in her house teaching piano to little kids. Most of them were children of faculty members or people in the area. The lessons were only twenty to thirty minutes long and he didn’t have to sub too many times each week. Besides, Willow handled the more advanced students, those who required one-hour lessons.
Not like the four or five hours of violins he had to hear every day in his own strings studio back on St. Simon’s.
Back on St. Simon’s.
Ivan was getting homesick, and he knew it. He missed Brinley something fierce and shouldn’t have dumped her. He cringed.
Dump was such a strong word. He saw it now. He couldn’t handle his own mess and he’d taken it out on Brinley.
Would she be able to forgive me?
She may never take me back.
Ivan was dusting the piano and closing the cover on that old Kimball when the front door opened and slammed shut.
Willow dropped her tote bag on the floor and slid down onto the futon. “I pray to God I graduate in May. I don’t want to stay another semester.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Not bad bad. Just tired, you know.”
“I’m sorry I’m no help.” Ivan walked toward Willow. “Your dreams of
our resurrecting Jade Strings might be over, at least with me in it.”
“I’m not sure if I want to travel all over the world anymore. I like teaching piano, and I might do that for a while.”
“I like teaching your beginner students. They’re cutie pies.”
“Aren’t they? Those little fingers trying to reach the keyboard. I worry sometimes that they’ll fall off the bench.”
“I like it that you let their moms sit in so they know what their kids need to practice all week. My students’ moms ran for dear life as soon as the lessons started.”
“You’re making it sound worse than it really is.”
Ivan sat on the piano bench. “Piano is easier for anyone to pick up, I think. You should hear my new violin students. It takes them a while to get it right. Maybe as long as a year or two—some take three and never get it at all—before they stop sounding like screeching banshees.”
Willow rubbed her temples. “I can’t handle too much of that sort of cacophony.”
“Of course, they’ll all even out and then it’s on to whether they can really play the instrument, whichever it may be. I’ve heard some difficult piano pieces and also some difficult violin pieces.”
“Does your Brinley play any instruments?”
My Brinley? Ivan kept a poker face. “She plays the piano.”
“Really? I’d like to meet her someday if you two ever get back together again. Maybe she and I can play a duet.”
“Not gonna happen.”
“Oh, you’re such a pessimist.” Willow got off the futon.
Ivan thought his sister was always on the go, never sitting down too long in one place.
“You can thank me now, Ivan.”
“What for?”
“For showing you that violin isn’t the only instrument you can teach. That life, as you know it, hasn’t ended.”
Ivan cleared his throat. “It only tells me that I should consider offering piano lessons in my own, uh, music studio. That is, if I ever rebuild it.” Ivan adjusted the velcro on his wrist splint. “Although…”
Willow smiled. “Why don’t we trust God to heal that wrist in a way that’s best for you from here on out?”
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