Everything You Are(51)

“I am proud of you.”

“Right. You don’t even know me. You didn’t show up to meet me.”

A wracking sob doubles her over, nearly drops her to her knees. Her father doesn’t move. Just sits there, frozen.

When she can catch her breath, get control of her voice, Allie straightens and delivers her condemnation. “I hate the cello, and I hate Bach, and I hate you. I want the cello out of the house. Get rid of it.”

Her father looks like she’s stabbed a knife into his chest and twisted it.

“I can’t. You don’t understand.” His lips are white.

“No, you don’t understand. I need it gone. Craigslist. Goodwill. Whatever. Just get it out of this house.”

There’s an empty, dead look in his eyes, and she has the horrible thought that she’s killed him, too, along with the rest of the family, but still the ugliness pours out of her.

“Mom was right about you all along. You’re a terrible father, a horrible, selfish human being. Are you done? Can we sleep now?”

“Are you sure?” he asks, very quietly. “That you want the cello gone?”

“Oh my God! Yes. I’m sure.”

Allie turns away from the expression on his face, from the reproach of the cello, but music follows her to bed and into restless dreams of destruction. In her dreams, she wears a military uniform and stomps on the cello with her boots, splintering the wood beneath her feet. Strings snap and break. A wailing of agony fills her ears. This is not enough, and she drenches it with gasoline, lights it with a match. And still the perfect tones of the C Minor sarabande drift upward with the smoke of its burning.





Chapter Nineteen

BRADEN

Braden is afraid to sleep.

He craves the oblivion but is too shaken to risk another episode of sleep playing, or whatever the hell just happened. He feels shattered and shell shocked, the walls of the forbidden dark territory in his mind breached, memories scurrying like roaches, in and out of consciousness.

He paces the living room, unable to sit for more than a minute before grief and restlessness drive him back to his feet.

Phee’s words and Allie’s run counterpoint in his head, twining around each other, all wrapped in the song of the cello that will not stop.

You have to play.

There’s nothing wrong with your hands.

Get rid of the cello. I want it out of this house.

You swore an oath.

In the wakeful dark, the oath and the curse take on weight and substance. As dawn breaks, at last, and light seeps into the room, Braden swallows scalding black coffee and anchors himself back into logic.

Allie is right. The cello has to go. He should have sold her years ago. One thing he knows for certain—he can’t handle another midnight concert, and the only hope of repairing his relationship with Allie follows this path.

Allie is everything. All that is left of his life, and the only thing that matters. He wants to soften life for her this morning, but that’s not the answer. If there’s one thing he’s an expert on, it’s drinking, and what he does today in response to her drinking last night will have a lasting impact.

When he looks into her room, she’s lying on her side, still asleep, and he steels himself for what he is about to do.

“Morning, sunshine.”

She moans and pulls the pillow over her head.

He lifts the pillow away from her. Opens the blinds to let light pour in.

“Go away,” Allie croaks, retreating under the covers.

“It’s time to get up. School today.”

She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t move. God, if she hates him already, she’s really going to hate him now.

“Come on, Allie.” He strips the blankets off her and dumps them at the foot of the bed.

“Seriously?” Her eyes open and try to focus. She covers them with her hands. Swallows hard.

“Trash can’s by the bed if you need to puke.”

“Sleep.”

“No, you need to get up and go to school. Sit up.”

She struggles upright, squinting against the light. Her little moan as she puts her head in her hands goes straight to his heart, but he holds the line.

“No school. I’m sick.”

“No, you’re hungover. Which is not an excuse for missing school. Now—do you need the bucket or can you walk to the bathroom?”

“Give me the blankets.” She reaches for them again.

Braden bundles them up and dumps them in the far corner of the room.

“Get up, Allie.”

“I hate you.”

“All the more reason to go to school. It’s a beautiful day.” He opens the window. Fresh air flows in, smelling of rain and wet grass.

Allie shivers, presses her palms over her eyes. “Oh my God! What are you doing?”

But she swings her legs over the side of the bed.

“There’s ibuprofen in the bathroom. Take two and drink some water. Have a shower. If you’re going to drink, you need to face up to the hangover.”

She mutters something he doesn’t understand and runs for the bathroom. He’s won round one, but this fight is far from over. Despite the fan, he can hear her heaving, and his own stomach rolls in sympathy.

Even so, he moves on to round two.