Reckless Abandon(53)

“Can I have a word?”

I turn my head to see Frank standing on the stairwell.

“Sure.” I say, wrapping my cardigan around me. The afternoon chill is coming in through the open door. I close it and walk over to Frank.

“Good first week?”

“Yeah.” I let out a breath that’s half laugh, half sigh of relief. “We had thirty no-shows, sixteen kids placed in the wrong class, forty-seven missing guitars that UPS claims are in Jersey City, and Crystal just got a gig for the winter playing Friday night weddings, which means she needs to give up her end-of-the-week class.”

“Sounds like a great first week to me!” Frank laughs and I find it refreshing. The thirty kids who didn’t show up have another week to claim their spot or else they lose it. The sixteen kids were properly placed in the right classes and those instruments better be here Monday morning or else I’m taking the ferry to New Jersey and bringing them here myself.

As for the teaching position I have to fill . . . “I placed a few calls yesterday to the candidates we passed on to see if they’re still available. It’s not easy finding a cello teacher for an after-school music program that pays as little as we do.”

“Don’t worry. I took care of it.” Frank says, his feet next to mine as the two of us ascend the stairwell.

“Oh, thank God.”

Frank shakes his head and smiles out the corner of his mouth. “I’m not usually called God, so a simple Thanks Frank will do.”

“Thanks, Frank,” I say, and he laughs again. I head up the stairs, Frank right behind me. “Whatever can I do to repay you?”

“Glad you asked.” Frank opens his padfolio and takes out a few papers and holds them out toward me. “I’d like you to make a speech at the fund-raiser next month?”

The fund-raiser. I didn’t forget about it. I just wasn’t planning on going. Before the school opened, a party had been planned. I can’t really call it a party. It’s a soiree at the Waldorf Astoria in honor of the Juliette Academy. I was planning on going until I realized Alexander Asher was attached to the school and most likely would be there. Seeing him at a party with a gorgeous woman draped around his arm? It’s the exact reason I won’t google him. I don’t think I can deal.

I hold up my hand and ignore the papers. “I’m not going.” My voice is matter-of-fact.

“What do you mean you’re not going? You’re part of the reason these doors even opened. Before you came we were a mess. You got our schedules in order, the instruments placed properly and hired the best teachers. Emma, your knowledge and passion for this school is why we are here. We had the funding but you had the heart.”

I reach the third floor landing and turn around to look at Frank. I had no idea he felt that way. It actually makes me want to tear up. I don’t, of course, but I feel like I should.

“Um, thank you, Frank. That is really—it’s really kind of you to say.” I swallow. How do I reply to that? Thanks for the kind words but I’m still not going because Alexander Asher is a cad? “I have prior arrangements.” Liar.

Frank’s face looks forlorn. “That’s unfortunate. I was really hoping you’d do this.”

My shoulders fall with lament. I hate letting people down. I’ve been doing a lot of that this year. First with all the worrying I put my family through. Now with Frank.

Insert dramatic sigh of defeat. “I’ll see what I can do. What kind of speech did you have in mind?” Frank hands me some notes he has. I listen as he tells me what he’d like me to say.

Just one pass over his copy and I know it is in need of major changes.

Taking the papers in hand, I bid Frank good-bye as he exits on the third floor and I continue my walk upstairs. If there is a new cello instructor, I will have to sit in on the class. I’ve been sitting in on many classes, seeing what is working and what does not. Next week, I’ll have a one-on-one meeting with all the teachers and go over the points I have for each of them.

My feet carry me up the stairs to the fourth floor. I swing open the heavy wooden door and am instantly hit with the melody of a cello, obviously Crystal’s. The rooms are soundproof so the door to her classroom must be open.

I take a few steps toward Crystal’s room and see the door is, in fact, open. There are people standing in the entrance, longingly looking toward the front of the classroom, entranced in the melody that is being played.

Tapping someone on the shoulder, I ask if I can squeeze in past him. He moves to the left so I can walk into the room, but there are more people than I thought standing in here, coupled with the chairs filled with students and their instruments. I hope this isn’t against fire code.

Dancing through the people to get to my office, I get to the middle of the crowd and am surprised to see Crystal standing in the back. She catches my puzzled expression and looks back at me as if asking “What?” I look back at her in confusion. If she’s not playing, than who is?

Then I see what everyone is staring at. Asher. He is wearing dress pants and a button-down shirt. The sleeves are rolled up. The tie and suit jacket rest on a folding chair beside him.

His strong thighs are wrapped around the cello. The neck of the instrument is in his left hand as his right strokes the strings with a bow. And it’s not just the beautiful man who is playing the instrument that causes you to stop and stare. It’s the way he plays.