Nocturne(111)

Without missing a beat or stumbling over her composure, she straightened her shoulders. “It’s funny, hearing you discuss the sanctity of marriage vows as you’ve apparently spent the summer destroying someone else’s. Grow up, Savannah. Let’s go, Malcolm.” My mother held out her arm, linking it with Malcolm’s as they descended the grand stairs of Symphony Hall, leaving a trail of emotional carnage up and down Massachusetts Avenue.

Feeling faint, I sat down on the stairs, leaning my back against one of the gargantuan white pillars that signified the greatness inside the hall. Right now, it shouldered my shame.

It’s different. It was different with us, I thought, cradling my head in my hands as I tried to regulate my breathing. Gregory’s marriage was dead in the water long before I showed back up in his life. At least that’s what he’d told me.

Shit.

A few words from my mother regarding the condition of my morals and I was hyperventilating on the steps of Symphony Hall, looking for an escape. I’d chosen to lead my mother out this way specifically to avoid the exit of the other orchestra members, knowing they’d leave out the back. I was thoroughly regretting that decision as I longed to find someone I knew. Anyone. I thought about wandering back down the maze of halls to the area where I knew some members of the orchestra would be lingering, but I had no excuse. My luggage wouldn’t be back there, it was in a truck being hauled to Marcia’s house in Andover, which was an unfortunate 40-minute drive away. I could call Marcia to come get me, but Nathan and Christine would be with her and I just … couldn't yet.

Damn it, Nathan.

Oddly enough, I wasn’t angry with him. He’d always been undisciplined in the passion of his emotions, which is why we’d hit it off as friends in the first place. He was trying to protect me from the emotional monster he’d long labeled Gregory. He didn’t get it. No one did. We were different. This was different.

Slinging my flute bag over my shoulder, I carefully descended the stairs and made my way to the overpass across from the hall, leaning against the railing for a moment to steady myself. My emotions. I needed to call him. Panic rose as I considered the painful possibility that we were no different at all. No different from my mother and Malcolm. No different from every cliché and Lifetime movie I’d ever seen. I’d call him and it would be okay. I’d hear his voice and it would assure me. He loved me. I never let him say it, but I needed to hear it from him now.

I hailed a cab, pulling out my phone as I slid into the back seat.

“Where to?” the middle-aged man asked, eyeing me through the rearview mirror. “Ma’am?” he requested my attention again as my thumb trembled over Gregory’s name.

“Huh? Oh, sorry. I don’t care.” I waved my hand dismissively, then froze a little, realizing I'd picked up that habit on tour.

“Come on, I don’t have time for this.” I could only see his eyes in the rearview mirror, but that was enough.

Knowing better than to piss off a cabbie on a busy Saturday night, I looked up. “Sorry. Uh … the bar around the corner.”

“Which one?”

“That really doesn’t matter.” I shrugged, pressing call and bringing my phone to my ear as the driver grumbled something unflattering and took off into traffic.

Ring.

He’d left with Karin. I saw that. But given the look on her face, I didn’t know how long their conversation would be. Either way, he said he’d always be there for me.

I needed him.

He needed to tell me I wasn’t the morally bankrupt shrew my mother implied with a soft click of her tongue and an arched eyebrow.

“You’ve reached Gregory Fitzgerald …”

“Shit, come on,” I hissed at the phone when I was greeted with his voicemail. I pressed end, waited a second, and called again.

“Here ya go,” the cab driver said passively as he pulled up to a bar I’d never been to.

“Thank you so much.” I gave him far too much money and slammed the door shut, desperate to get Gregory live on the phone.

After hearing his voicemail greeting two more times, I leaned against the cool brick of the exterior of the bar, deciding to call one more time. All he had to do was answer, and assure me. It rang only once before a brief silence. I knew he’d picked up because I could hear the sounds of traffic.

“What?” he spit out. His tone was toxic.

I hesitated for a moment, convinced he wasn’t speaking to me, that maybe he’d answered the phone without checking the caller ID.

“Hello?” His tone hadn’t changed.

My voice took on an ungraceful tremor. “Hi. I … um …”

“I can’t do this right now,” he snapped as he ended the call.

I pulled the phone away as the timer blinked :15, mocking the time it took for Gregory to prove I was no different. That we were no different.

The last fifteen seconds I’d ever speak with him.





Savannah


I checked the time on the departures display. It was 9 a.m., which meant I still had three hours. I’d spent a small fortune to move my departure up a week, especially given it was a non-stop flight once we got to New York. Sticking around in the purgatory that had become Boston, though, wasn’t a healthy option.

My phone rang again, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I checked the caller ID. It was Nathan, who was hopefully on his way. Gregory had called half a dozen times this morning, and I’d sent him straight to voicemail. I knew he was probably calling to apologize. To tell me he was sorry. He didn’t really have anything to apologize for. Well, maybe both of us did. After all, he was in the car with his wife, undoubtedly arguing. About me. And that was the point really. She was his wife.