Nocturne(114)

“Yes. Bolshoi. Flute.” The sounds of the engines hauling us down the runway did their best to silence the screaming in my heart.

Her eyes lit up. Russians are, of course, serious about their ballet. Remembering the story I’d told Tim and Nathan on the road let a small grin escape. “Impressive. So, you’re sad about leaving the States?”

“No.” I shook my head and met her eyes. She looked sincere, and comforting. I’d picked up a fair bit of Russian by that point, mainly emotive words since they were often written onto our music by composers and spoken to us by conductors to direct our playing. “I just … I’m going back … s razbitym serdtsem …”

She swallowed hard, this kind stranger, and didn’t let go of my hand. She gripped it tighter as we cruised above the clouds and tears formed in her eyes. She seemed to have appointed herself to escort me back to Moscow.

With a broken heart.





Gregory


“Christ, Gregory. You look like shit.”

I grumbled a little at James as I poured hot water over a tea bag and sat down at his kitchen table. My head was splitting, and I had a vague memory of switching from gin to something else deep into our conversation. Tequila, maybe?

I shook my head, which was a mistake, because it caused the entire room to tilt to the left. “Leave me alone.”

James poured coffee for himself and sat down across from me as I tried to piece together what had happened the night before. The show, followed by Nathan’s outburst, and my own. The argument with Karin, which had resulted in me dropping her off, then me peeling off in the car, tires screeching. I’d ended up with James. Drinking. Pouring out the story of Savannah and our love affair.

That was no affair ... it was ... like a safe place in a storm, a quiet, purposeful, beautiful duet in a silent theater.

I don’t know what James said.

I don’t know how he responded.

Because for the first time in my adult life, I drank so much I blacked out.

James slid several Tylenol across the table to me. “Take these,” he said. “And get a drink of water.”

I took the Tylenol without comment, just staring at the table. I rubbed my forehead and looked up. “What exactly did I say to you last night?”

James snorted a little and shook his head. “The question is what didn’t you say, Gregory. I’ve never seen you such a mess before.”

“She won’t answer my calls,” I replied.

James winced.

I leaned forward and stared at my tea, then said, “I screwed up. Badly.”

He shrugged. “We all screw up. Though I’ll admit, adultery ...”

I shook my head, then looked up at him, irritated. “That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?”

“I screwed up five years ago. When I told you I’d drop her. I screwed up when I didn’t put her first. And ... I’m pretty sure she got that message when she called last night. I couldn’t have said it any clearer. God, I’m such an *.”

I leaned my head in my hand. The Tylenol wasn’t helping. My head was pounding, and worse, I … I felt empty inside. Empty like I hadn’t felt since that day five years ago when I learned she’d left the conservatory. Just ... empty.

I stared miserably into my cup. Then I took out my cell phone and dialed again.

Straight to voicemail. Again. I tapped out a text message.

I’m sorry. Please call me. Please. Forgive. Me.

Then I hit send and looked up at my oldest friend. “I don’t know what to do,” I said. “I just don’t know what the f*ck to do.”

That’s when I heard Madeline’s voice, behind me. “You go to her,” she said. “You tell her how much she means to you. You do whatever it takes.”

James frowned. “Madeline,” he said, an edge in his tone.

“Oh, shut up, James. You know they’re in love.”

I twisted around in my seat. “And if she won’t take my calls? I don’t even know where the hell she is.”

Madeline grinned. “I can help you with that. She’s staying with one of your former students, Marcia Taylor. In Andover.”

I shot out of my seat, which was added to the list of my poor decisions for the last 24 hours. My head spun and pounded at the same time, but I got a grip on the table. “You know the address?”

Madeline nodded.

Ten minutes later I’d had the shortest shower of my life and was in the car on my way to Andover, wearing clothes borrowed from James with too short arms and legs and a waist I could fit two of me through. As I drove, I glanced in the back seat and froze.

My cello was still in the back seat.

I’d left a seven hundred thousand dollar cello in the backseat of my car, parked on the street in Boston, overnight.

I frowned and kept driving. Right now I had more important things to worry about. I tried to call her as I drove, but the phone went straight to voicemail. Again.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to deal with much in the way of traffic. It was still relatively early on Sunday morning, the summer light still faint as I drove north out of Boston. The grey sky suited my mood. But I had one thing going for me.

I had hope.

It took forty minutes before I pulled up to the address on Chestnut Street Madeline had scrawled on a sheet of paper.