Nocturne(35)

“I hope you’re right,” I called over my shoulder as I strode down the hallway.

“Be nice to her this summer, Gregory. I think you stressed her out in class enough this semester.”

I grumbled my response and headed for the exit. Once I reached the mild spring air, I ran my hands through my hair and took a deep breath. There was no way I could spend the entire summer around her. Not after what I did to her. To hurt her like that … and possibly confuse her, if what Madeline said held any truth.

My feet matched the speed of my thoughts as I raced back to my office. That Savannah Marshall could possibly be considering a future that did not involve a professional career was beyond the grasp of my comprehension. I wouldn’t ever tell anyone this, but after she graduated next year, she could easily land a seat at the BSO, if there was an opening. God, that she was considering something other than a professional playing career was … it was all my fault and I’d have to right it. Somehow.

Finally ascending the steps of the building, I sighed as I turned the key in the lock to my door— suddenly extremely invested in making sure that playing professionally was exactly what Savannah Marshall intended to do with her life.





Gregory


I walked into my office and sat heavily in my seat. I needed to pack my things, as I wouldn’t be back in here until classes started again in September. But I found myself oddly devoid of motivation. I didn’t care for classroom teaching in the first place. My salary with the symphony was more than enough for my needs, or it was, until I mortgaged my home in order to pay for my cello. My entire check from the conservatory went to those payments.

One thought I could not get out of my mind. I’m not sure if playing professionally is what she wants to do upon graduation.

What else did she have in mind? Was she considering teaching or nursing or working in a pizza parlor? What possible alternative was there for a musician so incredibly gifted? The thought kept winding through my mind, and the more I thought about it, the more agitated I became. It was essential that she continue her path. The truth was, it would be a tremendous loss to … to the world... if she didn’t continue, practice more, become more … more of what she was. I was losing track of my thoughts, and I found myself pacing back and forth in my tiny office, thinking.

Why hadn’t she come to me?

The question was patently ridiculous. Why would she come to me, of all people?

She saw me as a tormentor. Someone who made her foray through music theory a matter of aggravation and obligation. Someone who she disagreed with so much that she was simply unable to control herself in class.

And then there was that odd moment during spring break, when we’d touched hands in the coffee shop. And the kiss.... a kiss we never talked about. Then the semester was over, and I knew she wondered about that kiss as much as I did. She probably hated me for hiding it, for driving that kiss into the darkness, for not discussing it. For leaving it there in the storm instead of bringing it out into the light where it belonged.

I closed my eyes. None of that mattered. Not in the face of the music.

Was she having doubts because of the way I had treated her? Three weeks ago she’d been in my office, screaming about her grade. But more specifically, she’d voiced a complaint that I’d been too harsh, that I’d somehow persecuted her because of who her mother was. Our odd, strained relationship might be the catalyst. Impulsively I promised myself that I would pay more attention. Understand her better. Because if I were the one who drove her from what she was so clearly fated to be, I would never forgive myself.

I was so absorbed in my thoughts, I barely noticed when there was a knock at my door, and I found myself face to face with Nathan Connors. I stopped in my tracks. What was he doing here? Did it have to do with her? I didn’t speak for a moment, simply staring at him.

Nathan, unusually, didn’t wilt in front of my gaze. His jaw was pressed forward, an insolent expression on his face.

“Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Connors?”

He pulled the door shut and turned to face me again. The boy was shaking. I couldn’t tell if it was fear or anger. Until he spoke, and his nostrils flared.

“I came here to tell you ... to stay away from Savannah.”

“Indeed.” I spoke in the drollest tone I could. “Aren’t you a little late, Mr. Connors? Our class is over, and she’s hardly likely to sign up for anything I’m teaching next year.”

“I don’t care about that,” he said. “Just ... leave her alone.”

“Young man, you’re not making the slightest bit of sense.”

He leaned close, as if he were trying to intimidate me. Both of us were tall, and perhaps because of that he was accustomed to intimidating schoolboys, but with me, it wasn’t working.

“Fitzgerald ... I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing with her. But stop. You’ll break her heart. She doesn’t deserve that. She deserves better than you.”

I snorted. “She despises me, Connors. Even if I was interested ... and I am not ... this would still be a pointless conversation. You are out of line.”

“She’s in love with you, you son of a bitch. And you toy with her like ... like ... she’s just a kid.”

“She is a kid, Connors. Get out of my office. And then we’ll forget this conversation ever happened.”