Nocturne(38)

She nodded. “I had no doubts he’d get in. It was keeping his auditions a secret that was the challenge for me. So, Savannah, I’m glad you came in to get your materials for the Institute, but, I must apologize,” she took a careful breath before continuing, “I wasn’t aware that your mother was retiring this season and would be coming back to the States. Are you sure you want to spend your summer in Lenox?”

“She won’t be back till fall,” I spit out, causing Madeline’s eyebrow to arch. “Uh, my dad is going over there to see her last performances, then they’re going to spend the summer travelling Europe together before coming back home. Kind of an emotional farewell for her, I guess.” I shrugged.

“And you didn’t want to go?”

“Madeline,” I exhaled slowly, looking just past her, “I lived in Italy until I was twelve and got to travel a lot then. I’ve had to share my mother with Europe for the last decade, and, honestly, I have no desire to tag along for another summer.”

Madeline knew me since I was fourteen; she’s the only one I could be that honest with.

“Of course. Well, here’s all the information you’ll need,” she deftly changed the subject, handing me a green folder. “I’ll be running the flute workshop, as usual, and you’ll be shadowing me the whole time. During the Young Artists Orchestra, we’ll have lots of different things for you to do. The faculty also usually has private ensembles throughout the summer. Usually the woodwinds and strings play together, and we’re hoping you’ll join us.”

Almost on command, my throat started to close. I was able to hold my own and excel in the company of my peers. But the instructors at the Institute, Madeline included, were at the absolute top of their game. What could they possibly want with me?

“No need to get all red-faced, Savannah,” Madeline cut into my impending panic attack. “I’ve played with you for years, and I know not only will you learn from us, but you can keep up. You know that, too.” Just as I started to breathe normally again, and take a sip from my water bottle, she interjected one last thought. “Don’t worry. I’ve kindly asked Gregory Fitzgerald to treat you as a colleague and not a student, as would be his inclination.”

Sputtering and coughing. That’s how I responded.

“What? What are you talking about? Mr. Fitzgerald doesn’t work for the Institute … does he?”

“Last year was his first year. Naturally, he excelled at it and produced some great things from his students.”

Of course he instructs there now, I thought. Shit.

“You did well in the class, though. An ‘A’, judging by your transcript,” she said, holding out a piece of paper.

“What?” I snatched the transcript from her and scanned down the page until my eyes fell on Music Theory, G. Fitzgerald. Where, as Madeline stated, was the letter ‘A’.

“Savannah, you look pale. What the heck went on in that class?”

Realizing Madeline must have been deaf to the rumors that had floated for a few weeks around Gregory and me, I quickly got my shit together.

“I, uh, just argued with him constantly in class. It seemed to really piss him off.” I shook my head at the ‘A’ that seemed to blink on the paper.

“Well, maybe something got through.” She shrugged and patted my shoulder. “As you know, I have a summer home in Lenox,” she continued, “and you’re welcome to stay with me if you don’t want to reside on campus.”

“Oh, Madeline, that’s so kind of you. Thank you so much.” I gave her a quick hug before walking, slightly dazed, back to my dorm.

Yes, stay with Madeline. And far away from Gregory Fitzgerald.





Gregory


Back home after a long, but satisfying day, I set the keys on the table by the door and headed for my cello. Home being James’s summer condo in Lenox, Massachusetts, near Tanglewood. Much of the BSO, and some of the conservatory faculty, had second homes or timeshares here, given the frequency with which the symphony plays here.

The area was picturesque, exclusive, and, most importantly, quiet. I’d had the house to myself most of the summer, though James would be arriving shortly from Boston. He wasn’t teaching at Tanglewood all summer, but he had been recruited for a master class for the Young Artists Orchestra. Starting in a week, he would also be conducting the staff ensemble.

The summer had been smooth so far. Generally I dislike teaching—apart from private instruction—but I was coming to realize it had less to do with teaching itself than it had to do with the caliber and willingness of the students. As disturbing as it had been, with Savannah’s constant challenges, I’d sorely missed teaching music theory when the school year came to an end. Teaching excited, brilliant students—that was a reward, and one I’d never expected. And the students who came to the Tanglewood summer program were exactly that: promising, intelligent, and hardworking. I was in my element here.

I’d found myself wondering if perhaps I should have taught Robert, the blind boy, back in the spring. The more I thought about how I’d passed the boy off to a former student, the less comfortable I felt.

Up until now, I’d managed to avoid Savannah most of the summer, with some exceptions. That was likely to change shortly. The faculty had formed a small ensemble, which would begin practice Tuesday evening. Madeline was part of the ensemble, as was her shadow, and there would be no avoiding her.