Nocturne(39)

In truth ... I didn’t want to avoid her. I didn’t want to, but I had to.

I hadn’t been completely successful in keeping my distance. Three weeks before, the entire faculty and incoming students had met in a large auditorium for a welcome and introduction. I had been standing roughly halfway up the middle aisle, looking for a seat when I saw her near the orchestra pit, standing beside and just behind Madeline.

She had a smile on her face as they spoke with Joseph McIntosh, who would be directing the Young Artists Orchestra this year. McIntosh was an up and coming conductor who had taken over the Cleveland Orchestra only last year. Slightly shorter than me, with tousled hair and a youthful, always smiling expression, he spoke in an animated fashion, his hands waving all over the place. I froze, watching them, not able to help the fact that I hated her talking with him, even though it was none of my business.

But then her eyes wandered and locked on mine.

I froze in place, staring at her. Her eyes, her face, her hair. Her eyes widened a little, and she smiled. Just a little smile, at the corners of her mouth.

I kept my composure. I returned the smile, nodding to her, and then taking what felt like a thousand breaths to slowly turn away, I found my seat. The sight of her eyes, of that smile, stayed with me for hours.

That’s not true. I could still see her. Every time I closed my eyes.

The taste of her lips …

The two-week workshops were intense, and we didn’t get to spend much time with those in a different instrument from ours, so I saw a marked change in Savannah Marshall by the time the final performances rolled around. Madeline had told me she was a natural with the students, and she was right. Despite helping instruct students who were close to her in age—some only two years younger than her—I saw an effortless authority flow from her. The hot-tempered young woman who couldn’t wait to challenge my every word morphed into a mature professional before my eyes. She laughed with her students before the performance and commanded their undivided attention as she led them through their piece. She made it look easy.

Madeline’s inference at the end of the semester that Savannah might not be interested in pursuing a professional playing career, paired with her obvious natural ability instructing other musicians, concerned me. While I initially had reservations about Savannah playing with us in our kind of private ensemble in the next couple of weeks, those were now washed away. With any luck, playing with us would be encouraging to her. She’d be able to keep up; there was no question there. I’d listened to her audition recording several times over the last three years, blown away each time by the confident skill of that seventeen year-old. Doing anything else with her career but playing as long as she could simply wasn’t an option. I intended on doing my part to make her see that.

Just as I sat down and pulled my cello from its case, a car pulled in the driveway. Sighing, I latched the case, figuring it was James, and he’d want to catch up. Regardless of what I was in the middle of doing. As he opened the door, I lifted an eyebrow at the number of grocery bags he was carrying. I had food here, and he was just in for the weekend.

“James.” I nodded, walking over to him and taking a bag that was teetering from his grasp.

“Thanks, man,” he replied as he set his bags on the table.

I gestured to the groceries. “What’s … all this?”

“Dinner.” He smiled and started unpacking steak, asparagus, and potatoes. “How was the workshop?”

“Fantastic, actually. There are some incredibly talented strings this year. More so than last year, I’d say. The students from last year got exponentially better, and the new ones are just …” I trailed off, watching him pour marinade over the steaks. “I appreciate you cooking dinner, but isn’t that a lot of food for the two of us?”

“We’re having guests tonight, Gregory. Madeline lives around the corner, and she and Savannah will be joining us.”

I nodded, taking a deep breath as I ran my tongue across my lips. Savannah would be here for dinner.

“Madeline lives around the corner, you say?”

James was already skeptical of my feelings for Savannah, and I didn’t need to add to that. Especially if we were all going to be in the same room shortly.

James nodded and spoke to me as if I were simple. “She does, you know that, Gregory. Her parents owned the house while we were in the conservatory.”

“Yes, of course. Of course.” I knew that. I’d been to the house before, for goodness sake. What I’d meant was, Savannah’s been right around the corner this whole time?

“Just try to be nice to Savannah, please, okay?” James set the knife down, giving me a pointed look.

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Rolling my eyes, I took a knife from the butcher’s block and began dicing the red potatoes.

“Who keeps saying that?”

“You. Madeline said it a few weeks ago in her office. I’ve never been mean to the girl, James. She was a student. One who found my authority up for discussion.”

James laughed. “It wasn’t your authority she found debatable, Gregory. It was your opinions.”

“What’s the difference?” I scoffed. “Plus, how would you know what she thought?” James seemed to know more about Savannah than I’d given him credit.

“Madeline told me. She said Savannah seemed nervous about being here this summer with you, worried she’d pissed you off all semester.” He shrugged and took olive oil from a cabinet, handing it to me to drizzle over the potatoes.