Nocturne(44)

“Tired, Gregory?” Madeline set her now-empty mug on the coffee table, eyeing me teasingly.

I was tired. But, I wanted to listen to Savannah tell more of her story. Her history. Truth be told? I wanted to sit and listen to her voice until sunrise. It was as melodic as the notes that came from her flute.

“I know I am.” Savannah yawned and stood. “Thank you both for dinner, it was lovely.” Her eyes lingered on mine and I couldn’t look away. I didn’t want to.

James held out his hand for Madeline. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

“Thank you,” Madeline whispered.

As they walked through the door, Savannah stepped forward and around the coffee table. As she slid past me I caught a whiff of her perfume. She still smelled like lilies. Clearing my throat, I caught up to her as she reached the door.

“Savannah, I enjoyed chatting with you this evening.” My voice shook with an unsteadiness foreign to me.

Her tender smile calmed the buzzing through my body. “I did, too, Gregory. Thank you.”

As she turned for the door again, I found myself not wanting her to leave. But I had no reason for her to stay. Maybe just a few more seconds. “Savannah, you didn’t touch your coffee, was something wrong with it?”

She said she’d like some coffee, I’m sure of it. I’d asked if they wanted to stay for coffee, and she said, I’d like that. With her back to me, I watched the tops of her ears lift a bit as she smiled.

Looking back over her shoulder, she spoke quietly. “I don’t drink coffee.” Biting her lip, her eyelashes brushed the apples of her cheeks as she looked down and away and headed toward Madeline’s car.

My heart raced as I watched them pull out of the driveway and down the street.

I don’t drink coffee, either.





Savannah


It had been a few days since Madeline and I had dinner with James and Gregory, and here the four of us were, sitting in the faculty ensemble together near the end of the first week of orchestra camp. While most of the staff played together in the BSO or other ensembles, I felt like I didn’t belong. At all. Sure, they were all nice and welcoming when I sat down. But, as James handed out a few sheets of music he wanted us all to play, my nerves started firing.

I can’t blame it all on the music though. Gregory was only a few seats down from me, sitting behind his cello. I knew that was the one. I couldn’t remember the maker, or how old it was, but I’d read in Music Trades that he’d taken out a mortgage on his family home on Beacon Hill to purchase it.

The man had more interaction with his cello than with any human. Realistically, I knew this to be more the rule than the exception with musicians and other performers. Most musicians are married to their craft. Except maybe my father, who walked away from his life in the orchestra pit to raise me as normally as possible. He had shared his wife with the opera for over twenty years. Now I often wondered how their relationship would look once they resumed life in the States.

As Gregory warmed up, the muscles in his shoulders and forearms flexed and relaxed with each note. It bothered me that his stomach-clenching eyes were closed, but it also gave me an excuse to study the rest of his face. I often had to remind myself how young he was. He was barely thirty-one, even though his attitude, manner of speech, and general outlook on life suggested he was much older.

“Don’t be nervous, Savannah.” Madeline playfully nudged me with her elbow. “I wouldn’t have asked you to join us if I didn’t think you could handle it. You’re going to do just fine. This is supposed to be fun.”

“Fun?” I chuckled. “Fun is playing on a city street corner or in the grass somewhere. Fun is not sitting in a room full of musicians you’ve admired your whole life, preparing to play with them. It’s exciting … I’ll get back to you on the fun.” I arched my eyebrow and took a deep breath as James commanded our attention. I thumbed through our music as he spoke.

“First of all, I want to thank you all for a great first week with the students. I know it’s not over yet, but I think we can all agree that the students get more talented each year. While that makes some parts of our job easier, the challenge lies in continuously pushing them to do better. We have a great staff on hand to accomplish just that.” James nodded once to Gregory, who nodded back.

The cellists on campus were all thrilled to be working with Gregory, by the sounds of things, while all the other girls swooned every time he walked by. Watching him roll his tight shoulders back and stretch his neck side to side caused my mind to drift to what it would feel like to be pressed up against his muscles.

For three weeks I’d watched the high school students part as he walked down the hallway ... whispering behind their hands, eyes wide. I wondered if I would have giggled along with them if I was a student.

Yes.

His quiet command, even when doing something as common as eating a sandwich, left me staring. The way his jaw worked, how his eyes scanned the room as he took a drink … every little thing about him pulled me in.

Viewing him as a colleague over the last few weeks, and the casual environment of James’s house for dinner, I was intrigued to see another side of him. While he was still reserved, it no longer looked pretentious. He looked focused, passionate, and intense. I found myself anxious to know what was going through his head most of the time.