Nocturne(70)

I shook my head thinking about the brief conversation I had with Madeline the day after her wedding. She told me the organizers of the tour would be more than happy to have me in her spot, especially since I played for the Bolshoi Ballet, and they knew I had maintained my training.

“Come on,” Nathan cocked his head to the side the way he always did when he was being sweet, “don’t you think the organizers—the ones from Boston anyway—are thrilled to get their hands on you again?”

“What does that mean?” I asked, biting the inside of my cheek.

Marcia smiled. “Savannah.”

“Marcia,” I shot back playfully.

“They love you,” she continued warmly. “Not just because you’re amazingly gifted, though that’s a huge part of it. When you left it was like the star quarterback walking away from a zillion-dollar NFL deal, or something. You could have had any symphony you wanted, and they were all just waiting for you to decide.”

I sighed, recalling the many emails and letters I’d received over the last five years asking me to come practice with, or audition for, orchestras from Boston to San Francisco. I ignored some, politely declined the others. That wasn’t what I wanted then.

“We’re not saying they’re going to spend the summer scouting you, Savannah,” Nathan entered. “But if you take yourself seriously on this tour, you could very well have your pick all over again … if that’s what you want.”

“All right, all right, I’ll do it.” I smiled, butterflies forming in my stomach over performing with the most elite musicians in America.

“Yes!” Nathan high-fived me. It would be great to spend the summer catching up with him, as well. “It’s basically just going to be the youngest members of the symphonies anyway, since we’re the ones who are going to lead them in a few short years. So, we’ll be in good company. And you’ll finally be able to meet Christine.”

Christine was Nathan’s girlfriend of the last six months. She graduated from Eastman the same year Nathan graduated from NEC and was one of two harp players with the Chicago Symphony. Whenever he said her name his eyes would light up, and his entire body jerked to attention every time he heard the chime from an incoming text message.

I smiled. “That’d be great. Well,” I sighed, “I suppose I should call the number Madeline left me and get organized. Nate, you’re not staying in the hotel for the next two weeks are you? We should just stay at Madeline’s. She said to call her if we wanted to, and she’d cancel her house sitter.”

Marcia played with her napkin as she spoke. “You’re not going to stay with—”

“No,” I cut her off. She and Nathan shared a sideways glance. “I don’t want to talk about that right now, okay?”

“Okay,” she shrugged, “let’s talk about what we want to get at the liquor store this afternoon. You two aren’t staying at Madeline’s or in a hotel. You guys can stay with me. I own a house, remember? I’m all grown up and stuff.”

We all laughed. For the first time in several years, aside from my experience with Bolshoi, I was feeling excitement over my prospects come the end of the summer.





Several hours later, I was sitting at a table outside the Hyatt Boston Harbor, overlooking the water. A refreshing breeze blew through my hair as I sipped a Chilean Sauvignon Blanc, watching tiny boats go back and forth across the harbor. From this distance, the city looked beautiful. Peaceful and inviting, taking in the view of Boston from this distance reminded me why I’d chosen NEC over Juilliard, despite the enticing scholarship package they’d offered. Even Nathan left his beloved Chicago to attend here. The proper blend of American history and contemporary excitement, I’d once hoped to call Boston home. Despite my best efforts, it was impossible for me to separate Boston from Gregory Fitzgerald. I was gazing at the place my heart was broken.

“Savannah, darling, we could have met somewhere in the city.” My mother rushed to her seat, fifteen minutes late for our date, calling her drink order to a passing waitress.

Dressed in a sleeveless black dress that had a pencil skirt which accentuated her thin frame, she wore bright red pumps and a matching patent belt round her tiny waist. I’d say it was a bit much for afternoon drinks, but she’d passed her expectations of style onto me, and I’d begun to follow them over the last several years—especially during my time in Moscow. I played with the bottom of my grey skirt as I addressed her.

“You know I love the view here, Mother.” I sighed, drinking more of my wine.

“How was James and Madeline’s wedding?”

“Lovely,” I replied with a smile.

“Gregory Fitzgerald … was he there?”

“I’m not sure why you have to look at me that way,” I commented on her accusing gaze. “But, yes, he was. He was the Best Man.”

It was interesting that five years later, meeting in Boston brought Gregory to my mother’s mind as well. She had been less than pleased to find out about what happened between Gregory and me, though she only knew about the kiss. When I fled Boston and went to Nathan’s, she pulled it out of me on the phone one night. Incensed, she threatened to call the school and have him fired before I convinced her that he wasn’t the reason I was leaving. I’m not sure if she bought it, because I couldn’t tease out all of the reasons I was leaving myself, but she bought it enough to back down on her threats.