Nocturne(98)

My cheeks heated as my eyes drifted over toward Gregory. I rarely messed up, and I was waiting for him to shoot me a condescending gaze, as if my messing up was somehow a billboard that the two of us were having sex in our private time. He just nodded and mouthed: you’re fine.

The past few weeks had been a whirlwind. Gregory and I were granted the gift of privacy a few hours a week due to practicing our duet. We’d played the Assobio piece a few times and worked a few other pieces into the rotation. I savored the hours we spent practicing. Playing. Immersing ourselves in the craft that initially attracted us to each other.

It was a turn on to watch him practice. To work note runs over and over, studying them behind his furrowed brow. When he stopped, satisfied that he’d worked over the measures enough, he’d look in my eyes, and I could never stop myself from setting my flute down and grabbing him into a kiss. He always kissed me back with greater intensity than I’d seen him use to study the notes on the page. So much so that one time in Houston, we got so carried away in the practice room that we’d taken each other’s clothes off before taking stock of our surroundings. Thankfully, no one caught us.

Caught.

I hated that what we were doing was something that someone could “catch.” There would be no release from that.

We rarely talked about the future. Or even the present. Karin … his wife … had come out to visit him for two days. A visit that ended inconclusively for them. And left me hanging, twisting in the wind. He’d told me nothing of their discussion when she was here. But sometimes I could see it in his eyes. The stress and confusion and anger, and occasionally, deep melancholy.

At first, I’d been concerned that his desire to be with me for the summer was purely driven by physical need. The more time we spent together, however, the less that was a concern. He loved me. That was evident in the soft growl that came from his throat as he softly bit my earlobe, and the way he watched me as I moaned beneath him. It was the way he always stood at the end of the song and slid his fingers around the back of my neck before kissing me and telling me how beautifully I’d played, and how beautiful I was. It was the look in his eyes when he said it. They always widened slightly, as if he was trying to remind himself that this was real. We were there, in that space, just loving each other.

I still didn’t let us say that to each other.

Love.

That was my limit. My singular request in this wildly irresponsible situation. I loved him, madly. And I know he loved me, too. I just knew myself well enough to know that I couldn’t hear him tell me that every time we were together and be able to keep my head on straight. He was married. And, at the end of this tour, he was going home to his life and I would go home to mine. We would always have the memories of the summer we toured together.

And that would be that.

“Where’d you go?” Nathan elbowed me as we stood by ourselves in the elevator of the Downtown Lexington Hilton.

“Huh?” I cleared my throat and glanced up at him, finding him scrutinizing my every move. I hesitated over the 7, which was Gregory’s floor. Nathan knew I was on the ninth floor. Reluctantly, I tapped the 9 with my knuckle and leaned against the wall of the elevator car.

“Today. That shit with the key change.”

“It was just one key change, Nathan. Jesus. Sorry.” I rolled my eyes and stared at the descending numbers on top of the elevator doors.

“It’s not just today, Savannah. You’ve been wicked focused in performances, but it’s like during rehearsals you’re somewhere else. You’re off. Something’s going on. What is it?”

Shit.

I’d taken Nathan’s possession of a Y-chromosome for granted in hopes that he’d never find out about Gregory and me. Certainly, I’d thought, as long as I showed up and did my job, no one would notice that what I was really doing was barely holding on to reality. Tightly.

“It’s nothing, really.” I shrugged and offered a half-assed smile.

“Is this about that article on your mom?”

“How’d you know about that?” I hadn’t mentioned it to Nathan, or anyone. Not even Gregory. Somehow, I cynically thought bringing up an affair my mother had would sour ours.

Nathan shrugged as the elevator dinged and the doors opened to the ninth floor, where Nathan’s room was, too. He followed me off and continued. “Everyone knows, Savannah. Cynthia Reynolds plays for the Boston Lyric Opera. She knew about the alleged scandal.” Nathan playfully mimed air quotes as his eyes bulged mockingly.

“So, what, she ran around and told everyone about my mom and Malcolm?”

Nathan had followed me to my room and as I slid my key into the slot, he shook his head.

“No … not about your mom and Malcolm. About the stuff about you.”

Ignoring the green light by the handle telling me I could enter, I dropped my hand and looked at him. “What the hell are you talking about? That article was about my mom and Malcolm and their—”

Nathan grabbed my key from me and opened my door. “Did you read it? The whole thing?”

I shook my head, my pulse picking up speed. “I skimmed the thing, saw their picture, I know the rest.”

“You have a copy?” he asked as the hotel room door locked loudly behind us.

“Unfortunately.” I reached into my suitcase and pulled out the Opera News magazine, which was rolled into a tight tube. I don’t know why I kept it.