Page 113 of Symphony of Salvation

Nothing.

I typed an inquiry but received no immediate reply. It was unlike August, but I could hardly be annoyed, considering I’d avoided his texts for the better part of Sunday. As I packed to leave, Constance, Cody, and three other students came through the door, backpacks slung over their shoulders.

“What’s this? Party in the music room? I didn’t get the memo.”

“Hey, Mr. E.” Cody grinned and waved.

Constance approached the desk, and the others hung back.

Have you seen my dad?she signed.

Frowning, I glanced at my silent phone. “No. He was called to a meeting at lunchtime. I haven’t seen him since.”

He won’t answer my texts, and he’s not at home. I need permission to go to a café in Lakefield. They’re leaving now.

“Lakefield? Who’s taking you all to Lakefield?”

“Tania.” Cody stepped forward. “In the school van. They’re having trivia this afternoon, and we wanted to enter as a team. One of the public schools is going to be there too. Tania said she’d take us for pizza after. We won’t be back until close to nineish.”

Tania was one of the after-hours activity coordinators, so the news wasn’t surprising. She often planned spontaneous off-campus trips with small groups. The students living in the dorms would only need to sign out, but Constance’s circumstances differed since she lived with her father.

“I’ll text Tania and tell her it’s okay.”

You’ll tell Dad too? I don’t want to get in trouble.

“I’ll tell him.”

Constance beamed.Thank you, Niles.

I slanted a brow. “Excuse me? We’re at school, missy.”

Constance shrugged but signed,Thank you, Mr. Edwidge.

She skipped off and joined the other students. They left, everyone except Constance eagerly babbling about the trivia game. The smile on her face was one August needed to see. His daughter was happy and sociable. She’d made friends despite her disability. No one singled her out. No one scoffed or made fun of her for choosing not to speak. At Timber Creek, she thrived as the teenager August wanted her to be.

I sent another message to her absent father, but it too went unanswered. It was one thing to ignore me but another to ignore Constance. August’s instincts weren’t on par with other fathers, but he was improving. Instead of heading home, I tossed my briefcase into the car and followed the path to August’s cottage.

After knocking a few times and receiving no reply, I tried the door. It was open, so I let myself in, calling, “Hello? It’s me… Auggie, are you here?”

Absolute silence greeted me. I toed off my shoes and wandered around to be sure he hadn’t fallen asleep or suffered an accident and needed help. Those were the only excuses I could devise for why he wasn’t answering his phone.

August wasn’t in the kitchen. A chaotic spread of sheet music on the piano rack—the symphony he’d secreted away since the day I’d accidentally found it—remained as evidence that he’d been there recently. He was ordinarily meticulous about keeping it hidden.

Unable to quell the urge to snoop, I spent a minute leafing through the dozens and dozens of pages filled with carefully scrawled music. A conductor’s score, each instrument’s part meticulously penned with several notations denoting how it should be played. The complex layers that constituted a full orchestral ensemble fascinated me, especially knowing it had been written by someone with whom I was closely acquainted. The copy in my hands was newer than the one I’d seen months ago. Cleaner. A revision, I assumed.

In fact, on closer inspection, the symphony appeared complete. No. August would never have left it lying around, even if he wasn’t expecting me. He gave the impression this composition was something extremely private—at least, I’d surmised as much with how protective he’d been.

I put the pages back where I found them, resisting the urge to sit on the bench and play through some lines. Before leaving it, I checked the top of the first page, but the symphony remained untitled.

In the bedroom, I discovered a neatly made bed, folded laundry that had yet to be put away, and no sign of August. Suit jackets and pressed shirts filled the hangers in the closet. The numerous silk ties he couldn’t knot to save his life hung on a rack. Underneath, a few pairs of expensive leather shoes lined the carpet. Nothing appeared to be missing. I wasn’t sure why,but a niggling prophecy whispered in my ear, saying August was leaving, August was gone.

Stumped, I wandered back into the main part of the cottage, scanning for clues that might indicate his whereabouts. His rental was in the lot, so he couldn’t have gone far. My attention caught on a stapled packet of papers on the dining room table. The Timber Creek letterhead and formal configuration had me stepping forward, crossing lines, and invading August’s privacy once again.

It appeared to be a contract.

Stomach sinking, I picked it up and read.

It took three paragraphs to reveal its purpose, but once I pieced it together, my knees threatened to buckle. Timber Creek’s board of directors had offered August a full-time teaching position—myteaching position—with a starting salary nearly triple my own.

---