Page 69 of Symphony of Salvation

Sour envy returned. The man had an entire catalog of unpublished compositions. According to Koa, he was particular about his work and only performed it for special audiences. Never in his career had he approved any of them for publication or made recordings.

Meanwhile, I had a drawer of half-realized ideas gathering dust in my office, an ever-growing pile of frustration. Beginnings were easy, but somewhere in the middle, I lost confidence and gave up, convinced it was junk. I didn’t have a single finished product on which to write my name, of which to be proud.

Constance’s playing was as exemplary as her father’s writing. If I’d thought she was a superb violinist, she rose to another level on the piano. Her astute attention to detail, the careful way she approached transitions and tackled articulation, and the flair she infused into every long sentence made the piece extraordinary.

I followed along, admiring her skill and mesmerized by August’s creation. An award-winning composer, pianist, conductor, and more. If the man cooked as well as he wrote and played music—the smells emanating from the kitchen suggested he might—I was out the door. A person could only take so much humiliation.

Constance finished with a flair and flashed a shining smile over her shoulder before gesturing for me to join her on the bench.

“Oh, no. I can’t.” My gaze inevitably shifted to the kitchen, giving away the reason for my apprehension.

The teen scowled and insistently tapped the spot at her side before signing,Sit. He’s busy.

I sat, knowing better than to argue with a teenager.

Constance leafed through a stack of music and propped new pages on the rack before swinging a finger between us. She wanted to perform a duet.Pachelbel’s Canon in Dwas familiarto all musicians. Simple enough for a beginner but open to unlimited variations, restricted only by the player’s creativity.

Since my position on the bench put me with the notes below middle C, I took the bassline, letting Constance flourish and have fun with the melodies. When she nudged me, I understood she wanted me to stop playing it safe and inject a dash of vibrance and imagination into my part as well.

We didn’t need sheet music. It was a piece open to endless interpretation. I followed her lead, quickly learning the girl was dangerously competitive. Eyeing me from time to time, grinning wickedly, she played increasingly complex variations as though to test my skill and see how I would react. I met the challenge and offered her my own.

I laughed as she grew progressively more aggressive but kept up easily. Only once did I manage to steal control and take the spotlight. Constance’s fingers moved devilishly fast. The more assertive we became, the more mistakes we made trying to outshine one another.

Somehow, despite the game, the essence of the composition remained.

In the end, Constance bailed, but only because her silent joy made it impossible for her to continue.

You’re good, she signed.

“You’re evil.”

She stuck out her tongue, eyes still creased with happiness. It was the first time I’d seen her smile this much. In class, Constance wore her melancholy like a comfortable sweater. Her superior musical skill set her apart from her peers, and her disability added another layer of distance. I was gratified to see the teen express joy.

“Have you ever performed a duet?”

Constance shook her head.Only solos or spotlighting with an orchestra behind me.

“We should plan something for the spring concert. I have ideas.”

She swung a finger between us with a quizzical expression.

“Yes, you and me. Why not?”

Constance turned introspective a moment before signing,I have ideas too.She motioned to the piano.Let’s switch sides and go again.

As I shuffled off the bench and Constance slid over, I caught sight of August watching from the doorway. His daughter didn’t seem to notice. The boyish smile he’d worn upon my arrival was gone. Sadness strained the corners of his eyes, making him look older and worn out. Before I could exchange a questioning glance, he ducked his head and returned to the kitchen. I considered going after him, asking what was wrong, but Constance tugged my sleeve, so I returned to the piano.

The second rendition was a bigger catastrophe than the first and ended far sooner with a clash of fingers.

“You’re a worthy opponent.”

Constance shifted on the bench to face me.Do you have kids?

“I… No. Being a teacher is enough.”

But you must have a family. Why don’t you see them at Christmas? Why are you alone?

“I have a family. I saw them last night. My mom and dad, brothers and sister, nieces and nephews. We had dinner and exchanged presents.”

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