Page 109 of Symphony of Salvation

“I’m in love with August, but he has one foot out the door. I’m forty-four, and I can’t have my heart broken again. I won’t survive it. Only, I don’t know how to keep him.”

“He’s not going anywhere. His daughter is—”

“Moving into a dorm room. When he leaves, this is over, and I’m shattered. Again.”

“Why would it be over?”

Koa didn’t know the half of it, so as I finished Jersey’s wine and helped myself to a fresh glass, I told him everything I’d withheld about August’s fear of being out, about his fragile relationship with his daughter and her conviction that he wasn’t sticking around, about his nonexistent past relationships.

“Does he love you?” Koa’s words stabbed a tender part of my soul.

“I think so. More than you ever did.”

“Has he told you?”

“No. Men seem to enjoy making me suffer.”

Koa couldn’t meet my eyes. He glanced at the spread of assignments on the table, wearing an expression of guilt and sorrow.

“Is there something wrong with me, Koa? Why is it that the men who love me can’t properly love me? Am I destined to be alone forever? To be constantly heartbroken?”

It wasn’t fair to voice these thoughts to Koa. He had never pretended to love me. He had never lied.

In fact, neither had August. He’d been honest about his position and plans from day one. Not once had he promised to stay and love me back. Not once had he suggested canceling his return to Chicago.

I slid the half-empty wine glass away and stood. “Never mind. I gotta go.”

“Niles,” Koa called as I made my way to the front door.

I ignored him, grabbed my coat, and left.

Chapter twenty-five

August

Something was off with Niles. Every phone call and text I sent Sunday went unanswered. In the evening, he messaged an apology, stating he was unwell. It felt like a lie, and in front of the class Monday morning, every student noticed his absent spark, especially Constance.

Niles ran through scales with little enthusiasm and without the added dynamics or variations. He taught history with a dreary edge that triggered more than a few eyelids to droop. Twice, his distraction caused him to miss students’ raised hands.

I couldn’t concentrate. Niles had delegated the task of solo selection to me the previous week, trusting in my unique ability to match certain pieces of music to a student’s skill level. Instead, I spent the entire second period staring at Niles, reviewing everything that had happened recently in a failed effort to determine where I’d gone wrong.

By lunchtime, the first chance I might have had to inquire about his well-being, Dr. McCaine’s secretary summoned me to the office. Before answering the call, I waited for the music room to empty.

“How are you feeling?” I asked when the last student departed.

Niles distractedly shuffled through a stack of music on the conductor’s stand. “I’m fine. It was a tension headache. It’s gone now.” He smiled unconvincingly, resuming the task.

I stilled the anxious fidgeting and turned him to face me. Instead of a pair of luminous autumn sunsets, trouble sat on the horizon, casting deep shadows across his face. Their cause lay with me, of that much I was certain.

“Let’s go out tonight. Have dinner together. My treat. Anywhere you’d like.” I brushed a hand over the short beard covering his jaw, tipping his face so he couldn’t look away as I added, “And it can be somewhere romantic with wine and candles.”

He took longer to agree than usual, but with a strained smile, he nodded. “That sounds lovely.”

I kissed him, something I’d never done in the middle of a school day in the music room. Hovering over his mouth, I whispered, “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Perfect.”

I peered deep into his tormented eyes, but the truth remained hidden.

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