Page 112 of Symphony of Salvation

My agent called it a masterpiece and eagerly demanded we move to production and publication. Like always, I vehemently rejected the idea. My work was not to be published. If any low-scale orchestra could purchase the rights, if it was played on theradio or downloadable on music apps, it would lose what made it unique and special. It would become no different than any other piece of work.

But my agent’s enthusiasm energized my desire to return to the stage.Iwanted to nurse my creation to life and plan for its first showing.Iwanted to conduct the orchestra and give the world an elite preview of my masterpiece. My agent agreed to this alternative, but when asked for a time frame, I’d put him off, unsure what to tell him.

I leafed through several pages of the symphony, harmonizing certain parts on the piano, thinking of Niles, and reliving every second of the music’s nature. It represented a journey, every nuance attributed to shared moments with Niles. The ups and downs of our relationship denoted the tempo and articulation, crescendos and decrescendos, staccatos and runs. Like a pounding heart, the booming, thunderous basslines grew increasingly more intense. The airy trill of flutes and clarinets, featherlight, drifted effortlessly on a breeze. It was magical. Wonderous.

The symphony was my salvation. Never before had I felt so connected. So complete.

I stopped playing, staring at the notes inside my mind’s eye. It had all come together flawlessly, and the vivid picture it drew displayed something plainly evident. How had I not seen it before?

I had written a love story.Ourlove story.

The air left my lungs as I absorbed the profundity.

Blindsided yet again. Blindsided since day one.

I was a fool. I had never successfully kept my feelings for Niles at bay. Instead, he had sunk into my bones. He had become the very marrow at the center. To eject him would mean my demise.

But my life was incompatible with love.

Wasn’t it?

I left the piano, the unnerving realization of such strong emotions too unsettling to bear. With Timber Creek’s unrealistic offer on the table and the daunting prospect of permanent parenthood looming over my head, I departed the stuffy cottage and headed out into the cool afternoon to cleanse my thoughts.

Wool coat unbuttoned, hands lodged deep into its pockets, I wandered the mucky, snow-trodden trails of Timber Creek campus, searching the high branches of bare trees for chittering birds and squirrels, wondering how I’d ended up here.

My heart’s staccato rhythm fluttered like a butterfly’s wings against my ribs. Trepidation sent waves of anxiety through my veins, and my teeth chattered despite the coating of sweat dampening my skin.

How could I leave? I wassupposedto leave. But at Timber Creek, I’d not only found love for the first time in my life, but I’d gotten to know the daughter I’d never wanted. Despite our complicated relationship, despite how she abhorred me most days, I couldn’t deny the powerful fight within me. To be a father. To protect her. To do right by her. To give her the best possible chance in life. I feared leaving her on her own, at the mercy of boys, cruel students, or, god forbid, further sickness.

But how could I stay? The only career I’d ever known waited patiently on the outskirts for my return. The symphony wanted—needed—to be brought to life, and I could never entrust it to another.

But, more pressingly, in no universe could I take Niles’s job. It would be an unfathomable cruelty.

I ended up lakeside. The calm, glassy surface of the water reflected the sun, blanketing the area in false warmth contrary to the temperature. The world melted into spring, glistening with hope and promise. But for whom?

A dry spot on the shore called to me. I sat on the rocky edge, peering at the scant houses on the other side, noting hints ofgreen grass poking through the patchy snowmelt. In another month, flowers would push through the earth, trees would bud and leaf, and insects would return. It was a breath away. A hiccup. A heartbeat. With its arrival, the magical kingdom where I’d spent the winter would dissolve.

What was the right course of action?

Stay or go.

Torn, heart in a blender, I dug my cell phone from a pocket and stared at it for a long time, contemplating, debating, fearing I would make the wrong choice. But there never was a choice. I’d been set on a path, and my duty was to follow it.

In the end, I made three phone calls:

To my agent.

To the musical director and designate for the Chicago Symphony Orchestra.

And finally, to Dr. McCaine.

I only hoped Niles and Constance would forgive me.

Chapter twenty-six

Niles

August didn’t return after lunch. With my mood already low and questions arising from his impromptu meeting with Dr. McCaine, third and fourth period passed in a blur. At the end of the day, after the last student departed, I retrieved my phone, expecting to find a text explaining what had happened.

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