Page 111 of Symphony of Salvation

“You’re wrong. I’ve never been to teacher’s college. I don’t know the first thing about instructing teenagers. In fact, pardon my language, but I’m rather shit at it. My tolerance level for their… conduct is nonexistent. Trust me. It’s been a constant struggle.”

She laughed as though I’d told a joke. “You’re modest. These things are trivial. It’s your mind we’re after. Your skills. These children don’t need parenting. They need to be educated to the highest degree possible.”

She turned the top few pages of the contract, spun it to face me, and pointed to an area midway down. “We’re offering you a competitive wage. Our finance team did some research, and I think you’ll find it comparable to your current earnings. Think about it, Maestro. Signing on with us, you’ll be nearby for your daughter. I understand you’ve been granted indefinite custody. Congratulations. I also understand Constantina is not quite in remission from her bout of cancer, so her health is fragile, and she needs constant monitoring. Wouldn’t you feel more comfortable being close to her during these difficult times?”

I blinked at the head of Timber Creek Academy, confused how she’d learned so many personal details when I’d kept a majority of them close to my chest. Before I could speak, she tapped the paper, drawing my attention to the offer printed in bold on the contract.

Blood whomped in my ears at the sizable sum.

Niles and I had never openly discussed finances, but I knew for a fact my income far exceeded a teaching salary. According to the contract, Timber Creek planned to not only match my overinflated income but exceed it.

Words escaped me as I took it in.

“Well?” she asked, a proud smile plastered on her face.

“You would so easily dismiss Niles based solely on our educational differences?”

“You have far more to offer our students.”

But I didn’t. If she’d spent five minutes in the classroom observing us, she would not be making this offer. I was meant for the stage, to perform or conduct large orchestras. I was meant to compose creative works of art. Imagining a life where I was in charge of an unruly bunch of ungrateful teenagers about made me want to vomit.

“And what of Niles’s contract?”

Dr. McCaine pressed her lips in a thin line. Based on the expression, I sensed she hadn’t expected resistance. Wasn’t I a thankless bastard, querying about topics that didn’t concern me.

“I can’t discuss the nuances of the agreements signed between the board and staff, but I assure you, Mr. Edwidge’s contract was created with this contingency in mind. There are… loopholes.”

“Loopholes.”

She pushed the contract toward me. “Take it home. Read it over. If you have questions, I’ll happily answer them. If you want to suggest changes or don’t feel the offer is generous enough, I have sway, and I’m sure we can work something out. Keep your daughter in mind, Maestro. This is an incredible opportunity.”

For whom?I wanted to ask but didn’t.

A hundred questions filled my brain, a tangled mess I couldn’t voice. Too caught up in what might happen to Niles, I took the contract and stood.

I didn’t want their job or money… but if I took it, I could stay.

I could live openly in Peterborough, where the world and judgment seemed far away.

Niles and I might have a chance as a proper couple. I could set my heart free. Love him openly and without fear.

Constance and I might develop a better relationship. I could monitor her health. I could be the dad I’d never considered being.

But no.

None of that whimsy would happen if I signed the contract.

If I agreed to their proposal, Niles would never talk to me again. Constance would hate me worse than she already did.

And I’d be stuck in a nothing town, lonelier than I’d ever been in my life.

***

I didn’t return to the music room after my meeting, heading home to the quiet, empty cottage to think. Home? Had the barely adequate cabin in the woods, which I’d vehemently disliked upon my arrival, become such in the past few months?

In a way, it had.

Tossing the contract on the dining room table, I sat at the piano. Music stirred my anxious soul, the same melodies that had kept me company since December. From seed to flower, the symphony had grown and matured. It was more or less complete. Having suffered through several rewrites and alterations, the result amounted to something beyond reckoning. Pride swelled my chest every time I sat down with it.

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