Page 123 of Symphony of Salvation

She put it away and sat rigid, peering over the music stand as I tidied my desk. Once the rest of the students were gone, I moved to the piano and sat.

Are we practicing our duet?she signed

“No.” I spread the complex piano piece I’d been studying for years on the rack. “I need your help. I’ve struggled with this piece for a long time, and I want to open with it at the concert. The first time your dad heard it, he criticized my playing. It was a punch to the gut. I’ve been sore about it since and haven’t gone near it.”

Constance approached and peered over my shoulder to see what I’d arranged on the rack.

He’s a perfectionist,she signed.

“Yes. To a fault… To his own detriment. I’m going to play it for you, and I’ll probably butcher it, but I want you to be honest and tell me what you think. If it’s a lost cause, say so.”

You wantmyfeedback?Constance seemed perplexed at the request.

“Yes. You’re a far better pianist than me, and I value your opinion.”

You don’t value my dad’s?

I chuckled. “I do, but…” I recalled August’s words. “He has the harsh presence of a conductor, and I have the soft heart of a teacher. I wasn’t made for the stage. When someone yells at me or points out my flaws, I dig a hole and bury myself inside.”

He yelled at you?

“No. But he certainly told it like it was, and I need gentler handling. I’ve seen you work with Cody. You have a gift, Constance. You’d make an excellent teacher.”

For the first time in a month, Constance stood taller, and her face brightened.

“Will you help me improve this mess?”

She nodded and gestured for me to play.

PlayingGaspard de la Nuithad been a goal of mine since graduating from teacher’s college. I went through phases of heavy practicing before giving up, never satisfied I did it justice. As I played for Constance, she lingered close, following along and moving the sheet music when required.

I stumbled over the worst transitions but didn’t let it stop me. When I finished, I dropped my hands into my lap and sighed. “That was a train wreck.”

Constance slipped onto the piano bench beside me and shook her head, rearranging the music.Not at all. You inject so much emotion into your playing. I love it. So many people simply play the notes without feeling. I felt that. It was powerful. I have some tricks that might help with the transitions.

We worked together for an hour, Constance overly cautious not to step on my toes or hurt my feelings. The request for assistance started as a means of giving her something to focus on, but the heart she put into the task seemed to help soothe the sting of other issues.

By the middle of May, Constance showed signs of adjusting to her new reality. Her temperament improved, and her grades went up. Friends regathered, and Cody smiled anew.

It was me who’d taken on her suffering. August had been gone seven weeks, and we’d barely spoken. To shield my heart, I still refused his calls and kept texting to a minimum. He continued to assure me of his return, but I quit believing in him.Soonwas the only date he’d given when I asked for a time frame.

The longer he was away, the more I understood Constance’s assessment. Was she right? Was he never coming back?

With a week until the spring concert, my mood plummeted. Koa invited me over several times for wine and conversation, but his morose outlook on life—however restored by Jersey’s companionship—didn’t invoke positivity.

Constance noticed, no matter how hard I tried to hide it. My teaching suffered. The energy in the classroom tanked, and I stopped sleeping well.

During an afternoon rehearsal, when we’d exhausted playing the duet, Constance leaned her head on my shoulder in silent commiseration. I had no doubt we were thinking about the same person. August Castellanos.

He’d abandoned us both.

Chapter twenty-nine

Niles

From center stage, I peered into the empty auditorium as my fourth-period class arranged the risers and brought the chairs and music stands from the classroom. Koa would assist in moving the piano after school. I didn’t trust fourteen- and fifteen-year-olds to its care and couldn’t do it safely on my own.

Not for the first time, I imagined a more prolific stage in a grander location than a high school. I thought of August, seated in his precious first chair, playing with the Chicago Symphony, oblivious to the destruction he’d left behind.

---