Page 4 of Symphony of Salvation

“Niles. I was referring to school.”

I ignored him, annoyed and hurt.

Koa leaned in and whispered as the performers, marching in uniform rows, filed onstage and took their seats. “The letters behind your name mean nothing. You’re an accomplished musician, and the best music teacher Timber Creek has ever hired. Bar none. Get out of your head. Passion outweighs education any day of the week. Ask any student who has ever spent time in a classroom. They can tell the difference, Niles. I wish you could see the greatness other people see and stop focusing on your shortcomings. The only person judging you is you.”

I faced my best friend and ex-lover. At some point over the past year, he’d become the man I knew he could be. One who cared. One who loved. One who believed in tomorrow.

Koa wore the suggestion of a smile, and it broke my heart in a different way. “I never should have given you up.”

The smile grew as he shook his head. “You’re not listening.”

“I am. I hear you.”

A long moment passed as Koa stared into my eyes, and I stared back. I could imagine what he saw. Longing and regret primarily. Oh, how I had loved this man.

The orchestra came alive with the trumpeting introduction to Tchaikovsky’sThe Nutcracker. Koa gently squeezed my thigh. “We worked in theory, Niles, but like those highly educated teachers with a long list of letters behind their name, we lacked passion, remember?”

“Distinctly, but it doesn’t mean I don’t still love you.”

“I know.”

“Do you hate me for that?”

“No.”

But that love could never be returned.

I bussed Koa’s temple, and as I watched the second half of the performance, I let the music take me away.

***

Monday morning dawned with a blizzard. Sipping coffee, staring out the picture window into the backyard, I fought the dizzying effect of billions of swirling flakes filling the sky. Surrounded by a landscape of evergreens, nestled on the outskirts of Peterborough and along the shore of Chemong Lake, the snow created a fantastical oasis for my quaint homestead.

For the better part of my career, I’d taken advantage of the housing options provided to instructors at the elite boarding school. The cabinesque homes proved adequate for a time, but as the years passed, I’d found the proximity to work suffocating. A few years ago, I purchased a bungalow off campus, determined to reclaim some privacy.

My phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. At shortly after seven, I couldn’t imagine who was calling. Koa perhaps? Another colleague? The new student, Constantina, startedtoday. Everyone had been in an uproar following the staff meeting, and she’d been the talk of the school ever since.

But it was neither Koa nor another Timber Creek educator. Dr. McCaine’s office number flashed across the screen. A phone call from my boss at that early hour couldn’t be good.

“Are you able to come in twenty minutes early? We need to chat.” Dr. McCaine wasn’t asking a question despite the inferring inflection. I’d learned long ago to tell the difference. She was the ship’s captain, and in her world, orders were given and obeyed.

“I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Good.”

“Is this about Miss Castellanos?”

“Not directly.”

“Ma’am?”

“See you in fifteen.” Dr. McCaine hung up.

I poured the rest of my coffee into the sink, found a warm jacket and my briefcase, and headed out the door.

***

After a quick stop in the music room to shed my outdoor wear and ensure I was appropriately presentable—Dr. McCaine did not approve of me wearing my long hair down nor the habit I’d developed of rolling my shirtsleeves to my elbows—I ventured to the second floor and her office.

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