Page 44 of Symphony of Salvation

“Yes.”

August’s movements turned jerky and erratic with the invasion of his space. He shuffled files senselessly, opening and closing them without looking at the contents.

“Would you like to grab… coffee or a drink? Dinner perhaps? We need to discuss how to approach the solos next week and review my grading scale. I can show you the form I use. Make sure we’re on the same page.”

August stilled, gaze locked on a roughened file containing Tchaikovsky’s1812 Overture, a piece the concert band had performed several times over the years. It presented a challenge while also being recognizable. The students always enjoyed it.

August wet his lips and warily scanned the classroom before lowering his voice. “You’ve got the wrong idea about me.”

“The invitation is work-related, August. Nothing more. Teachers do that sort of thing.”

He thumbed the frayed edge of the file and drummed his fingers once, twice, three times before opening it and tapping the cover page. “I always loved this piece. Intensely dramatic. Powerful. It gives me chills when I hear it performed.”

“Tchaikovsky has always been a favorite of mine.”

“Has the concert band played it recently?”

“It’s been about six years, so no.”

August nodded as he flipped through the instrumentation for each section. “We should add it to the list.”

“Sure.”

The disharmony of so many instruments playing at once filled the space between us. Practice sessions had turned to goofing around, and had I not been so focused on getting an answer from August, I might have reprimanded the class for not using their time wisely.

I waited.

August shuffled through scores, vocalizing his opinion on several and disregarding my invitation until I gave up and stood. “Never mind. I’m sure we can sort out grading on the fly.”

I turned to let the students know the bell was about to ring and they should pack up when August spoke. “Is nine too late? Constance usually shuts herself in her bedroom with a book by then, so I’d feel more comfortable leaving her if it was later. We don’t need to eat. A drink would suffice.”

“Nine it is. There’s a jazz bar on George Street called Junction. They usually have live music on Friday nights. It’s not as noisy as it sounds. More serene. Atmospheric. We’ll be able to talk. It’s classy. I like it. They do a nice cocktail.”

I stopped rambling as I considered the intimate setting of Junction and wondered if August would think I’d deceived him when he showed up. My innocent invitation was pure on the surface, but deep down, I couldn’t help casting one last lure into the water.

“I’ll find it.”

The bell rang, and the room exploded into Friday afternoon chaos as students packed up and scattered.

Instead of seeing them out or saying goodbye, I found a notepad and pen buried among the scores and jotted my phone number before tossing it to August. Something told me he was the type who would go home and talk himself out of it, and I would spend half the night drinking alone, waiting futilely for him to show up.

“If you can’t make it, please have the courtesy of letting me know.”

Chapter eleven

August

Ipicked up my phone three times to cancel. All three times, I put it down without texting.

“We’re consulting about work. Nothing more.”

The man reflected in the bathroom mirror wore a charcoal sweater-vest and maroon collared shirt, buttons open at the neck. I’d dismissed the idea of wearing a tie, knowing it would give away my nerves when I couldn’t stop touching it, but the display of skin felt suggestive in a way I didn’t want tosuggest.

Or did I?

Ignoring the thrum of my pulse, I splashed cold water on my face and wiped it off with a hand towel. The worried pinch at the corner of my eyes and the fret grooves gouged into my forehead remained. Why had I agreed to this? It wasn’t innocent or pure. Niles was fishing, and I took the bait.

Bracing a hand on either side of the sink, I leaned my weight on the counter, bringing my face closer to the mirror for a quiet pep talk.

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