Page 66 of Symphony of Salvation

Niles

August got me through the wretched family dinner I didn’t want to attend. Whether on purpose—recognizing my plight—or because the man’s despair was greater than my own and he needed company, I didn’t know. Regardless, my phone lit up with constant texts from the famed musician I was having a hard time hating.

A picture of six different charms.Which should I choose?

Photographs of various Christmas trees.Douglas fir or white pine?

An image of the one he chose precariously roped to the roof of his rental.Think it will hold?

Can you suggest a good pizza place?

Yowsers. You know it’s Christmas when the wait for takeout is 45 to 60 mins.

Canadians really do sayeha lot.

Holy crap. Look at this dog.The beagle in the photo sported reindeer ears, a red knitted sweater, and black booties.

August’s cultured edge vanished the more we talked, the more I got to know him. His humanity shone. He became aregular person, no longer existing on a different plane, no longer elevated to a higher tier. The revered maestro, it turned out, was someone with as many struggles and flaws as me.

Oh! I was just reminded of a time I was guest-conducting for the Hungarian National Philharmonic and got a paper cut flipping a page in the score. I bled all over the stand and baton. It trailed down my fingers and soaked my white shirt cuff. I couldn’t stop to stanch the flow, and by the end, I looked like I’d killed a man.

I pressed my lips together, holding in a laugh as I responded, keeping my phone out of sight, not that my family would notice my indifference to their conversation. It had been an exhaustingly long meal.From a paper cut?!?

Yep. I chipped a tooth during a solo performance once. Over three hundred and fifty people in the audience, and me center stage.

I cringed. How on earth did you manage that?

The piano accompaniment had a long interlude, and my mind drifted. Almost missed my entrance. Panicked, I brought my flute up too fast and smashed the mouthpiece against both front teeth.

Ouch! Did you stop the show?

Nope. I played through it, tears in my eyes the whole time. It was painful, and the piece that came off changed the airflow and left a sharp edge that sliced my lip, but I compensated for both and soldiered on.

Jesus. I don’t know what to say. That’s insane.

Dinner at my parents’ progressed nearly exactly as I’d described to August in our earlier conversation. Although, I’d failed to paint an accurate picture of the squeals and cries of seven nieces and nephews in the mix. It made for a noisy celebration. The bickering, tattling, and tears turned obnoxious after a couple of hours.

By the time Mom served dessert, a respectable wine buzz had cushioned my irritation. I stopped trying to hide my inattention and texted August openly. It earned an indirect diatribe from my father, as he denounced cell phones for ruining the minds of youth. The preteen boys at the other end of the table argued with their grandfather, and my brother Andrew gave me a pointed look that conveyed disappointment. If I was twenty years younger, I’d have given him the finger.

“Is it true they’ve brought in a maestro to guest-teach at the academy?” Mom asked during a lull.

“Yes, he’s from—”

“Augustus Castellanos from Greece.” Dad bounced Presley’s youngest on his knee, feeding the rosy-cheeked baby ice cream and pie, much to my sister’s horror. “Remarkable accolades. Juilliard graduate.”

“Yes,” I muttered. “In music. Imagine that.” It was baffling that August’s career could be consideredremarkable, while I’d spent a lifetime being told music was a hobby, not a profession one aspired to.

Dad frowned, but I didn’t think he’d heard me. “How’s school?” Asked as though I was a student and not a teacher for more than a decade.

“It’s fine.”

“The little ones keeping you on your toes?”

“They’re teenagers, Dad, and it’s a private school. They’re well disciplined. I don’t have too many problems.”

Dad harrumphed but seemed lost for words.

An argument broke out between Andrew’s oldest son and Mason’s middle son, shifting the attention to the other side of the table. I melted once more into the background, checking the newest text from August.

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