Page 87 of Symphony of Salvation

“Nope. Not once.”

“And you fully understand Constance?”

“Not fully, and not at first. She spelled most words for me in the beginning since the alphabet is simpler, but in the few weeks I’ve had her in class, it’s coming back to me again.”

“Incredible.”

ASL was an entire language like any other, yet Niles didn’t see the gift he’d been given. He constantly downplayed his intelligence, but here existed a prime example of a man who was brilliant in his own right.

“You were angry I bought you that book.” He met my gaze.

I couldn’t lie. “Yes. It’s a crutch for her. She doesn’t require it.”

“Is it, though? Maybe it’s a comfort. Maybe using sign language eliminates a world of stress in her teenage world, and it sounds like she’s had a hard go lately.”

I considered. “True. Choose my battles, huh?”

Niles shrugged. “What do I know? I’m just a lowly high school music teacher with no kids of my own.”

“Don’t do that.”

“How’s Chloé?”

The sudden diversion caught me off guard. I faltered and stammered. “I… What?”

“I’m sorry.” Niles set a folder aside. “It’s none of my business.”

“You’re fishing. You want to know what happened.”

“I’m curious, but only if you’re willing to share.”

I slid the file I’d been working through into its correct spot on the shelf before facing the messy, bomb pitted field that was my daughter’s mother. “The condensed version… Chloé’s an addict and almost killed our daughter three months ago. She lostcustody and is currently spending time in a rehabilitation facility in Toronto.”

Fresh anger, hot and sizzling, blistered my skin. I clenched my fists and glanced at Niles, who watched cautiously from a stool less than two feet away.

“And the long version?” he asked.

Was I going there? Was I further shattering the illusion? Would Niles understand then how imperfect my life was under the surface? Could we be equals?

“I think the addiction started when Constance was first diagnosed. Chloé and I have never been close, so I can’t say for sure. Knowing what I know now and looking back, it makes sense. I see it, and I don’t know how I missed it. What’s the saying?”

“Hindsight is twenty-twenty?”

“Yes. That’s it. She was good at hiding the truth.”

“Addicts usually are.”

I nodded. “It’s not unusual with musicians. Addiction. Anyone in show business, I suppose. The pressure is astounding. The expectations are brutal. Add a cancer diagnosis, endless doctor’s appointments, and treatments to the mix, all while trying not to let your career implode, and you have the perfect concoction of stressors to facilitate a problem.”

I opened another file, not seeing the staff or notes, barely registering the composer’s name at the top. “As a result, Chloé had ongoing problems with work and on a few occasions with the authorities. I didn’t know any of this at the time. Didn’t know Chloé was sliding. Didn’t know Constance was suffering. We lived together briefly, but it wasn’t a healthy relationship, and we did our best to stay out of each other’s way. I left when Constance’s health improved, and things looked better. Any time I checked in, which was unfortunately rare, I got the beautiful illusion. The lies.

“In September, they got in a traffic accident. Chloé was drunk and high. I was told her purse contained a veritable pharmacy of pills. Constance was with her, and the only reason either of them is alive is because when Chloé drifted into oncoming traffic, facing off with an eighteen-wheeler, my daughter wrenched the wheel from her hands and steered them into a guardrail instead.

“No one was hurt. Thank god. Bumps and bruises. The police took Chloé away from the scene in cuffs. After having her assessed at the hospital, they charged her with reckless driving, among several other things. It was child services who contacted me and told me what happened. It was then I learned of Chloé’s long history with the authorities. They said my daughter needed somewhere to live. They said, in all likelihood, Chloé would lose custody, and unless I wanted my daughter in the system, I needed to collect her immediately. So here we are.”

I did all I could to bring the score into focus, but the past, present, and future had caused such a blinding fog I couldn’t see to save my life. The paths in and out of this mess remained obscured from view. If I could have found a way out, I’d have run.

Niles removed the folder from my lap and took my hand. The offered assurance and warmth of his skin provided much-needed steadiness. I closed my eyes as the symphony that belonged to this unexpected man came to life inside my head. Every note wrapped me in comfort and held me together.

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