Page 27 of A First Sight

Monday morning came, and that same uneasy feeling about Maggie gnawed at me. I couldn’t wait until the next concert, especially since there weren’t any scheduled this week. Being ahead at work, from working all weekend, I decided the best thing to do would be to pick up coffee for Uncle Ben and me. It just so happened that the coffee shop I wanted to go to was next to David Geffen Hall.

I drove back and forth in front of the hall, moving as slowly as possible. I didn’t want to miss her arrival, or the entire trip would be for nothing.

Then, as I pulled to a stoplight, I saw a familiar profile in the car next to me. That was them. Maggie and Dale.

Time to park.

It took me a minute to get to a space since I had to turn around, so by the time I was walking toward the building, Maggie and Dale were already out of their car and standing in front of David Geffen Hall.

And something was wrong.

They were facing each other and stopped on the sidewalk, although people were all around them.

Dale’s face was flushed, fury written across every feature, while Maggie was pale, as if all the color had been drained out of her. Her eyes were wide, lips pressed together. She looked shell-shocked. Dale leaned over her, but it wasn’t to keep his voice low. I was a few feet away, and I could hear him shouting snatches of words only, but enough to get the gist.

“…think you can just do whatever you want...fucking bitch…can’t do that…do as you’re told…”

Common sense said to stop and go the other way. Go across the street. Go around. Do something—anything—except get involved. They were arguing. That’s all. Yes, he was screaming at her, but it wasn’t my business.

I kept walking, my pace increasing as he pointed a finger at Maggie, not quite touching her, but I saw her flinch. It wasn’t my imagination or me reading too much into something. He pointed at her, and she flinched.

“…you’re going to do exactly what I say, or you’ll be sorry…”

“No, Dale.”

I didn’t know what she was refusing to do, but those two words snapped something in Dale Leighton. He grabbed her violin case and yanked it from her hand hard enough to make her stumble. Then, he swung the case, hitting the side of Maggie’s face and following through the swing before letting go and sending the case flying into the street.

Fuck.

I ran without caring about who I bumped into in my rush. I only cared about getting to her.

TWENTY-FOUR

MAGGIE

The entire leftside of my face was numb. My ear was ringing, and my eyes watered. The pain was coming, as always. But the moment that numbness wore off, what Dale did was going to be agony.

My brain hadn’t caught up with everything yet, but I saw every second of my violin case flying through the air toward the busy street. That was something I could understand. My mom’s Stradivarius.

I stepped in that direction, then gasped as pain shot through my left arm. Another surreal moment before I registered that someone had a grip on my wrist.

Not someone.

Dale.

“Where thefuckdo you think you’re going?” Dale yanked on my arm, and I let out a pained cry. “You’re gonna do what I told you, you little cunt, and go–”

Suddenly, he was being pulled backward, and his grip on my arm loosened. I jerked my arm, whimpering as the movement aggravated an old shoulder injury, but then I was free. I didn’t think about where he was, what happened to him, what would happen to me. I didn’t even think about the pain now radiating across my face. I had one thing on my mind.

My violin.

In the background, I heard my name, heard people shouting, saying things about the police, asking if ‘that girl’ was okay, but I ran. I was aware of cars coming at me, horns honking, but all of it was peripheral. My eyes locked on that rectangular case as it bounced off the bumper of a parked car and slid into the next lane. I heard a screech of tires, saw it move again, disappear, reappear near the other curb. I saw all of this as I ran, ignoring everything but that case.

Someone bumped into me, throwing me off, and my hip hit something hard. Maybe a car. Maybe something else. I didn’t care. Everything already hurt. All that mattered was getting my violin back.

The moment my fingers closed on the handle, relief rushed through me. I ran another couple of feet to get off the street and onto the sidewalk before stopping. I was out of breath. My head was spinning. I went to my knees and then sat, not caring about the filth soaking into my slacks. I couldn’t stay on my feet for another moment.

“It’s okay,” I breathed, running my hand over the top of the case. “It’s all going to be okay. The case is fine.”

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