Page 70 of A First Sight

I grabbed my phone just before it went to voicemail. “Hello?”

“Are you following me again?”

I wasn’t expecting an accusation. “What? No, of course not. I promised I’d stay away.”

“And you didn’t send me anything?”

I didn’t like the edge in her voice. Something was wrong. “Just the letter I dropped off at Carson’s studio. I didn’t—I didn’t think you’d mind that.”

Had I hurt her more with my apology?

“Nothing since then? Nothing at work?”

“No, lass. I swear it. I would never hurt you on purpose and I know intruding in your life would do that.”

“I know you wouldn’t.” The words were so low I almost didn’t hear them. “I didn’t really think you were the one who…I just had to ask.”

“Maggie, are you all right?” I sat on the edge of my bed. “I know I don’t have the right to ask, but…is something wrong?”

“I’m okay.” The answer came quickly. “I just wanted to make sure you were keeping your word.”

“I am.” After a beat, I added, “You know you can come to me with anything, right?”

“I know.”

I wasn’t sure if I believed it because I wasn’t sureshebelieved it.

“Thank you.”

She ended the call without another word.

I sighed and put the phone on the bedside table. I supposed Maggie’s response was a good one. Shethankedme.

It was a start.

And I was a patient man.

FIFTY-TWO

MAGGIE

All morning,I thought about the foolish phone call I made last night to Drake. I replayed it in my head, every word, and pause, every inflection.

I believed Drake when he said he wasn’t following me, and I knew he hadn’t sent the flowers. I also believed he would be there for me if I reached out.

I supposed that meant I was working toward forgiving him, but I just wasn’t ready to say it yet.

I knew who sent the flowers.

Except, it made little sense.

Dale was enough of an asshole to do it; that wasn’t in question. But why dead flowers and a creepy note?

Worried I would find another creepy package with everybody watching, I went in earlier than usual to warm up with some practice routines. My new violin was a superb instrument, but it still didn’t feel the same as my old. Many years of playing my mom’s Stradivarius had made it an extension of me. With time, I hoped my new violin would eventually feel the same.

As I walked toward the stage, the only people I saw were the cleaning crew and security guards. I greeted them with nods and smiles, but didn’t linger to talk.

After going through my exercises, I played the beginning of “Overture to Candide,” our opening piece in honor of Leonard Bernstein. Closing my eyes, I let myself feel the music filling the surrounding space until everything else disappeared. Only after the last note faded away did I open my eyes.

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