Page 39 of Love Me Steadfast
I’m just starting on the second wall when Oscar pokes his head into the office. “Wow, looks good!” he says, grinning. Today, his chef’s pants are tie-dyed pink, purple, yellow, and turquoise, which matches his cap. In his arms are about a dozen padded envelopes and a stack of other mail. “Where do you want these?”
“Just…set them there.” I nod to the center of the floor where the computer is covered by a drop cloth.
“Lemme know when you get hungry. We got fresh butternut squash raviolis on the special sheet today,” he says, pumping his eyebrows.
I press the roller up the wall. “Sounds tasty.”
“You know it.” He saunters off, whistling to himself.
I glare at the pile of demos Oscar brought me. Somehow, I need to keep the talent coming to The Limelight, and that talent could be in those demos. But listening to them is counterproductive to my well-being.
While rolling on more paint, I think through my options. If Morgan was better, this would be her responsibility. But I don’tknow when she’ll be back, or if she even wants this job. Working in a bar isn’t the best environment for a recovering addict. Didn’t Ray understand that?
The person who could step into that role is barely speaking to me.
I slide out my phone and type out a short message.
I need help with these demos
Though I know it’s stupid to stare at the screen, I do it anyway. I’m not surprised when no reply comes.
Chapter Thirteen
CHARLOTTE (NOW)
I packup my violin and music. My fingertips feel a little tender. A sign I’ve been too lax in my practicing this past week. With the audition looming, the little voice of panic gets a little louder every day.
When I toggle my phone out of DO NOT DISTURB, there’s a missed call from Pierre.
“Charlie, hello,” he says in that formal tone that never falters.
“Hey, Pierre. How is he today?” I ask.
“It’s a very pretty day here. We went out into the garden.”
I imagine Henrik strolling past his dahlias and roses, the September sun warming his hunched shoulders. “That sounds nice.”
“He requested potato salad and strawberries for lunch,” Pierre adds. “And we listened to Claire de Lune in the sitting room. He dozed for about an hour. The speech therapist is here now.”
I wince. Henrik doesn’t like doing the speech therapy exercises. He gets agitated. Probably because they make him feel stupid, and for a man like him, it short circuits his deteriorating mind. Which means my chances of talking to him today just dwindled to zero.
“I’m borrowing a sound booth from my old friend Crosby to rehearse in,” I say, leaning my back against the padded wall androlling my neck from side to side. Tonight, I’ll do my MELT routine to loosen the fascia in my hands and fingers and use the foam roller on my shoulders.
“That’s encouraging,” he says with a gusto that makes me smile.
“Do you think he’d be up for a video call in the morning tomorrow?” I’ll have to ask Crosby about switching my slot in his sound room to midday.
“We can definitely try,” Pierre says. “How is your sister?”
I haven’t had the guts to hit the pawn shop in Pinedale yet. Mostly because I’d have to confront Morgan about it and I’m not ready for that. However, I did share what I found in her bathroom with her care team.
During my visit this morning, Morgan broke down when I brought up that fucking farrier, R.J.He’s going to leave me now and it’s your fault.I didn’t have the heart to tell her that R.J. has bigger problems than saying goodbye—like hopefully being arrested.
“She’s hanging in there,” I reply. Morgan didn’t want to be part of Henrik’s Summer Youth Symphony, so they were never connected. But because I talk about my sister and I’ve shared our music with him, Henrik would sometimes ask about her in that caring, grandfatherly way.
“That’s good to hear,” Pierre says. “We’re sending her strength and peace.” His use of “we” is sweet, and I try to breathe some faith into it. If Henrik weren’t fighting the loss of his mind, I know he would send those thoughts.
I close my eyes. “Thank you.”
