Page 22 of Echoes of a Silent Song
Dad paused.“Blair, sweetheart, you know I love you.But you’ve got to stop holding what Derek did against every man you meet.”
Blair arched a brow.“You make it sound like cheating on me a month before the wedding is the same level of mistake as playing a wrong note.”
“It was far more than a wrong note.I know he broke your heart, and it took everything in me not to tell him just exactly what I thought of that.”Dad leaned forward in his chair, his blue eyes rich with compassion.“But what I’m afraid of is that if you keep clinging to all this anger and bitterness, your heart will stay broken.And that’s not what I want for you.That’s not what God wants for you.”
Blair shut her eyes against her memories.“Then maybe God should’ve stopped Derek before he hopped into bed with Marguerite.”
Dad sighed, a signal that he’d let it drop—for now—and patted the back of her hand.“Just know I’m still praying for you.So’s your mom.”
Blair nodded, the memories fading.“I know.Thank you.”She took another sip of maple-cinnamon coffee, then sat up in her chair.“Hey, not to change the subject, but you’re the local history expert.Does the name Iris Wallingford mean anything to you?”
Dad pursed his lips, then realization seemed to dawn.“Wasn’t she the Peterson senior who died a couple months before graduation?Late sixties?”
“Spring of seventy.”
Dad nodded.“She was before my time, but I do remember hearing about her.Why?”
“We found an unfinished composition mixed in with some music in the choir library, and we think it might be hers.”
“That’d make sense.From what I heard growing up, Iris was an incredible musician.”His eyes sparked.“Did you ask Vic about her?They’d have been in school about the same time.”
Blair nodded.“Callum did, but Vic doesn’t remember her.”
“Mmm.”Dad lifted his coffee cup.“Well, I love nothing more than a research project.I can ask around at the next alumni association meeting, if you’re curious.”
“We are.”Blair paused.“Well, Callum is, anyway.”
Dad’s graying brows lifted.“Callum’s the new director, I take it?”
Blair nodded.“He and I were both blown away by the quality of the writing.It’s really good, Dad.We thought maybe it was Vic’s, but the style isn’t quite the same.So yeah, I guess we’re both curious.”
“Music to my ears, Blair.”Dad lifted his coffee cup in a silent toast.“I’ll let you know what I find out.”
Chapter Nine
September 1969
IS THISokay?”
Victor motioned to a corner booth at Sammy’s, opposite the jukebox.Thoughtfully far away from the noisy pinball machines near the entrance and the accompanying crowd of students.The little café was busy, sure, but far less so at the booth Victor selected.
Yes.The word rose from my heart but lodged in my throat.Because next to that cozy little corner booth, with its red leather seats and Formica tabletop and stained-glass overhead lamp casting a pool of light in the center, and Victor standing there pointing to it ...suddenly it felt very much like a date.Or at least what I’d always imagined a date might feel like.
Victor stared at me, still waiting for me to answer, but I still couldn’t talk, because I didn’t know if he was asking my approval of the booth or the whole thing—this date thing.If, in fact, it was a date.
Either way, though, it was okay.So was the booth.
Words still stuck in my throat, I nodded, and he slid into the farthest seat, his eyes alight and his smile wider.
I made that smile wider.I made those eyes light up.
What a powerful feeling.
“You hungry?”He grabbed two menus from the little holder near the napkin dispenser and handed one of them to me.
Was I?Normally after school I was half starved, but at that momentso many winged insects zoomed around in my stomach that I wasn’t sure there’d be room for even a bite of food.But Sammy’s fries were always delicious.
“I like their fries.”Oh, thank you, God.Finally.Words.
