Page 24 of Echoes of a Silent Song
My eyes jerked open.“A what?”
“You’ll learn about it in theory class.I took a peek at the textbook, though, so if you want to read ahead, it’s in there.But it’s basically this.”He picked up the pencil I’d discarded and made a few marks beneath the measure.
Did he really just do that?Did he really mark on my composition?
Part of me felt violated.But this was the first real-life composer I’d ever met, and I didn’t want to scare him away.
“There.”He shoved the paper back at me, his sketched-out chord structure faint beneath my frantically scribbled melody.“See?”
“Huh.”I heard the notes in my head.Imagined what the harmony would sound like ...“Yes, that’s it.That’s it exactly.”Somehow he’d managed to capture the notes in my head and put them on that paper.“An augmented sixth.Thank you.”
“An augmented sixth.”Victor’s gaze drifted to his right, and he issued a low chuckle.
A basket of fries perched on the edge of our table.When did they get here?How had I not noticed?Our Cokes had arrived too.Quite a while ago, if the drops of condensation on the outside of the glasses were any indication.
Suddenly I realized how hungry I was, and I reached for a fry.Victor did the same, and our fingertips brushed in the basket.
“Cheers.”He raised his fry to me, a grin on his lips.Giggling, I bumped my fry up against his, and we took a bite together.
It was cold.Sammy’s famous piping-hot fries had gone stone-cold.
Our eyes met and we laughed, our mouths full of cold, mushy potato.
“Well, I can’t say this has ever happened to me before, Iris.”The laughter shimmered in his voice, beautiful music in its own right.
“What?Getting so wrapped up in a conversation you didn’t notice your fries?”I laughed again.“That’s an awfully specific situation, Victor.I’d be surprised if it everhadhappened to you before.”
His laughter chimed with mine, a rich harmony.“You’re a funny girl, Iris.I think I’m really going to enjoy getting to know you.”
Then he reached across the table and laid his hand on top of mine.I flinched at first, because I didn’t normally like to be touched.But then I relaxed.
Because Victor’s touch was like nothing I’d ever felt before.
For the first time ever, I felt like maybe, just maybe, another human being understood me.
And that just might have been the best feeling in the whole wide world.
Chapter Ten
BLAIR LEANEDback in her office chair, plastic container of salad in hand.Usually she ate lunch in Joy’s office, but Joy had dashed out the door right after fourth hour, bound for the grade school with a box of Benadryl to bail out her oldest son, Graham.His allergies were always awful in late summer.
Forking up a bite of kale and pumpkin seeds, Blair reached for the gold-embossed blue leather yearbook.A storage closet at the back of the journalism classroom contained a treasure trove of yearbooks dating back to 1924, but she hadn’t needed to go back that far.
Just to 1970.
Over the last few days, Blair had reached out to a handful of alumni, but all her inquiries about Iris met the same brick wall.Iris Wallingford?Sure, I remember her.She was quiet, though.Kept to herself.I didn’t really know her.I don’t think anyone did.
And Norman Gilbert, the man who’d been at the helm of the choirs during Iris’s time in high school, had unfortunately passed away in 2019.
So here she was with the yearbook, hoping that a name might leap from the page as a possible new lead.
Setting her salad aside, Blair opened the front cover.A large black-and-white photo of a teenage girl stared up at her.
In loving memory of our friend and classmate Iris Jean Wallingford.We love you, Iris.Fly high.
It washer.
Short, shiny dark hair.
