Page 27 of Echoes of a Silent Song
Not that luck had been on his side lately.
“Take care of each other and yourselves.And don’t be idiots,” he called in farewell to the eager teens shouldering backpacks and streaming toward the door.His own high school choir director’s weekend sign-off sounded odd coming out of his mouth rather than Mrs.Bailey’s.Not that any of the kids heard him.In their minds Callum had ceased to exist.
Blair had made her way from the piano bench to the door, her dimpled smile wishing them all a happy weekend.“Have a great weekend, Miss Emerson,” several of them said, and a few even hugged her.She seemed to soak in their attention, her cheeks creasing and her eyes crinkling, her affection and enthusiasm warm and genuine.
Unexpected envy pricked his spirit at how much the kids seemed to love Blair.And why shouldn’t they?Through all the chaos and constant upheaval, she’d stayed.A needed source of continuity in the choir department and the one person the kids could count on to always be there.
That bond was probably for the best, as Callum wouldn’t be here any longer than anyone else who’d tried to fill Vic Nelson’s sizable shoes.The minute he got his life back together, he’d hightail it back to Bostonwhere he belonged.He wasn’t part of the Peterson choir family, nor would he ever be.
But in this moment of temporary insanity and exhaustion beyond belief, he wished he were.
A bittersweet ache bloomed in the center of his chest as he gathered his iPad and baton from the black metal music stand.But then the ache morphed into sound.A snatch of melody sung in the soprano register.
He froze, breath suspended, heart beating a staccato counterpoint, baton clutched in his shaking hand.
Music.
Music had come to him.
An effortless fragment of melody—not like those in recent years that surfaced only after hours of work and never amounted to anything.No, this was like the onesbefore.Those that sprang to him unbidden, fully formed, fluttering in from somewhere outside himself.He never knew where they came from—only that when they did, they usually blossomed into something beautiful.
And this one came while watching Blair.
She still hovered near the door, making small talk with an earnest, nerdy-looking freshman tenor, and the melody expanded.Lengthened.Spun its gossamer strands around his heart.
Slowly, as though approaching a timid baby deer, he moved toward the piano.Set his iPad and baton to the side and found the ebony and ivory notes that matched the ones in his head.Yes.There.That.
Blindly he reached for his iPad and turned on the voice memo app.Played the theme through a couple of times.And what if it did this?What if he went here?What if he added a harmony?
Yes.Yes.Yes.It washappening.A song was taking shape in his brain.
He was composing again.
Bitter experience stifled his enthusiasm.It had been five years since he’d finished anything, and this might end up doomed to the same fate.But how long had it been since he’d had even this much of an idea?How long had it been since he’d had something new to play around with?Something to color this way and that, something to explore, to—
“What’s that?”
His inspiration became his distraction.Blair stood in the crook of the piano, reaching up to free her hair from its large tortoise claw clip.It tumbled over her shoulders, and with it more notes tumbled, unbidden and unconscious, from his fingers.Thank God he’d thought to record this.
He’d never thought of Blair as pretty before—never thought of her as much of anything, really, except a pain in his rear end.But right now, even with her arched brow and sharp, quizzical expression, she was one of the most beautiful sights he’d ever laid eyes on.Because—whether he liked her or not—she was the source of the first good idea he’d had in God alone knew how long.
“I don’t know,” he replied.“It might not be anything.”
“Hmm.”She watched him for a second, her expression indecipherable, then retreated to the office to gather her things.
And with her movement, with the trace of sweet fragrance in her wake, came more notes.Callum noodled around at the piano, tossing and turning the melody, testing out harmonies, tinkering with it like a child surprised with a new toy.A few minutes later, she emerged from the office, long hair corralled over one shoulder, briefcase, purse, and lunch bag draped over the other, and met his eyes with a weary yet satisfied smile.
He grinned at her.“But ...”
That arched brow again.
“Then again, it might be something after all.”
Was he still talking about the music?Or whatever was happening between the two of them?Because something had shifted.Rotated.His world had just tilted on its axis in a way it hadn’t in quite some time.If ever.
He couldn’t identify how, exactly.Or what might come of it.All he knew was that it was because of Blair and the snatch of melody she’d inspired, the snatch of melody that meant he would still probably use that DoorDash card tonight but the Netflix queue could wait.
And sleep?Ha.Who needed it?
