by Nancy Thayer
Trevor carried his coffee to Sophie, who was still curled on the sofa. She wore leggings and a pale blue sweater. Her feet were bare and she had pulled a light blue cotton throw over them.
“Can we talk for a minute while everyone else is busy?” asked Trevor.
She stuck a bookmark in the pages of her novel and set it down. “Sure. What’s up?”
Trevor settled in the chair across from her. “I don’t want to make a fuss out of it, but it was an amazing sight to see Leo playing the piano with you. He’s never shown any interest in it before.”
“He learns quickly,” Sophie told him. “I think he has a natural talent. He wanted to play first thing this morning, but I thought he should use up his squirming energy first. I told him we’d play this afternoon.”
“You think he’s really good?”
“I do.”
“Do you think he could be, well, talented?”
The smile faded from Sophie’s face. Reaching out, she picked up her coffee and looked down into the mug as if the answer lay there. “It’s too soon to judge, Trevor. And I don’t know if I’d wish that on him.”
“Why not?”
“Playing competitively isn’t for everyone. It’s demanding, it’s exhausting, and it steals your life.”
“Whoa,” Trevor said. “Tell me more.”
From the dining room came peals of laughter. Lacey and Leo ran into the room, snatched up a few throw pillows, and carried them back to their fort.
Sophie sighed. “It’s all so different here, isn’t it? I mean, it’s as if on this island we can look back at our lives as if we were looking at boats making passages toward the land.”
“I kind of think you’re evading the issue,” said Trevor.
“Of course I am,” Sophie laughed, bitterness tingeing her voice. “Look. My parents were both doctors. My father has passed away, but he did important research and traveled all over the globe. My mother’s still working at the ER at Emerson Hospital. I’m their only child. They assumed I would go into medicine. I didn’t want to, but I did like piano, and when my teachers told me and my parents I had serious talent, they thought, well, okay, then I could become a world-famous concert pianist.”
“Ambitious parents.”
“You have no idea. My father told me over and over again: You’re either a winner or a loser. No in between. They paid for the best music teacher, bought me a Steinway baby grand, and didn’t care about my grades in school. They set a strict daily practice schedule for me.” Sophie smiled sadly. “My arms still ache, just remembering.”
“From the brief amount I’ve heard you play, it sounds like you got pretty good.”
“I did. Oh, I wasn’t a prodigy, but I was good. In my high school and my town, I was a celebrity. My mother took me into New York to buy gorgeous dresses for me to wear at my concerts in competitions. I was admitted to the New England Conservatory of Music in Boston. But I didn’t make it all the way.”
“I don’t know what you mean by that.”
“Well, I’m not a concert pianist, that’s for sure.” Sophie paused. “Do you actually want to hear the whole grisly truth?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. Well, when I was nineteen, I was chosen from all the pianists in Boston for a competition of New England young pianists taking place in New York. My mother accompanied me. My dress was perfection. My father didn’t come, but before the trip he presented me with large diamond studs for my ears. It was like a fairy tale coming true. The hotel was five-star, posh, and crammed with people who loved music more than breath. I attended some of the competitions and was impressed, but not dismayed by the other students’ virtuosity. When it was my turn to compete, I walked onstage with my head held high and my heart pounding. I felt like I was the sun, the center of the universe, the bright glowing heart of the world.”
Suddenly Sophie rose, setting her coffee cup on the table, and walked to the windows, where the rain was just beginning to spill against the panes. With her back to Trevor, she softly said, “I choked. Don’t ask me why. I don’t know. I’ve gone over that moment a million times. It happens to everyone, but it had never before happened to me.” Sophie began to pace, gesturing with her hands as she spoke. “Sometimes some slight thing will throw a performer. A disgusting cough from the front row. Or someone laughing—that’s always distracting. Meeting a stranger’s eyes as you walk onto the stage and seeing contempt, or even admiration. Something. I can’t tell you what caused it, but when I sat down at the piano, I went blank. I put my hands on the keys and had no idea what I was to play. I waited, trying to make myself calm, but I was calm. Oh, I was nervous, too, you have to be nervous to give a good performance, but I wasn’t anxious, I wasn’t frightened. I cleared my throat, shuffled around on the bench, as if adjusting my dress, giving myself time to get back into my groove—but there was no groove. Just play, I ordered myself. If I could just begin, it all would surge back, I was sure. But I couldn’t begin. I heard people whispering in the audience. The curtains backstage rustled as the master of ceremonies peeked out to check on me. I pressed one key tentatively, hoping the sound would spur on my mind—but no, nothing.” Tears welled in Sophie’s eyes. “It was horrible, Trevor—it was the single worst moment of my life.” She twisted her hands together.
Quietly, Trevor said, “It must have been awful.”
“Yes. Awful. I finally stood up without looking at the audience and walked offstage. I can still feel that walk in my bones and muscles. I held my head high. I could see other competitors in the wings watching me with wide eyes. The stage seemed to stretch out into eternity. The walk took forever. When I was behind the curtains, I heard a couple of girls giggling with their hands over their mouths, and I knew they were both thrilled at my failure and horrified. I just kept walking. My mother was in the audience. She rose and came to find me where I ended up, standing outside the backstage door, hugging myself, rocking myself, afraid I would shatter and fly apart.”
“Was she nice about it?”
Sophie hesitated. “Yes. Yes, she was exceptionally kind that day. But she and my father were both devastated. They were furious with me when I told them I was through competing. My father’s been dead for a few years. He died without forgiving me.” She lowered her head and pinched the bridge of her nose.
Trevor was silent for a while, letting Sophie decompress before asking gently, “And then?”
Sophie nodded, once. “It was the end of the spring semester, so I didn’t have to return to school. I went home—we lived in a Boston suburb—and stayed there for a couple of weeks, sleeping and watching television constantly. My parents pestered me, wanting me to get up and practice, but I refused.” Sophie looked down at her hands, gently swiveling them palm up, palm down. “Then Zack phoned. He had just graduated from Harvard. We had met at a wedding about a month before. He asked me for dinner and I went.” With a wry smile, Sophie held up her hands and said, “And that’s the end of the story. I guess now I’m trying to figure out whether or not it was a happy ending.”
“Are you saying you think you might have rushed into marriage?” Trevor asked.
“Rushed? I bolted. I flew. But to be honest, I was in love with him. Zack is a great guy—smart, articulate, charming, and handsome.”
“Sounds like the perfect man.”
“I thought he was, for a while. He had a vision and he needed me to help him fulfill it. He was a talented architect who wanted to run his own firm. I helped him in all the little ways a wife could. I kept his clothes immaculate. I haunted the sales for classy shirts and suits. We had rented one of the furnished houses on the market. When he invited clients home for dinner, I made gourmet meals. It was fun, actually, helping someone else achieve his dream. Then I had Jonah and we were a family and Zack was doing really well, so we bought our own house…”
“And what about the piano?”
“I never played again. Of course when Jonah was born and later when Lacey came along, music ret
urned to my life in the form of children’s songs, but it didn’t bother me. It didn’t hurt. I was happy to be simply normal. I never wanted to buy a piano for our home.”
“And now?” Trevor prompted.
Sophie tapped her lip, thinking. “Well, now, first of all, I’m beginning to understand that a person can love playing music without tying it to ambition. I guess what started all this was you asking if your son could be talented. It’s too soon to tell, I think, and I’m not the right person to make that decision. But I can say that I hope if Leo plays, he plays for pleasure, for the joy of it, not as some kind of goal. It’s not necessary to be the best. Sometimes it’s quite enough simply to be happy.”
“I get what you’re saying.”
“Do you? Good. Because I hardly do.” Sophie laughed and rose suddenly. “And now, Dr. Black, it’s time for our therapy session to end.” She hurried from the room.
Later that afternoon, Trevor sat at the top of the stairs listening to his son learning from Sophie. He sensed that Leo would be braver without his father watching, so he didn’t go into the music room. But even though Leo’s attempt at melodic playing was hardly easy listening, Trevor was fascinated.
When would he have a chance for another intimate conversation with Sophie? He had so much he wanted to ask her and so much he wanted to tell her. He wanted also, fiercely, simply to be around her, to watch her whisk eggs or brush her blond hair off her forehead or kiss Jonah’s cheek. He admired the easy communication she shared with her children. Often if the kids were dawdling or arguing with one another, Sophie had only to say their names in a certain tone—Jonah—and the behavior would change. But she also took the time to listen to their explanations if they were arguing for something they really wanted: to go off biking with the other guys, to go back into town for more books from the library even though they had been there only two days ago.
Once again, he wondered if he was falling in love with her. What a ridiculous thought, he told himself, but over the years he had met plenty of attractive women, including gorgeous aspiring starlet friends of Tallulah’s, and he’d never had this reaction. It wasn’t mere lust, as it had been for Tallulah, although there was plenty of lust mixed in with the confusing jumble of emotions he felt when he saw Sophie. It wasn’t simply that she was so kind to his son, helping him discover a love for music Trevor had never known existed within his child. Perhaps it was partly the complexity of the woman. She intrigued him.
But she was older than he was and more mature. He didn’t want to come on to her like some pickup artist at a bar. She was elegant, and Trevor wondered if he could behave with enough elegance to be attractive to her.
—
The rain stopped. The sun came out. Monday and Tuesday were spectacular beach days with low humidity, clear skies, warm water, and mild surf. Monday night Trevor barbecued hamburgers on the grill while Sophie made a tomato-mozzarella salad, corn on the cob, and small red potatoes drizzled with butter and rosemary. This is what a family is like, Trevor thought, as they sat around the dining room table eating, chatting, laughing—even Leo was laughing. If only it could go on forever.
If only after the children were in bed Trevor could go up to bed with Sophie.
Tuesday when they came home from the beach, Trevor received a rude surprise. Once again they would have to have dinner without Sophie. She was going out with Hristo.
“Really? Where is he taking you?” asked Trevor casually as the two adults unpacked and rinsed out the sandy insulated beach coolers.
“To the yacht club, I think.” The back of Sophie’s neck was red and so were her shoulders. “I’ve got to get some lotion on my shoulders and nose. I got too much sun today.”
Of course he belongs to the yacht club, Trevor thought snidely. “I’ll put lotion on your shoulders,” he offered.
Sophie was on her way out of the kitchen. “Thanks, Trevor, but I’ll have Lacey do it after I have a quick shower.” Then she was gone.
Trevor got himself a beer out of the refrigerator, slammed the door, and leaned against the kitchen counter. Why hadn’t she told him earlier she had a date tonight with that Bulgarian dude? On the other hand, why should she tell him? He wasn’t her father. He wasn’t her brother. He was only some random man who through the unpredictability of fate ended up in the same house with her.
Screaming interrupted his thoughts. He went to the patio, where he saw Lacey and Leo running through the sprinkler. All that energy! Returning to the house, he wandered around aimlessly, trying to decide what to do with himself before dinner. Jonah was in the family room watching an action DVD.
“Jonah, I’m going to take a quick shower. Keep your eye on the kids for me, will you? They’re playing in the sprinkler.”
Jonah nodded. As Trevor showered, he reflected that he should be in a better mood. There his little boy was, running and laughing and playing, forgetting the loss of his mother in the immediacy of hot sun and cold water. This was a good thing and Trevor had to stop focusing on Sophie. The world wasn’t about Sophie.
Dressing quickly, he went down to the kitchen to see what he could conjure up for dinner for everyone. The answer was easy: the refrigerator was filled with leftovers of every kind. He would simply set them out on the table and hand out fruit for dessert.
Sophie returned to the kitchen, this time wearing a skimpy blue dress that fit her far too nicely. She’d done something to her eyes so that they looked larger, and her lips looked pinker and puffier. Kissable.
Trevor cleared his throat. “You look nice.”
Sophia laughed. “You sound just like my husband. I think that was the only adjective he knew, at least when it came to me. No matter what I wore, he thought I looked nice.”
Horrified at being compared to her husband, Trevor’s mind went blank. “I don’t mean—I mean—”
“You look nice yourself, Trevor,” Sophie told him. “In that ruby-red shirt, you look absolutely—” She blushed as red as his shirt and stopped talking.
“Absolutely what?” He took a step toward her.
For a long moment they stared at each other, hardly breathing. What could he say that would make her cancel this date with Hristo and stay here, with him?
Sophie broke the spell, moving away, digging in her purse, placing a piece of paper on the table. Her hands were shaking. Probably, Trevor thought, she was just excited to see Hristo. She was breathless when she said, “Here’s the phone number where we’ll be. My cell phone number is on the refrigerator door. Jonah can stay up as late as he wants. Actually, Lacey can stay up as late as she wants, too, as long as they are in the house when it gets dark.” Before Trevor could answer, she said, “Oh! I think that’s his car now.” She did a twinkling thing with her fingers to say goodbye and practically ran out of the house.
“Have fun,” Trevor said, not meaning it at all. She didn’t hear him, anyway.
He gave the kids fifteen more minutes, then called them in for dinner. He knew that Leo would get exhausted and cranky if allowed to play too long.
“Connor says we can come watch him carve,” announced Lacey around a mouthful of tomato and cold corn salad.
“That’s nice,” Trevor responded automatically. “When?”
“After dinner. He’s sitting outside. There’s still plenty of light.”
“I’m going, too,” Leo announced.
“Well,” Trevor said, “be careful to stay away from the knife.”
“Duh, Dad,” Leo said.
Trevor opened his mouth and shut it. Leo had sassed him—a good sign of healing for sure.
After dinner, Trevor sat on the patio, working on his laptop and keeping an eye on Leo and Lacey. Connor sat in a lawn chair, carefully working on a block of wood, and speaking in a low voice to the children. Trevor didn’t join the group. He didn’t want to interfere. He liked it that Leo was so involved, so attentive.
After a while, Lacey drifted over to her fairy house, kneeling among the hostas and hydrangeas, arran
ging pebbles and shells. Leo remained by Connor’s side. They seemed to be enjoying a conversation, a slow, unanimated chat.
He allowed Lacey and Leo to stay outside later than usual, oddly reluctant to put them to bed and be on his own on this soft summer night. It was Lacey who finally chose to come in, calling good night as she went upstairs to crawl into bed with one of her books. Trevor bathed Leo, read him a good-night story, and watched his son fall asleep at once. He wished his sleep could be as easy.
He didn’t want to stand at the window watching for Sophie’s return, so he ended up playing ridiculous computer games until one in the morning, when he finally heard the door open and close and Sophie’s gentle tiptoeing up the stairs and into her room.
—
In her bedroom, Sophie simply slipped off her blue dress and let it lie where it fell at her feet. She kicked off her heels, removed her earrings, carelessly dropping them on the bureau, and collapsed into bed without brushing her teeth or doing anything else sensible and routine. She curled on her side, closed her eyes, and as if in a dream, replayed this evening with Hristo.
The yacht club was elegant, posh, and formal. They had a table by the window overlooking the harbor, a breathtaking view. At first their conversation was light, two friends sharing anecdotes of how their children had spent the day. Hristo ordered wine for them, and an appetizer of oysters Rockefeller. A group of teenagers ran up from the docks, still wearing their life vests, giggling, chatting, bronzed and ebullient after a day on the water. Sophie sensed a kind of melancholy pass over Hristo.
She said, “Tell me about your summers as a child. Did you go to Bulgaria?”
Her companion’s melancholy lifted like a mist. He smiled. “Oh, yes, we were allowed to spend a great part of our summers in Bulgaria. This was in the Rhodope Mountains. You can see the Black Sea from there. The air is clear and fresh as ice.”
“Did you stay in a hotel?”
“No, no, we stayed with family. Always. Our uncle had a small house on a large plot of land. Many cousins came; we all ran in a pack together. We used to pick wild strawberries and blackberries with my aunt. She made jam that would last the whole year. On rainy days we helped her. But on sunny days, we roamed like wild creatures. The land has such variety—there are caves, waterfalls, and strange rock formations. You see, this was the birthplace of the musician Orpheus. With his orphic music, he charmed all living things. Even stones could not resist him.” As he spoke, Hristo’s face seemed younger, less serious, less responsible.