Perhaps my favorite thing about Thanksgiving with Miranda and Timothy, outside of the simple fact that I could tolerate their company, was the conversation. With most people, I had little to talk about, but with Miranda and Timothy, there was always discussion of music. And they always adored Kira. Emma wasn’t an exception to that rule, blending right in with the rest of us, and paying particular attention to Kira throughout the evening. The two were lost in conversation, signing to each other about so many things, I couldn’t keep up with them.
“Kira seems really smitten with Emma,” Miranda said to me as I helped wash dishes. I cast a glance at her, a small smile stretched across my face. “I should have thought to introduce them sooner.”
I nodded, spotting Emma and Kira talking in the dining room behind Miranda. “They do seem to get along quite well.” I said a silent prayer in my mind, hoping that Miranda wouldn’t pry further about their initial meeting. Luckily, she didn’t.
As usual, Kira spent the night on Thanksgiving with Miranda and Timothy. They took her home in the morning. She’d already passed out by the time there’d been coffee and pie, having wound down after all the adrenaline from earlier. Emma was holding her in her lap, arms wrapped around her lightly. Miranda offered to take her, but Emma shook her head.
“Just show me where to go,” Emma said quietly, looking at Miranda. Before she could answer, I got to my feet.
“Come on.” I waved at her. We walked down the hall together. Every once in a while, I’d look in her direction, admiring the care she took with Kira. The affectionate way she held her and ensured she was as quiet as possible. We turned into the guest room, and Emma laid Kira on the bed, bundling sheets around her and running a hand over her head.
“Goodnight, Kira,” she whispered softly, before she broke away from her. When she turned, she noticed how intently I’d been watching her, and smiled at me.
You would think you had done that before, I signed to her.
Emma smiled, shaking her head. I have no idea what I’m doing. She walked straight to me, and I pulled her into my embrace for a small moment. Our lips met quietly, and I breathed her in. When we parted, my fingers danced lightly across her cheek. I’ll do it again if you kiss me like that, Emma signed to me, sighing.
You don’t have to do anything for me to kiss you like that, I replied, smiling at her. We met again, just for a second, before Emma slipped around me and wandered out of the room. I followed behind her, pining after her the entire time like a lovesick puppy.
THE PHILHARMONIC SHOWS had been so routine now, I barely thought about it. Emma had come for the last few weekends to every show, so I’d mostly been lost in her presence. Tonight, however, had been another story entirely. I was very rarely nervous. There was nothing that really shook me when it came to playing.
This night was different. My parents hadn’t come to a performance in years. It was nearly impossible to get my father out of the house or away from work long enough. So, when I watched my parents take their seats from the wings of the stage, my heart was beating uncontrollably. It made every sense heighten, and my breaths quicken. By the time the strings filed off onto the stage, I was trembling.
I never lacked focus. Never had trouble calming myself before a show. Tonight there was a ringing so profound in my ears, I could barely hear around me. There would be no mistakes. There couldn’t be any mistakes. My father was watching. For the first time in years.
Vivaldi rang through the theater. The music began and my focus turned elsewhere. It was like a switch that brought my mind back to reality. The only thing in the room was me and my Vuillaume. It was the only thing keeping me grounded. Present. It was all I needed.
Perhaps my favorite piece of the performance, was the final number of the evening. The Violin Concerto by Sibelius. I imagined the reason I’d enjoyed it so much was that it had been a suggestion of mine that had finally been taken into consideration. A song that had only been played a handful of times since my induction into the orchestra years ago.
Sibelius’ only violin concerto offered a very complex solo for a violinist to showcase extraordinary arpeggios. It was a technical song for strings like no other. And it was nearly always a perennial showstopper.
The moment I got to my feet, there was a steady applause throughout the theater. When I glanced at my parents, my mother was clapping softly. My father looked lost in thought, as if he would have rather been anywhere else. My chest clenched, and I found myself looking away. This song required a great deal of focus, even for a seasoned musician like myself.
I took three deep breaths, steadying the Vuillaume along my shoulder. My fingers cupped around the neck of the violin, lightly falling onto the strings. Once my bow had been readied, I turned my attention to Philip, the conductor. When we met eyes, the baton flew into the air. The entire audience silenced. And then I began.
The violin came in almost immediately from the beginning, in a flurry of high notes that rang out into the theater. Behind, the wind instruments would follow, blending seamlessly. This song was known for its complexity for violin. I was likely the only violinists with enough skill to play it successfully, and even I struggled when I hadn’t practiced enough. The most difficult part was towards the end of the first movement, where the bowing became frantic, and the shift of strings from low to high came at such rapid intensity, I had to let go of myself to get it right.
There had been so many performances now, playing that part should have been familiar like the back of my hand. I kept my eyes closed, like I often did, imagining the melody as my fingers did a chaotic dance across strings. It had been perfect yet again, until I’d found myself too cocky. I’d opened my eyes for a fraction of a moment, my gaze drifting outward towards my father. The look on his face was stoic. Unimpressed. Bored.
The notes squealed across the violin in a petrifyingly obvious way. I’d caught myself in a matter of seconds, but it had been blatantly apparent. Anyone who hadn’t noticed had been sleeping. After I’d caught up with myself, the remainder of the song flew by in an angry rush of emotions. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t do anything except play.
When the show ended, there was no mention of the horrendous mistake I’d made. Juliet Hamilton didn’t make mistakes. She was flawless, in every sense of the word. I took pride in my abilities. It was all I had.
I’d made a mistake. A horrendous mistake, in front of thousands of people. Likely more, once word got out. Who knew the people who had been recording the show. Sneaking video. The internet posts and newspaper articles that might show up because of those few terrible moments. The minute I found myself off-stage, I emptied my stomach into a garbage can in an empty hallway. Once I’d recovered and managed to make sure I was composed, I wandered out into the front halls of the theater, searching for my parents. They lingered on the far side of the lobby, chatting with my father’s business colleagues from the Bard.
“You were wonderful, sweetheart,” my mother said, in that overly-polite way she always did about everything. I nodded graciously. It was all I could do not to be sick again.
“What did you think?” I finally asked, turning my attention towards my father. He didn’t look at me at first, checking his wrist watch. When he finally looked up, he had a curious look on his face.
“Perhaps that last piece was a bit too complicated,” he noted.
It was all I could do to maintain my composure. A wave of anger rushed through me. The show had gone on for nearly two and a half hours. Yet all he could manage to comment on was the stupid mistake that I had made? The mistake that had been a result of him being there in the first place? “Perhaps,” I finally replied, too exhausted to argue. There was nothing I wanted more than to get as far away from that building as quickly as possible.
“People tend to make mistakes when they’re distracted,” my father noted, scratching his chin. He was looking out towards the front doors, likely counting the seconds he needed to stay before he could make his escape. I could
n’t help but take pause at his words. What exactly had he meant by that? The idea that it might have been a loaded statement made me sick to my stomach all over again. “Come on, Lilith. We’ve got a long drive.”
“You did well, sweetheart.” My mother squeezed my hand. After she kissed me on the cheek goodbye, my parents left me in the hallway. My father not once acknowledging me. I didn’t stay but a minute longer, just long enough to gather my belongings.
I was in a haze the entire time back to my apartment, hardly able to think. Once I’d made it up the elevator to the hall, I saw Emma waiting outside the doorway, leaning against the wall. She must have noticed me moving down the hallway, her attention turning towards me. I watched her get to her feet, smiling at me as I got to her.
How did it go? Emma asked, once I’d let us inside. If she would have asked any other question in that moment, I likely would have held it together. I would have likely kept my composure and we would have had an evening like any other.
Instead, for one of the first times in my life, I found myself sobbing, straight into Emma’s arms.
22
Emma
Pachelbel, Canon in D
The Point of Know Return, Kansas
Wagner, Ride of the Valkyries
THE REST OF THE SEMESTER blurred in a rush of assignments and performances and teaching assistant work. When I wasn’t busy keeping up with my graduate school courses, I was working with Emerson in lessons or grading assignments for Harmony and Counterpoint. Juliet and I barely had time to see one another, outside of the weekends, when I’d travel the two hours to New York to visit her in her apartment.
When the weekend before finals came, Juliet surprised me by staying in town for the weekend. Mostly it was filled with preparations for my exams. I hadn’t been nervous. Not really. Not until she’d started quizzing me ferociously.
I sat hunched over Juliet’s Steinway on Saturday, working through a composition piece that I’d prepared for her exam. Every time I thought I’d have a moment alone, Juliet was behind me, making minor corrections to my work or pacing the floor resisting the urge to.
“I’m pretty sure I’ve got this down,” I assured her, closing the composition notebook I’d been working from. Juliet did not seem satisfied. “What happened to not playing favorites?” I smirked at her, raising a brow. “It seems like you’re playing favorites to me.” Juliet shook her head at me, wanting desperately to argue, but she refrained. “Besides, I have something I want to do this morning.”
Juliet gave me a questionable look. We both had agreed to be careful about where we were seen together, especially in Annandale-on-Hudson, but I had a place in mind that wouldn’t cause a problem.
A little over an hour later, Juliet had drove us the thirty-minute drive to the nursing home outside of Poughkeepsie. It had been a week since I’d visited, and never with Juliet. I found myself wound up with nerves as we walked from the car. Surprisingly, Juliet reached for my hand, giving it a squeeze and sending me a reassuring smile.
My father was inside today. The afternoons were brisk. He sat in his recliner. I could tell by the way his foot was moving that he was listening to music. Juliet seemed to approve of whatever he was listening to. When I looked at her, she signed. Johnny Cash.
I smiled. I grew up listening to him.
When my father’s eyes drew up on me, he smiled. “Emma-girl, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at school?” My breath caught in my throat, before it occurred to me that he had no idea I was still in school. He was lost somewhere. At least he knew who I was.
“I brought someone who wanted to meet you,” I said, squatting down beside him. “A friend of mine.” When I turned my attention up to Juliet, she was smiling. My father returned the smile as she reached out her hand to shake his. He took it carefully.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Harvey,” Juliet said. She looked like an excited kid having just met their childhood idol, completely mesmerized. I couldn’t help but smile just watching her.
“The pleasure is all mine, Ms.—”
“Hamilton,” Juliet replied. “Juliet Hamilton.”
Before I could wonder if my father recognized her name, his face split into a gigantic smile, and he shook her hand even harder. “The violinist from the Philharmonic? Well I’ll be damned.” How he’d recognized her name, I had no idea, but I didn’t question it. Juliet looked elated to say the least.
“Dad, Juliet and I want to play for you. Would you like that?” I hadn’t told Juliet my plans yet, but I doubted she was surprised considering I’d requested she bring her violin. My father looked pleased and nodded. After I’d fetched Nancy, we loaded him up in a wheelchair and gathered out in the main lobby area of the building where the piano was. It certainly wasn’t a Steinway, but I’d played on it before and it did the trick.
A crowd of people gathered as I helped Juliet tune and warmed up a bit at the piano. If I remembered right, some of the highest keys were sticky, so I’d have to keep it in mind as we played. I checked, and sure enough I’d been right.
“Pachelbel?” Juliet asked me when we’d turned our attention back on one another. I smiled, knowing she was referring to Canon in D. We’d play recognizable pieces today, since we had a crowd. After I nodded, Juliet settled her Vuillaume on her shoulder, flexing her fingers over the strings and readying her bow. She’d set herself in a position so I could see her easily. My father sat directly in front of us, looking rather excited. “I’ll start,” Juliet said to me when I locked back on her. My fingers found the keys to start, and after a deep breath, I began.
Perhaps the most recognizable part of Pachelbel’s canon is the adagio introduction. A slow roll of singular notes. Juliet drew each out carefully on her bow, folding into it as she often did. I watched her as she ended the first few measures, and followed in behind her with a harmonic piano accompaniment.
The melody took off with the violin part, and I played carefully behind Juliet, letting her take the lead. It was a song that was most recognizable for its string portions. As I played, I looked out at the small crowd watching us.
Surprisingly, Juliet dwindled down after a while and nodded for me to pick up the melody. Effortlessly, I entered, letting my fingers take over and my mind relax as I came up with my own ideas for the song. Even though I’d gone off track, Juliet didn’t seem to mind, and kept up with what I was playing. From what I could tell by her bowing, she’d taken creative liberties herself. Finally, the song died down to its end, the final bits and pieces of the introductory melody repeating. I tapered off, letting Juliet finish with her drawn out bowing.
When we finished, I looked back out at the crowd. My father was grinning from ear to ear, clapping alongside the other residents. Juliet and I shared a smile before I turned back towards my father. “What do you want us to play, Dad?”
I watched as my father got up from his seat, moving over to come join me at the piano. I adjusted myself slightly to give him room. His fingers flexed over the keyboard, and he played a few notes. I hadn’t heard him play an instrument in years. He hadn’t touched his guitar since he’d first started losing his memory.
Before I could get a word in edgewise, he erupted in to a variety of chords on the lower register. I didn’t object, trying to discern what he was playing. When I looked to Juliet, she was still watching curiously, unsure of where he was going. As soon as he opened his mouth to sing, I realized what he was singing. The Point of Know Return by Kansas. I followed along with his mouth, letting him sing a verse before I joined in with the upper register on the piano. Juliet and I met eyes, and she’d already joined in with violin.
Kansas had been another favorite of my father’s growing up. He’d always had a very broad taste in music. I’d forgotten that this song had a lot of violin parts. I wondered if Juliet knew the song. By the way she was bowing, it seemed as if she was catching onto the melody regardless.
As the chorus drew in, I turned my attention back to my father
, joining in on the harmony. The violin break took over shortly after. My father’s attention was solely on Juliet then, and I watched his awestruck face as she played. When I turned towards Juliet, she was looking at my father with the same sort of admiration, taking in his musical being.
When the song ended, I noticed the room erupting into a sea of clapping. Some of the staff, including Nancy, had stood to watch us play. My father took the lead on a few more songs that had filled my childhood years. I knew most of them like the back of my hand, needing no introduction. Juliet was flawless in keeping up with us, as if she had been playing the same songs for as long as we had.
Finally, my father seemed to grow tired. Juliet and I walked him back to his room for lunch. We sat together while he quizzed her on all sorts of things, still completely aware of who she was. Juliet listened to my father’s stories, playing at local venues and about his band, with such intent. I was mesmerized watching how engaged she was with him.
It was early afternoon when we finally left. I kissed my father goodbye before Juliet reached out to take his hand. Red shook it firmly, smiling up at her. “Juliet Hamilton,” he shook his head, “best damn violinist I’ve ever heard.”
DURING FINALS WEEK, Juliet stayed in New York, much to my disappointment. It was likely better that way, far less distracting. I took care of the Harmony and Counterpoint examinations, while Emerson distributed the composition examinations. Lydia and I both spent the night before going over everything one final time. Even with Juliet and my relationship, there would be no telling how difficult her final exam would be. All her endless questions made it clear it wasn’t going to be easy.
Unlike my midterms, Juliet hadn’t left cryptic messages on my examination. In fact, there was nothing familiar about it at all. All the questions she’d been hounding me about were nothing like what was on the examination. It was difficult. So much so, when Lydia found me outside of the exam room we both looked distraught.
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