Solo (Symphony Hall)

by Lauren E. Rico

  I think it’s a rhetorical question, but she seems to be waiting for an answer. My mouth opens to say something, but there isn’t anything, so I close it again.

  Maureen closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, clearly willing herself not to come across the table and stab me with her plastic fork. When she starts again, her voice is a little softer, but it’s still laced with anger.

  “And what, exactly, is it that you think she was using you for?”

  “My money—”

  Maureen jumps all over the two words.

  “So, she asked you for cash?”

  “Well, no. But I bought her an expensive coat—”

  “Did she ask you to buy it for her?”

  “No.”

  “Did she know you were going to buy it for her?” she presses.

  “No, but—”

  “But what? Did she ask you to pay her rent?”

  “No…”

  “So it wasn’t money,” Maureen says, dismissing that theory. “What else, Drew? What else do you think she used you for?”

  This isn’t a question, it’s an accusation and I don’t like it one bit.

  “My connections,” I say confidently.

  “What connections are those?”

  “My connections at the New York Conservatory. She wants to go into their conducting program and she found out Danny Gillies and I are friends.”

  “Oh!” Maureen says, looking suddenly disappointed. “So it was her idea for him to come here and see her conduct.”

  “I—uh—well, no, not exactly…”

  “What do you mean?” she asks suspiciously.

  “I didn’t tell her he would be there. It was a surprise,” I admit, feeling foolish suddenly.

  And just like that, she’s on the warpath again.

  “So how did she use you for your connections then?”

  “She knew I went there. She asked me all kinds of questions about the program and the faculty. She wanted to know what Danny was like,” I inform her.

  “You mean, like any student who was interested in attending your alma mater?”

  I shake my head. “It wasn’t like that, Maureen. I showed her pictures of me and Casey at Danny’s wedding…”

  Shit! This isn’t sounding as convincing as it did when I was working it all out over vodka.

  “What are you going to tell me, next, Drew? That you have some magical penis and she used you for sex?”

  Before I can react to that—not that I have any clue how to react to that—she continues.

  “Drew Markham, you’re a goddamned fool if you think that woman was anything but in love with you. I know her better than you think, and she doesn’t have it in her to be ruthless. But, apparently you do. And that, I did not know,” she says, shaking her head at me in clear disgust.

  It hits me then, like a piano falling from the sky. I have screwed this up beyond comprehension. Before I can think about it, I put my head in my hands, nearly jumping out of my skin when I feel a warm touch on my shoulder.

  “It looks to me like you might just love her,” she says quietly.

  I nod without raising my head.

  “Then go to her. She’s sick, she’s alone, she’s scared, and I’m going to guess she’s heartbroken, based on what you’ve told me. Go, Drew. Go show her she doesn’t need to be any of those things anymore.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Kate

  He’s there, holding my tiny hand in his big one. Stroking my thumb with his. He tells me he loves me, and that I’m his. That I’ll always be his and that he’s so sorry he let me down. My heart swells with love for him. Just like it did when I was a small child.

  “Katie?”

  I don’t recognize the voice.

  “Katie, come on, honey, time to wake up,” the voice coaxes me.

  I mumble something unintelligible, even to me.

  “Katie…”

  “Stop calling me that…” I whisper hoarsely.

  “There you are! Open your eyes, hon. Come on.”

  I want her to shut up so I can get back to my dream, but somehow, I know she won’t let me until I give her what she wants. Slowly, painfully, I open my eyes against the light of the hospital room.

  “Hello, darlin’!” the tall black woman says as she leans over me. Her smile is bright and her eyes are soft.

  “I don’t know you,” I murmur.

  “No, you don’t. But I know you! My name is Beverly. You can call me Bev. I know you’re Katherine but it don’t seem like you like to be called Katie.”

  I shake my head no and let my lids droop closed again.

  “Uh-uh! Wake up, Katherine!”

  I open to her again and am rewarded with that brilliant smile.

  “Please let me sleep. I was dreaming about my daddy.”

  “Oh, darlin’, he just stepped out to get a cup of coffee. I promised him I’d try and get you to eat something.”

  Wait. What?

  I force myself to focus.

  “My father is here?”

  “Yes’m. He’s been here for a couple days now, but you’ve been too out of it to realize it.”

  “Why is he here?”

  Something about this question strikes Beverly as funny.

  “Oh, you’re just a silly one, aren’t you? He’s here cause he’s your daddy.”

  I shake my head.

  “No, you don’t understand,” I explain. “He doesn’t care that I’m in the hospital—”

  “Of course I do.”

  I’m wondering how it is that my father’s voice is coming out of this woman’s mouth. But it’s not, is it? Because her mouth never moved. God, I’m so confused.

  Beverly steps away and is replaced by the tall, lean, handsome figure of Senator Tucker Brenner.

  “Of course I care,” he repeats, taking the seat next to my bed.

  I feel my eyes grow wide and my breathing gets even shallower.

  “Are you real?” I ask with a slight tremor. I’m afraid of what the answer might be.

  He smiles at me and chuckles, the way he did when I was a kid.

  “Yes, Katherine, I’m real,” he says, reaching over to pull the rolling table across my bedside. He picks up a bowl and spoon that are sitting there. “The doctor says you need to eat, sweetheart. I need you to have a little broth for me. Can you do that, do you think?”

  I nod and watch as he fills a spoonful and carefully brings it to my lips. I open my mouth and swallow the warm, salty liquid.

  “Good girl,” he says happily, already filling another spoonful. We repeat this process until the broth is gone and he sets the empty bowl and spoon back on the table. Beverly quietly pulls it out of the way and adjusts my pillows under my head.

  “You came,” I say to my father, still not completely certain he isn’t a figment of my imagination.

  He nods.

  “Why?” I ask.

  He reaches out with his big, soft hand and brushes the hair from my forehead.

  “Because you needed me. And, for the first time in your life, Katherine, I realized that was more important than anything else on the face of this earth.”

  I try to respond, but I’m just too tired. My eyes slip closed and I feel a smile on my lips as his hand strokes my cheek.

  “More than anything else, Katherine,” he repeats as I fall back to sleep.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Drew

  When I arrive outside her hospital room I take a minute to catch my breath before I push open the door. But I needn’t have worried about alarming her because she’s out cold.

  “Can I help you?” comes a voice behind me. I turn to see a tall, slender black woman, probably in her sixties. She’s wearing a nurse’s uniform and a name tag that identifies her as Beverly Keen, RN.

  “Uh, yes, I’m here to see Miss Brenner. I’m her…uh…friend.”

  She cocks a suspicious eyebrow at me. “You don’t sound so sure about that.”

  I consider c
oncocting some fake story, but that never works, so I settle on the truth.

  “Truth is, I’m not sure. I screwed up. Big time. And now she’s here and all I want is to beg for her forgiveness. Please. If she wants me to go, I’ll go, but I just have to see her,” I plead as her eyes soften.

  “You can stay for a little while, but she’s not going to accept any apologies tonight. That girl is sick. Very, very sick and right now she’s resting so deep that she probably wouldn’t hear a bomb explode in the room next door.”

  “I understand,” I say, in a rush to accept her offer before she changes her mind. “I’ll just sit here next to her for a while. I just want to be close to her.”

  She gives me a harrumph and leaves us alone. I pull one of the recliners as close to her bed as I can and sit, leaning forward to take her hand. It’s chilly and I’m reminded of that night that I had to climb into bed to warm her.

  In the glow of the room’s soothing, amber lighting, I can see how pale and wan she is. Her hair hangs in thin strings around her face, which looks gaunt now. Has she been eating? It seems like she’s lost a good chunk of weight.

  I look at the IV pole behind her. That’s likely where her nutrients are coming from right now. Not to mention some serious antibiotics. A clear plastic hose snakes its way out of a panel in the wall behind her bed, becoming a cannula across her face, delivering oxygen through her nose. I want nothing more than to climb into the bed and scoop her into my arms. I want to tell her how sorry I am and that I want to make it better. That I love her. Because I do. But the most I can do for now is kiss the back of her delicate little hand and stroke it with my thumb.

  “Please forgive me,” I whisper so softly that she wouldn’t have heard me, even if she were awake. At least, I think that’s how softly I say it.

  “I wouldn’t count on forgiveness coming anytime soon.”

  I jump, startled by the sound of a man’s voice in the room just a few feet behind me. When I turn around, I see him. Even though his face is half obscured by the dark shadows of the room, there is no mistaking who he is.

  “Senator Brenner.”

  The look on his face is sheer disdain. I recognize it because it is an expression that I, myself, have perfected. It occurs to me that the young woman sleeping besides us has been the unfortunate recipient of that glare from both of us. God, it’s a wonder she trusts anyone.

  “Dr. Markham,” he replies flatly.

  How does he know who I am?

  “Of course I know who you are,” he says and I wonder for a split second if I’ve asked the question out loud.

  “Do you really think I wouldn’t vet anyone who is involved with my daughter?”

  I take a deep breath and match his expression, despite the unsettling feeling that he can read my thoughts.

  “I wasn’t aware you had any interest in anything involving your daughter,” I reply icily.

  He gives me a cool smile. “You mean like the fact that you’re sleeping with her? And she’s one of your students?”

  “I’m not. I mean, I was, but…”

  “Uh-huh. I know. You’re not now, not since you called the police on her. But you were. Isn’t that right Doctor Markham?” He sneers. Wow. This guy is an even bigger dick than I am. “In fact, the physicians here seem to think it was that little incident that left my daughter with pneumonia.”

  And that would be my jugular.

  “Senator Brenner, considering the fact that you’ve barely uttered a word to your daughter in years, I don’t see how any of this is your business,” I swat back at him. He’s about to say something when the door flies open, spilling muted light from the hallway across the room. Beverly is back with a big frown.

  “What is going on in here?” she hisses.

  Neither of us replies.

  “All right, gentlemen. I think visiting hours are over.”

  “I’m not leaving her,” I insist firmly, quietly.

  “How much you wanna bet?” the senator retorts menacingly.

  I jump up so we’re only separated by a few feet.

  “Anything. Anything on God’s green earth. I did this to her, and I’m not going to take so much as a step outside of this room until I know she’s all right,” I inform him.

  Beverly considers me for a beat, and then the senator.

  “All right. Katherine needs rest right now, so here’s what we’ll do. There’s a private VIP lounge on the next floor and it’s empty right now. You all can wait there, maybe get something to eat. I’ll come and get you later on when the doctor makes his afternoon rounds.”

  I look at Tucker Brenner. He looks at me. We nod, stand, and leave the room, our uneasy truce forged.

  “It wasn’t Katherine, you know,” he tells me matter-of-factly once we’re settled in the lounge.

  “What?” I ask. But I know what he means. I’m just not sure I believe him.

  “You know very well ‘what,’ Dr. Markham. I’m telling you that Katherine was not responsible for that article.”

  “Senator, I don’t think this is a discussion you and I should be having. I think Katherine and I—”

  “No, Dr. Markham. You listen to me and you listen carefully, because I don’t want you upsetting my daughter with your nonsense. I don’t care what Kevin Kilpatrick or anyone else told you, Katherine is not the one who told him about your relationship. She’d never do that to someone she cared about. Not you. Not even to me.”

  I shake my head, unable to reconcile my fury with her over my concern for her.

  “I’m sorry, Senator, but there was too much. He knew too much. She was the only one. I’m sure you don’t want to hear that she would do something like this to make you look bad…”

  “I’ve known about your relationship almost since it started, Dr. Markham. If I’d wanted to squash the story or spin it or broadcast it to the Associated Press, I’d have done it. I can assure you, you sleeping with my daughter has no impact on my career.”

  “Well it sure as hell had an impact on mine,” I mutter with more anger than I intend to.

  “Yes, well, perhaps you should have thought of that before you took her to bed.”

  He’s right. But I don’t care. And all I want to do right now is share some of this bone-crushing guilt that’s sitting on me.

  “What about you, Senator Brenner? You’re her father. The only family she has in the world. How could you have abandoned her like that?” I throw at him, careful to twist the knife.

  “I didn’t,” he says, not at all surprised by my attack. “Not really, anyway. She’s never been truly alone. I’ve always had eyes on her.”

  “I don’t think it works like that. She never knew you were there, watching. She always felt alone. I’m pretty sure that means she was alone.”

  He seems to consider this and when he speaks to me again, he sounds resigned. Tired. Regretful.

  “As much as I’d like for you to be wrong about that, you’re not. Dr. Markham, I know you’ll find this hard to believe, all things considered, but I do love Katherine. And I think you’ll find she loves me, too.”

  “Why would she?” I ask in a tone that isn’t mean, so much as curious. He seems to get the distinction and explains.

  “She understands that I don’t hate music or dance or theatre or art. I’m not some Neanderthal who doesn’t understand the need for aesthetic beauty in the world,” he says, then drops his gaze to the ground. “What I am, is a man who loved a woman more than life itself. She filled my world with music. And when she died, it died with her. Every note on the piano was a nail in her coffin to me. It was a reminder of what I had lost. The pain was so intense that I had no recourse but to try and force it to stop in the only way I knew how.”

  “By making the music stop,” I say, astonished that I understand what he’s saying perfectly, because I’ve lived through this as well.

  He sees this and nods, a sad smile filling his features.

  “That’s right. And when Katherine wanted to m
ake a life making music, well, I just couldn’t abide that. I tried reasoning with her, but she wouldn’t listen. In the end, it forced my hand in a way I never wanted to see come to fruition. But the pain…I couldn’t live with the pain anymore. It was killing me.”

  Now I am nodding, too. “I—my fiancée…” I begin, but stop, leaving the rest unsaid. Turns out, I don’t have to say any more than those few words.

  “I know about her. I’m so sorry. I could see what was happening when I investigated this thing further. Clearly you made the music stop, too, but in a different way. You don’t compose anymore. You starting teaching, probably thinking it would make it hurt less. And then came Katherine.”

  “I tried to keep her at a distance.”

  “But that doesn’t work. Not with her. She gets under your skin, that girl,” he informs me, shaking his head. Then he turns to the side and takes a good long look at me. “I see you, Drew,” he says suddenly and I am startled by his use of my first name. “You built a wall around your heart. Katherine tore it down. It’s what she does.” Senator Brenner stands up and walks away from me to look out the window, still speaking as he does. “But, whether you know it or not, you have a bigger problem on your hands right now.”

  “I doubt that,” I mutter.

  He turns to face me from across the room.

  “Dr. Markham, if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s the art of motivation. Not your own, but other people’s. Before things ever even start to go south, you need to have a good look at the people around you. Then figure out who has the most to gain from you losing everything. That will be the person who betrays you in the end—if you’re not prepared for it.”

  “Senator, I have no idea what you’re getting at, so please just spit it out already,” I say, tired of trading enigmas with this man.

  “Fine. Here it is, then. Humor me for just a minute and assume my daughter had nothing to do with that article in the paper. If you take her out of the picture, who else has something to gain from your humiliation?”

  “No one,” I say stubbornly. “I’m sorry, Senator. I care for Katherine and I want to get to the bottom of this. But, as much as I want there to be someone else who could have done this, there just isn’t.”