Nocturne

by Andrea Randall

  I closed my eyes. Then I said, “Yes, Madeline. I understand. I’ll call you in the next day or so, all right?”

  “Good night, Gregory.”

  We hung up. Just in time, because a pugnacious Nathan Connors pushed his way into the room and slung his bag onto the top bunk.

  “Nathan,” I said.

  “I want to talk with you, Fitzgerald.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Whatever for?”

  “You screwing Savannah.”

  Something about his obnoxious little face, or the contemptuous wording he used, infuriated me. Not to mention the fact that she’d spoken to Nathan, of all people, about it. I'd been right to be concerned she'd choose him to speak with. I’d have been happier if she’d picked just about anyone else on earth to confide in. Anyone else.

  “Don’t you dare speak about her that way,” I said.

  His cheeks were red, his eyes wide, aggressive. “That’s a fucking laugh, Fitzgerald. You break my friend’s heart, and you tell me not to talk about her in a way that displeases you?”

  I leveled my gaze at him and said, “Nathan, I really don’t have time for this right now. You’re standing in between me and the lounge car.”

  “You leave her alone,” he said. “You don’t talk to her. You don’t touch her. You don’t fucking hurt her.”

  I’d had enough. I’d awakened that morning in absolute bliss, with the love of my life beside me, only to have my wife destroy that moment. My wife, who was busy trying to get pregnant without asking me. I’d been yelled at, watched Savannah run off into traffic, I’d hit my head, been kept up on a train half the night, been forced to room with a too young and far too irritating member of this orchestra, and now I had to listen to this? I was done.

  “Get out of my way. Now.”

  He stepped back. The menace in my tone was unmistakable. I held a finger up in his face. “The fact that we’re colleagues does not make you my equal, Mr. Connors. You will never speak to me that way again. I care for that woman more than you can possibly imagine.”

  His eyes narrowed, and he took a breath to speak, but I pushed him back. “Don’t cross me, Nathan.”

  He muttered, “If you hurt her, I’ll ruin you, Fitzgerald. Your precious fucking career will never survive it. I guarantee you that.”

  I leaned close to him and said in a low tone, “Just remember when you make threats, that I was sitting in my seat with the Boston Symphony before you were even old enough to care about girls and their feelings. I have enough pull to make your fucking career miserable. Now back the fuck off.” Then I backed up, opened the door to the sleeper and walked out into the corridor.

  I wasn’t proud of myself. I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t anything but pissed off and sorely in need of a drink. Five minutes later I found my way to the lounge car. Two minutes after that I’d tossed back my first gin and tonic and ordered another. It was late, and I was tired, and we had a long day ahead of us tomorrow. I was regretting accepting a seat on this roving tour. I was too old for this crap, and the last thing I needed to deal with was Nathan fucking Connors back in my room.

  I shook my head. The hell of it was ... if it was true? That Karin had just found out she was sterile, or infertile, or whatever the hell they call it? Then I was stuck with her, at least for the time being. Because what kind of bastard leaves his wife when she's heartbroken?

  I stared at my drink. And tried not to think about it. Because one thing I’d always been was someone who could look in the mirror with pride. But twice now ... both times with Savannah ... I’d destroyed that. The first time, when I didn’t risk it. When I didn’t go after her. When I told James I’d cut off contact. It broke her heart, and it broke my soul.

  The second time ... hard to believe it was only twenty-four hours ago. Twenty-four hours to ruin my life. Twenty-four hours to break her heart. I loved Savannah, and I’d do anything, anything at all, to have her in my life.

  And she was the one thing I couldn’t have.

  I tossed back my second drink then leaned my head on my hands for just a moment, rubbing my eyes. I kept them closed, leaning that way. Then I heard a voice.

  Her voice.

  She sounded exhausted, her voice rough, gravelly almost.

  “Another gin and tonic for him. Red wine for me.”

  I lifted my face from my hands. And Savannah sat down across from me.

  Gregory

  Every few minutes a light flashed by, the railcar rocked periodically, and the wheels rattled with their own rhythmic beauty as the train sped through the darkness. I don’t know how much further we travelled before we spoke. It could have been a hundred yards, or it could have been a hundred miles. I stared at her, rocking a little in my seat as the car moved.

  She had dark circles under her eyes, which didn’t suit her at all, and her face was even more pale than normal. She sat back and sipped her wine and seemed to study me.

  “Does this mean we’re speaking again?” I asked.

  “We never stopped speaking. I just needed time to think.” As she said the words, she looked almost drained of emotion. She let out a long sigh, and I must have mirrored it, because her mouth quirked up on one side in a tiny smile.

  “Tired?” I asked.

  “I didn’t get much sleep last night,” she replied, raising one eyebrow. Her tone was light, and she looked at me over her plastic wine glass as she said the words.

  I swallowed, sudden tension in the air. Did this mean she was over her sudden anger? Or ... what did it mean? Why did she joke about something so intense? So deeply personal between the two of us?

  The hell of it was, the night we’d just had together? It was … everything. It meant everything. It was so much more than sex. So much more than anything I’d ever experienced, even more than our fumbling first night five years before. More than I’d even imagined.

  I couldn’t get a grip on my feelings, because every time I thought of her, I was overwhelmed. Every time I thought of last night I was overwhelmed.

  Every time I thought of her whispering, I love us.

  “Sometimes I don’t understand you,” I said.

  She snorted, raising one eyebrow and looking at me with an expression that bordered on amusement. Then she took a long drink from her wine. “Did you seriously just say that, Gregory? You don’t understand me?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “I want you to tell me what you’re thinking.”

  I sighed, then leaned forward and took a sip of my gin. “What I’m thinking, Savannah, is that … last night ... was the happiest I’ve ever been in my life.”

  She frowned and shook her head. “You didn’t look so happy in the morning. When your wife called.”

  I shook my head impatiently. “That’s not as simple a situation as you might think.”

  “What’s complicated about it?”

  I sighed. I didn’t know how to answer, because it was a mess. I didn’t love Karin. I should never have married her. I’d done it in a moment of heartbreak and loneliness, two years after Savannah left, knowing I’d lost her forever. Not even realizing that I’d condemned myself by doing so.

  There was no right answer. There was no excuse. And no matter what happened with Savannah, no matter what happened with Karin, the fact of the matter was, I was the one who was wrong. Every single step of the way. I wanted Savannah so badly it was like a wound that wouldn't heal. I didn’t know how to fix it. I didn’t know how to make it right.

  Then, before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “I can’t promise you anything.”

  “You what?” she asked. Her tone of voice implied irritation. Disgust.

  “Listen to me,” I said. Fumbling. Confused. Unsure of myself.

  “I’m listening,” she said, “but you aren’t making any sense.”

  I swallowed and closed my eyes. Then I opened them and met her eyes. She shifted in her seat, and as I spoke the next words, I had the feeling that I’d t
aken a headlong rush off a cliff.

  “You’re my heart, Savannah. Not in it. Not a part of it. I’m consumed by you. Obsessed by you. I need you in my life any way I can have you. Don’t tell me you don’t feel the same way.”

  She frowned then looked away. Her face seemed to tremble. She looked back and whispered, “I’ve always loved you.”

  I looked at the table. “Last night was undeniably the best night of my life.”

  She rolled her eyes and waved at the waiter, indicating another round. I was an unsteady mess as it was, but another drink would just be more of the same.

  “Savannah, I need you to listen to me.”

  She shrugged. “I have been.”

  I swallowed. Then I plunged forward. “I never stopped loving you. I never stopped thinking of you.”

  She shook her head. “Inconvenient, isn’t it, that you went and got married.”

  I winced. “Yeah. Well, I did. I was … lost. Lonely. I’d screwed up badly and knew it. I’d lost touch with you. I didn’t know how to make it up to you. I didn’t know how to fix it. And ... she was there. It was just ... easy.”

  “Easy?”

  My tone dropped, and while I spoke the words, I couldn’t possibly express the frustration, the disgust. “Easy and stupid. I married someone I didn’t love.”

  She met my eyes. “What does that have to do with me, Gregory?”

  I held her gaze. “I guess, what I’m trying to say is ... I can’t promise you anything. I can’t ask for anything. But … I’m going to anyway. I want you, Savannah. I want you in my life ... for … whatever happiness we can have, while we can have it.”

  She recoiled, confusion and sadness on her face. Then she started to stand, and I reached out and grabbed her hand.

  “Please,” I whispered. “Savannah ... I need you. Desperately.”

  She shook her head, tiny movements, and I dove in and said, “We have this summer. We have … the next two months on the road. Savannah ... don’t turn me away. I love you.”

  “What are you asking me?” she cried.

  “I want you to have an affair with me.”

  The words fell into the room, suddenly silencing everything around us. She stared at me, her lower lip barely trembling.

  Then she stood, yanking her hand from mine, and ran out of the car.

  Savannah

  Yes.

  I got out of the lounge car as fast as I could, before I could utter the single most ridiculous word I’d ever considered saying. Gregory just asked me to spend the summer with him. With him. He loved me. Just me. There were things going on in his marriage that were complicated, but … he didn’t love her.

  He loved me.

  I needed to talk to someone about this. I needed to tease out reality from fantasy, and love from choices. Because, really, whether or not Gregory loved Karin, he was married to her. He chose to marry her when I was thousands of miles away and not in his life at all.

  What if I’d been around?

  I’m consumed by you and need you in my life any way I can have you ...

  I couldn’t tell him I didn’t feel the same way. Because I did. I had been consumed by him from the moment he played at the end of our first class. Obsessed. Obsession makes people crazy.

  Maybe crazy was okay if love was the reason.

  Yes, I definitely needed to call someone.

  Nathan had listened to me cry about my mistake with Gregory after I’d gotten off the phone with my mother. He yelled some colorful language about Gregory putting me in the position to get hurt. That I deserved better than that, and I was wise to stay away from him. The fact that I was considering graduating from the other woman to full mistress status for an entire summer, rather than a single night, was not a conversation I could have with the hot-headed flutist. No one needed a broken hand, and Nathan would be the last to consider the effect one could have on his career.

  Marcia had texted me several times when I didn’t call her back. I now had a hell of a lot more to tell her than I did after our initial call. Somehow I’d been fortunate enough to end up in a single sleeper room on the train. I have no idea who I’d have to thank for that, but they were getting thanked. A train is not typically a place that grants privacy, but I’d finally caught a sliver of a break.

  Lying flat out on my bed, there was one person I had to call before my former roommate. I pressed send and spent a few seconds drumming up something to say.

  “Hello?” His voice was groggy, unfocused.

  “Dad. I know it’s late ... I’m sorry. I needed to … I needed to hear your voice. Can we talk?”

  “Savannah! I’m glad you called. I never know when is a good time …”

  “I know, Dad, it’s fine. We’re so busy all the time between playing and traveling, and figuring out which city we’re in.” I laughed for the first time in several days.

  “How are things going?”

  I chatted with him for a few minutes about the cities we’d been to, the various venues we’d played in, and how everyone was getting along. While the tour was mostly comprised of younger musicians, newer to their respective symphonies, there were some seasoned members amongst us. Some with long standing feuds with other musicians, which made for great storytelling during late night transit. Who would have guessed that trombonists could be so moody?

  We never talked about my mom, apart from him telling me once in a while that I needed to call her back.

  “Dad,” I sighed, “I talked to Mom the other day. She told me about Malcolm.”

  “What … um, what did she tell you about Malcolm?” His voice had changed. He sounded slightly on edge. Not angry, though.

  “About the story in Opera News.”

  “Uh-huh …”

  “Did it go on for the whole seven years, Dad?”

  “Savannah …” As he exhaled into the phone, I could almost see him pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “Come on, Dad, I’m an adult. This is my life, too.”

  “Oh, sweetie, it’s so complicated.”

  I chuckled half-heartedly, “Clearly. Did you know about him the whole time?”

  My mother never admitted to a seven-year affair with Malcolm, but it was obvious. Given she was working in Italy and he was working in Boston, I gathered whatever relationship they had up until she moved back to the States was largely emotional.

  “Malcolm was always a good friend to your mother. To the family. They have a lot in common and live in the same world.”

  “Yeah,” I snapped, “a world you left for her.” I felt my cheeks heating thinking about the career my dad walked away from to support hers.

  “I didn’t leave it for her, Savannah … it was for you.”

  “What?” Tears stung my eyes.

  “It was for us. For our family. You mattered more to me than to try to raise you on the road. One of us had to make the choice. She was further in her career than I was. Making her give it all up wasn’t something I could do.”

  “But you both chose to have a family. Why did you have to give it all up?”

  “That’s life, Savannah …” There seemed to be something he wasn’t telling me in that silence.

  “Has it always been him?” I was whispering, disbelieving I was asking my dad something so personal.

  “Your mother and I had a challenging relationship, Savannah. We wanted children together, but you came a little earlier than planned. That called for us to make some tough choices. It brought things out in us that … look, your mother is a good mother.”

  He didn’t want to throw her under the bus, but it was clear that what went on—was now going on—between my mother and Malcolm was no secret.

  “But you and Mom were married …”

  “I don’t have anything I can say to make this easier to understand. But, I do want to tell you something.” His tone darkened to the stern set of notes he used when discussing drugs with me in high school. “Don’t make things harder on yourself than they need to be. Lov
e shouldn’t be a fight, Savannah. It shouldn’t be hard. It shouldn’t tear people apart and leave everyone broken. If someone loves you, they give you all of themselves, not just parts. Do you hear me?”

  My lips parted, startled by my father’s bleeding honesty. “Yeah,” I gasped, “I hear you. I have to go, okay? It’s late.”

  “I love you. Check in again soon, okay? Even if it’s 3:00 a.m.”

  “I will. Love you, Dad.”

  I didn’t know before if my dad saw what my mom saw when watching my performance with Gregory, but that cleared it up. Of course he saw. He was wrong about one thing, though. You fight for what you love. Who you love. Giving up on Gregory six years ago left me empty. I had a chance to make that right, if even for a summer.

  Spending a few weeks capturing what most people spend a lifetime searching for had to be better than nothing at all. Maybe Gregory and I had to grab whatever happiness was dangling in front of us. It was our window, and it was closing in a few weeks. I didn’t know if it would ever open again. I didn’t know what was going on in his marriage, and I didn’t know what went on in my parents’ marriage. All I knew was Gregory Fitzgerald was the only one who made me feel this way, and if this was the only chance we had to fully experience each other … I had to take it.

  Even if it would break me in the end.

  Gregory

  Nathan vacated our sleeping quarters early. The train arrived in Denver at 7:00 a.m., and he banged around the tiny cabin like a grumpy teenager before finally leaving. Frankly, I was relieved to have avoided a physical confrontation with him last night. I knew he cared deeply for Savannah, and despite the rage that bled from his pores, I felt less retaliatory and more ashamed of myself for hurting her.

  Hurting her wasn’t my intention. None of this was. I stepped out of the shower in my mid-grade hotel room and ran my hands through my hair, thankful my hangover was subsiding. When I’d started drinking in the lounge car, I didn’t expect to leave there asking the woman I loved to engage in a relationship with me for the remainder of our tour.