Nocturne

by Andrea Randall

  Without missing a beat or stumbling over her composure, she straightened her shoulders. “It’s funny, hearing you discuss the sanctity of marriage vows as you’ve apparently spent the summer destroying someone else’s. Grow up, Savannah. Let’s go, Malcolm.” My mother held out her arm, linking it with Malcolm’s as they descended the grand stairs of Symphony Hall, leaving a trail of emotional carnage up and down Massachusetts Avenue.

  Feeling faint, I sat down on the stairs, leaning my back against one of the gargantuan white pillars that signified the greatness inside the hall. Right now, it shouldered my shame.

  It’s different. It was different with us, I thought, cradling my head in my hands as I tried to regulate my breathing. Gregory’s marriage was dead in the water long before I showed back up in his life. At least that’s what he’d told me.

  Shit.

  A few words from my mother regarding the condition of my morals and I was hyperventilating on the steps of Symphony Hall, looking for an escape. I’d chosen to lead my mother out this way specifically to avoid the exit of the other orchestra members, knowing they’d leave out the back. I was thoroughly regretting that decision as I longed to find someone I knew. Anyone. I thought about wandering back down the maze of halls to the area where I knew some members of the orchestra would be lingering, but I had no excuse. My luggage wouldn’t be back there, it was in a truck being hauled to Marcia’s house in Andover, which was an unfortunate 40-minute drive away. I could call Marcia to come get me, but Nathan and Christine would be with her and I just … couldn't yet.

  Damn it, Nathan.

  Oddly enough, I wasn’t angry with him. He’d always been undisciplined in the passion of his emotions, which is why we’d hit it off as friends in the first place. He was trying to protect me from the emotional monster he’d long labeled Gregory. He didn’t get it. No one did. We were different. This was different.

  Slinging my flute bag over my shoulder, I carefully descended the stairs and made my way to the overpass across from the hall, leaning against the railing for a moment to steady myself. My emotions. I needed to call him. Panic rose as I considered the painful possibility that we were no different at all. No different from my mother and Malcolm. No different from every cliché and Lifetime movie I’d ever seen. I’d call him and it would be okay. I’d hear his voice and it would assure me. He loved me. I never let him say it, but I needed to hear it from him now.

  I hailed a cab, pulling out my phone as I slid into the back seat.

  “Where to?” the middle-aged man asked, eyeing me through the rearview mirror. “Ma’am?” he requested my attention again as my thumb trembled over Gregory’s name.

  “Huh? Oh, sorry. I don’t care.” I waved my hand dismissively, then froze a little, realizing I'd picked up that habit on tour.

  “Come on, I don’t have time for this.” I could only see his eyes in the rearview mirror, but that was enough.

  Knowing better than to piss off a cabbie on a busy Saturday night, I looked up. “Sorry. Uh … the bar around the corner.”

  “Which one?”

  “That really doesn’t matter.” I shrugged, pressing call and bringing my phone to my ear as the driver grumbled something unflattering and took off into traffic.

  Ring.

  He’d left with Karin. I saw that. But given the look on her face, I didn’t know how long their conversation would be. Either way, he said he’d always be there for me.

  I needed him.

  He needed to tell me I wasn’t the morally bankrupt shrew my mother implied with a soft click of her tongue and an arched eyebrow.

  “You’ve reached Gregory Fitzgerald …”

  “Shit, come on,” I hissed at the phone when I was greeted with his voicemail. I pressed end, waited a second, and called again.

  “Here ya go,” the cab driver said passively as he pulled up to a bar I’d never been to.

  “Thank you so much.” I gave him far too much money and slammed the door shut, desperate to get Gregory live on the phone.

  After hearing his voicemail greeting two more times, I leaned against the cool brick of the exterior of the bar, deciding to call one more time. All he had to do was answer, and assure me. It rang only once before a brief silence. I knew he’d picked up because I could hear the sounds of traffic.

  “What?” he spit out. His tone was toxic.

  I hesitated for a moment, convinced he wasn’t speaking to me, that maybe he’d answered the phone without checking the caller ID.

  “Hello?” His tone hadn’t changed.

  My voice took on an ungraceful tremor. “Hi. I … um …”

  “I can’t do this right now,” he snapped as he ended the call.

  I pulled the phone away as the timer blinked :15, mocking the time it took for Gregory to prove I was no different. That we were no different.

  The last fifteen seconds I’d ever speak with him.

  Savannah

  I checked the time on the departures display. It was 9 a.m., which meant I still had three hours. I’d spent a small fortune to move my departure up a week, especially given it was a non-stop flight once we got to New York. Sticking around in the purgatory that had become Boston, though, wasn’t a healthy option.

  My phone rang again, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I checked the caller ID. It was Nathan, who was hopefully on his way. Gregory had called half a dozen times this morning, and I’d sent him straight to voicemail. I knew he was probably calling to apologize. To tell me he was sorry. He didn’t really have anything to apologize for. Well, maybe both of us did. After all, he was in the car with his wife, undoubtedly arguing. About me. And that was the point really. She was his wife.

  I wasn’t.

  No matter how much I wanted it, no matter how much I might fantasize, no matter how much it might seem right, the fact was, he was married to someone else. And that was an insurmountable obstacle.

  I answered the phone. “Hello?”

  “Am I too late?” Nathan asked.

  “No ... I’ve got an hour or so before I go through security.”

  “Good ... I’m just looking for parking. Where are you?”

  I looked around then gave him my location in the terminal.

  After saying goodbye, I sank down on my heels, holding onto my flute bag with one hand and stifling a cry with the other.

  I was relieved I’d had the good sense to throw jeans and a t-shirt into my flute bag before the performance last night. I’d intended to change into them before the after party, but I changed in the dirty bathroom of a dive bar at 3 a.m., cramming my green satin dress into the garbage can on my way out the door. It was Gregory’s favorite; I’d worn it when I saw my mother perform on my birthday in 2001. It was the first time I caught Gregory eyeing me in a way that tightened my belly and made my neck hot. Surveying my curves as I’d introduced him to my mother, his eyes barely left my body as he shook her hand.

  This was it. This was how my perfect summer with Gregory was ending. Not just my summer. Our story. Over like this—me, alone in Logan on zero hours of sleep, waiting for my 16-hour flight back to Moscow. I hadn’t said goodbye when I should have. I hadn’t been clear with him about going back to Bolshoi, but he hadn’t asked, either.

  Honesty.

  I shook my head, lamenting over the muddled intentions of that word. Lofty promises and dreams on the horizon. We believed them, though. I believed him when he said he would do anything for me, because I’d meant it when I said it to him. As odd as it seems, I had no reason not to believe him. Gregory had always been honest with me, even in the beginning. Even when I was just his student. He’d always shown me a side of him he never let anyone else see. Who he really was. No matter what truths we’d bent over the years, we were always pure in our interactions with each other.

  I can’t do this right now.

  He couldn’t do the one thing I needed. In the moment when I held onto his honesty, his word, the tightest, he failed me. I knew he was in the car wi
th his wife, but I didn’t need him to say anything to me other than It’s going to be okay or I’ll call you as soon as I can. Something other than the annoyed and angry dismissal I received. How people behave under intense stress shows a lot about who they are.

  And he couldn’t be bothered.

  I felt my body shudder, another suppressed sob trying to force its way out of my body.

  Nathan’s voice. “Christ, Savannah. You look like shit.”

  “I haven’t slept,” I said. I started to cry again.

  Nathan sighed. “Ahh, shit.” He slumped down to the floor next to me and pulled me into his arms. And that was all it took to reduce me to a sniveling mess.

  “Marcia told me you called her.”

  I nodded. “Is she pissed at me for not coming home?”

  I felt Nathan’s chin moving back and forth across the top of my head. “No. We were all concerned, though. You just kind of disappeared. Did you talk to him?”

  “He wouldn’t talk to me … or couldn’t ...” My tears came harder as I grasped at the fabric of his shirt.

  “Fuck,” he whispered.

  “I’m so sorry, Nathan.” My voice was louder than I’d intended, given I was trying to speak over my tears.

  “No, I’m sorry.” He kissed my forehead and pulled me tighter. I sat up and started my rebuttal, but he cut me off at the pass. “It’s really important that I get this out.”

  “Okay,” I muttered, pulling the collar of my t-shirt up and wiping my eyes and nose.

  “I didn’t mean to let things get so out of hand last night.” Nathan had let his hair grow out a little over the summer, and his curls were a mess.

  “It got intense, Nathan—”

  “Savannah, stop. Let me finish, okay?” I nodded, and he continued. “I knew something was going on between the two of you, but that didn’t give me the right to scream it out in front of everyone, let alone your mother … and his wife.” Nathan’s eyes fell away from me for half a second, as he seemed to consider Karin’s title.

  “Everything okay, Miss?” A security guard with stern tenderness in his eyes stood over Nathan and me.

  “Oh, yeah, sorry. I’m just a total wreck.” I sent him on his way with a weak smile and tied my hair into a pathetic ponytail to try to look a little less destitute.

  “Anyway,” Nathan picked up where he left off, “you deserved better from me than to have a secret like that broadcasted. You did an awesome job this summer, and those duets you two did were so incredible. I feel like I took all of that away, and now that’s all people will remember …” he trailed off, wringing his hands.

  I reached for his hand and he gave it up, letting me wrap my fingers around his. “That’s all the orchestra will remember, maybe. But not me, not you, and not anyone in the audience. I’m not worried about that, though. I’m worried about what a shitty friend I’ve been all summer.”

  Nathan cracked his neck and looked at me like I’d gone insane.

  “I’m serious. I knew that you realized something was going on, and I should have either been totally honest with you, or kept it a complete secret. The limbo I put you in was an unfair position. I was so excited to spend the summer with you and … I blew it.”

  He shrugged and smiled, wiping the last tear from my cheek. “You were in love, Savannah. It happens.”

  I could feel my cheeks heat up as I looked to the floor, my actions of this summer flashing through my head.

  “Don’t look so uncomfortable, Savannah. I’ve known you a long time. I caught onto the look in your eyes after a few days.”

  I furrowed my brow. “So, why are you so pissed at Gregory?”

  “Because he led you on. Let you fall in love with him when he wasn’t able to give it back. You deserve all of someone, Savannah. Not what’s left over after they’ve dealt with the rest of their life.” Nathan’s hazel eyes faded a little and my chin quivered.

  “I really do love him, Nathan.”

  He put his arm around me again, pulling me so my head rested on his shoulder. “I know you do. None of the rest of us ever stood a chance as soon as he showed up.” He let out a tired laugh.

  “So now what the hell do I do?”

  “You sure you don’t want to consider Chicago?” he asked with weak hope.

  “I’m sure. I love you, but it’s never been my city.”

  “Well,” he sighed, “in that case … you go back to Moscow. Learn Russian or whatever the hell it is you do in your spare time, and you play. You’ve been so happy the last year with the ballet.”

  “I hate that it’s so far away from you, though.”

  “I’ll come visit. Christine wants to come, too.”

  “Oh Christ, doesn’t she think I’m a complete whore?” I sank my forehead into my hands.

  Nathan grabbed my shoulders and turned me to face him, a look of fight in his eyes. “No. No one thinks that, Savannah. And fuck them if they do. That’s not what you are. Don’t ever talk about yourself that way. Jesus, I hate that he made you feel that way.”

  “He didn’t make me feel that way. I did. I slept with a married man.” I thought, maybe, the more times I said it, the less it would hurt that I was leaving him behind. And my heart. It didn’t work.

  “Well,” Nathan snorted, “if he didn’t intend for you to feel that way then I guess he shouldn’t have put you in that position.”

  “Don’t hunt him down and beat him up or anything crazy like that.” The grip Nathan had on my shoulders had me worried about his plans for the rest of the day.

  “Hardly. I go back to Chicago in two days and plan to spend exactly none of them in jail.”

  I checked the time on my cell phone and let out a defeated sigh. Time, and timing, hadn’t been on my side for years.

  Nathan stood and held out his hand. “I’ll walk you as far as I can.”

  Nathan and I walked through the airport, and he told me that he and Christine would be shopping for an apartment together as soon as they returned to Chicago. I was happy for them and the effortless dreams most couples take for granted. It ached when I tried to let myself go to a place in my head where Gregory and I were living together, practicing together … loving together. So, I pushed those thoughts out of my head and focused on my friend and his happiness.

  Thankfully, the security line wasn’t long so I wasn’t likely to miss my flight, but that meant Nathan and I had to say our goodbyes immediately.

  “I’ll miss you, Nathan. I loved spending time with you this summer. I wish it could have been more …”

  “No regrets, okay? We all grew up a little, I think. Be happy, Savannah. Find someone who takes your breath away and supports you and nurtures you.”

  “I did.” I could barely get the words out without more tears. But I managed.

  “You know what I mean.” Nathan sighed and shagged a hand through his hair.

  “Please tell Marcia that I’ll call her as soon as I get settled in.”

  “Love you,” Nathan said, swallowing me into his long arms for a sad hug.

  After several seconds I pulled back and held Nathan at arms’ length. “Love you, too. Now, go back to Marcia’s, get Christine, and go be happy.”

  Nathan shot me a sad smile as I turned and made my way through the maze to the belt, praying my luggage would end up where it was supposed to, since all I had on me was my flute and my cell phone. Once I was settled into a chair by my gate, I texted my father. I know I should have called him, but his silence last night told me that he hadn’t spoken with my mother. I was too tired to get into it at the moment and told him I had a change of flight plans and I’d call him when I got settled back into my apartment in Moscow.

  A couple of hours later I was finally boarding my final flight to Moscow from JFK. The layover wasn’t a bad as I thought it’d be. I busied myself reading over some new music for the upcoming season that had been FedExed to me while I was on tour.

  As we taxied away from the gate, I leaned my head against the
window and exhaled long and slow.

  “Nervous?” a woman in her fifties sitting next to me asked.

  “No. Just … tired.”

  “You look sad.” Her thick Russian accent sent a wave of emotions through me. It sounded like home, the new home I was returning to. But … it reminded me how far away I was going. As I wiped a tear away she took my hand. “I saw you looking at music. Do you play over there?”

  “Yes. Bolshoi. Flute.” The sounds of the engines hauling us down the runway did their best to silence the screaming in my heart.

  Her eyes lit up. Russians are, of course, serious about their ballet. Remembering the story I’d told Tim and Nathan on the road let a small grin escape. “Impressive. So, you’re sad about leaving the States?”

  “No.” I shook my head and met her eyes. She looked sincere, and comforting. I’d picked up a fair bit of Russian by that point, mainly emotive words since they were often written onto our music by composers and spoken to us by conductors to direct our playing. “I just … I’m going back … s razbitym serdtsem …”

  She swallowed hard, this kind stranger, and didn’t let go of my hand. She gripped it tighter as we cruised above the clouds and tears formed in her eyes. She seemed to have appointed herself to escort me back to Moscow.

  With a broken heart.

  Gregory

  “Christ, Gregory. You look like shit.”

  I grumbled a little at James as I poured hot water over a tea bag and sat down at his kitchen table. My head was splitting, and I had a vague memory of switching from gin to something else deep into our conversation. Tequila, maybe?

  I shook my head, which was a mistake, because it caused the entire room to tilt to the left. “Leave me alone.”

  James poured coffee for himself and sat down across from me as I tried to piece together what had happened the night before. The show, followed by Nathan’s outburst, and my own. The argument with Karin, which had resulted in me dropping her off, then me peeling off in the car, tires screeching. I’d ended up with James. Drinking. Pouring out the story of Savannah and our love affair.