The Sound of Wind
Page 61
Hugo shoved his bunched up hands in his pockets. He didn’t want to be back at Gideon Enterprises. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. Of course, he should have been going to Mr. Hanson’s office to explain things, but he had enough sense to know that right now it was going to be impossible to give that report at a civil volume.
The doctor’s Baldwin piano probably needed tuning badly. Hugo was halfway to the doctor’s office before he’d made the conscious decision to take her up on her offer. She’d seemed sincere when she'd asked if he'd wanted to stop by her place and play before, and right then he was a little too irritated to second-guess himself.
He could have gone to the studio that he was still paying for, but hadn’t even seen the outside of in two weeks. He didn’t want to see his band mates on the off-chance they were there however, because seeing them would require an explanation for his long absences and he wasn’t entirely sure he could refrain from telling the flat-out truth at this point. And that wasn’t exactly such a good idea. Besides…it seemed imperative all of a sudden that he tune the neglected piano.
Hugo knocked on the doctor’s door and got a muffled invitation in response. She was sitting at her desk, carefully regarding a chart. Mozart’s "Piano Concerto No. 20 in D minor" was playing in the background; she was always listening to music in her office. She looked up as he edged the door open, “Hugo! I’m glad everything went well. After Christian told me to prepare for possible injuries, I-”
“Yeah, I do screw up quite a bit, don’t I?”
She closed her mouth, eyes looking slightly beyond the door for a moment. Hugo cringed at his own words. “That’s not what I was implying.”
“I know…I’m sorry, I’m just-are you busy right now?” The words fell out of his mouth unceremoniously. He’d planned on broaching the subject less brashly, but that didn’t seem possible. Maybe CJ was rubbing off on him.
She blinked and then smiled a little, “Not particularly. Can I help you with anything?”
“Can I…” What was he thinking? It suddenly seemed awfully awkward to ask if he could go over to her apartment and totally ignore her so that he could mess with her grandmother’s piano. Christ. But she was waiting, her eyebrows drawn towards each other, lips slightly parted. She was wearing a new shade of lipstick.
“Hugo?”
“Uh. Piano!” Oh yes, very good moron, “Can I tune your piano?" He felt all of the color drain out of his face, "I mean can I come over, um, well…I just mean-”
Crysta smiled, “Of course.”
Hugo’s mouth snapped shut, grateful for the rescue from himself, “Thanks. I’m sorry, that was really rude.”
“Not at all,” Dr. McFadden responded as she shrugged off her lab coat and reached for her purse and winter coat, “I was thinking of heading out anyway.”
Hugo’s shoulders slumped and the balled fists in his pockets relaxed, “Thanks.” Hugo looked down at his…tie. Ugh. He was still wearing the suit from the meeting. He should have changed first. Suits were just awkward and pretentious;, and things people wore to funerals.
“Ready to go?” Dr. McFadden had her head tilted towards him.
Hugo finally registered the doctor’s trip from the chair to the door. She was going to ask if he was ok. He didn’t like that question because he didn’t know what it meant anymore, "Yes," he said right over whatever she'd been trying to get out next, and then quickly walked through the door.
The drive to her place was quiet. He could tell she wanted to know what had happened, but was too polite to ask. Instead she pushed her hair behind her ears 17 times and slowed down prematurely at three yellow lights. He didn’t want to talk about it. Maybe later. But ‘Nocturne for Piano No. 18 in E major’ and ‘Fantasia for piano in D minor’ were taking up prime real estate in his brain, perforated by the details of Ref File 12, Hermes.
“We’re here.” Hugo got out of the car at the prompt and then headed upstairs. Crysta hesitated for a moment at the door to her apartment as if she were taking a mental inventory of the clutter beyond the door, and then, deciding it was sub-embarrassing levels, let them in. Little had changed.
“You can put your jacket in there. Would you like something to drink?”
“Coffee?” He questioned, shoving the stuffy jacket into the closet where he hoped he’d forget it. He loosened his tie a bit. Dr. McFadden nodded at his request and started to head towards the kitchenette, peeling off her own coat. She always looked so…professional. She had a nice ass too. God, shut up.
Crysta paused at the entrance of the kitchenette, pointing in the Baldwin’s direction, “The piano is over there.”
Of course Hugo knew where it was, but that was his invitation to stop standing awkwardly by the closet and do what he’d come over to do.
Three hours later he was finishing ‘Moonlight Sonata’ and realized he hadn’t spoken a single word in that time. The coffee sitting on the small table beside the piano was cold, and Dr. McFadden hadn’t moved much either. Going back over all the things he hadn't been paying attention to during that time, he noticed she’d spent the majority of her time on the couch reading a medical journal, his desperate mashing of keys the background noise. She’d asked him if he needed cream or sugar in the coffee while he’d still been tuning the piano, but he hadn’t responded. “Sorry.”
Crysta looked up from her reading, startled. Hugo straddled the bench so that he could face her. “Huh?”
“I’ve been forcing you to listen to me for the last three hours, and you asked me about the coffee earlier and I didn’t notice. Sorry.”
Dr. McFadden chuckled, setting the journal in her lap, “Don’t worry about it. I know how focused I can get when I’m working, so I didn’t take it personally. As for your playing, it was certainly better than listening to the radio, or silence.”
“But-”
“It was nice to get to hear that piano again.” Her voice was soft.
Hugo shut up. She was thinking about her grandmother. He stretched out his fingers, then chewed on his thumb while her thoughts drifted, “Were you guys close?”
Crysta looked startled for a second, and then nodded, “Yeah.”
Hugo set his hands in his lap. He had a lot to think about. A lot of things to plan for, and he would. Right now at least, what was done was done. It was a good piano, one forgiving of his faults. It had cooperated. It had sounded good. “Am I doing the right thing?”
Crysta's brow furrowed slightly and she carefully set the journal aside, “What do you mean?”
Hugo stared at the ground, shifting back towards the piano, “Nothing. Just ignore me.”
“No?”
He glanced at her through the fringe of his hair, “Forget it, I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“You mean everything.” Crysta frowned, “I think you’re trying to do what you think is right, and that is right. You make mistakes, but everyone does.”
He shifted, staring intensely at the hard wood floor. Why had he said anything? He was dumb. What had he meant anyway? Just as long as he stopped the explosion it didn’t matter what else he did, right? Nobody cared. He was the one having the problem. He really wanted to be talking about anything else, “What do you want for Christmas?”
Crysta blinked at the gear change, and then smiled, “Oh, you don’t have to get me anything.”
“But-”
“It’s ok, really. I’m used to it. You don’t have to get me anything.”
She was used to it? Did she not celebrate Christmas, or was she saying no one ever got her anything anymore, and she was fully resigned to the fact that that was the way things were? It was depressing. She wouldn’t be disappointed if he didn’t get her anything, there was no pressure, but he’d have to get her something. He couldn’t let her continue thinking no one would bother giving her a present. But he had nothing, what could he possibly get her?
“What are you thinking about now?” She asked, a small laugh in her voice.
Hugo shook his hea
d, “Nothing. Uh, thanks for letting me play, I, uh, better get going. I should really be writing up my report for Mr. Hansen.”
She stood to walk him to the door, “Anytime. Do you need me to drive you back?”
“No, that’s fine. The walk will be good.”
“Ok. Come back anytime,” she said pleasantly, her sincerity clear.
Hugo smiled, “Thanks.”
He was a block away from her apartment when he remembered his jacket. Oh well, he’d pick it up later.