Lure

by Maya Sliver

  Carrie has always been a shy, reserved girl. She trusts Blake with her secrets. Perhaps, my daughter felt lonely because neither me nor Stella were there with her when she needed us the most. Stella left her when she was reaching adulthood, a stage when a girl searches for a friend in her mother. A true friend. Though I tried everything to fill the void that had opened in our lives after Stella was gone, I couldn’t become my daughter’s best friend. A friend with whom she never feels hesitant. Who she can share her secrets with. Who never judges her. Never scolds her on her misdoings, or mistakes she makes out of sheer gullibility and innocence. Carrie found such a friend in Blake.

  “Dad, you all right?” My daughter perches next to me on the couch and places a hand on my shoulder.

  I nod and smile.

  “It’s too late. You haven’t slept yet.” She points out.

  “I was just thinking about something.”

  “About what?”

  “About your friend.”

  “Blake you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about her, Dad?”

  Her eyebrows form a V on her forehead, eyes grow narrow.

  “She has requested for me to teach her piano. Does she have any inclination toward music?”

  “Did she?” she pauses and then continues, “She is often confused. She used to tell me she wants to do something but doesn’t know what exactly. Probably, she wants to try everything she can get her hands on. Probably music is a thing she means to try first before exploring other options.”

  “Hmm.” I let out a doubtful breath, leaning back in the couch.

  “What did you say, Dad? Did you agree to teach her?”

  “I haven’t decided yet. I’m not sure if I’m ready to accept private classes.”

  “But that’s something you always loved to do.”

  “Yeah, but things have changed a lot.”

  “But your likings never change, do they, Dad? If you think that can make you feel happier and content. I know you never wanted to teach a bunch of folks but then you took up the job at Queen’s. The job can help you pay the bills but never get you what you used to while taking private tuitions. Creativity is an individual thing. Your undivided attention can help your student reach new heights. In return, you’ll get the satisfaction of blessing the world with one more talented artist. And who knows it’s music and particularly piano that can help Blake find her true calling.”

  I’m amazed at my daughter’s articulation skills. She has a clear perspective of things, that’s why her life goal is clear. Higher studies and research.

  Unlike me, who happens to be an art person, my daughter wants to explore the avenues of science. Her aim is very much clear in her head and she’s dedicated toward it. Something which she can’t say for her friend. Though Blake is way more confident and franker in stating her opinion, she’s still unsure about her future and goals. I think I have to help the confused teenager. Let’s see if she has got any musical ability.

  “Fine. Ask her to join us tomorrow for the evening tea and we’ll discuss with her the prospects of becoming a music student.” I rise and saunter to the kitchen, fetching myself a cup of tea. I hope the chamomile helps me with my insomnia.

  “Wow! That’s great.”

  I see happiness gleaming in my daughter’s eyes when I return to the couch and occupy my position next to her, holding the teacup.

  If everything goes well, in terms of time management and Blake has no problem coming down to our house every evening to learn piano. And I see the keenness toward music in Blake’s eyes, I can consider taking her under my wing until she learns the fine art of notes, keys, and chords. Until then, I’ll be her teacher.

  “How’s school, Kiddo.” From Blake, I drift my focus to my daughter.

  “Oh, I just forgot to tell you.” She slams her palm on her forehead as she shifts her position in the couch.

  “Tell me what.” I glance toward her.

  “We have a study trip coming up by the end of this month. Miss Maurice called me and asked me if I want to be the students’ in-charge of the trip. And I said, yes. She’s planning to take us all to the nearby horticulture resort of Winterlake,” Carrie utters everything in one single breath, enthusiasm clear in her voice.

  “That’s great, Kiddo. And what are you all going to do there?”

  “A lot, Dad. A lot. We’ll get a glimpse of the labs where scientists work on improving plant growth and yields, quality, nutritional value, and other things that can make plants better friends to mankind.”

  “That’s awesome. You’re on the way of becoming a plant scientist.”

  “Aw, Dad. There’s still a lot of time. High school, university, fellowship, research,” she exclaims.

  “Things happen step by step. Nothing happens overnight. Success comes and you never realize it’s there. So, always celebrate whatever you achieve on a daily basis. No matter how little it is. Small successes do matter a lot for they lay the foundation for that big success that you’ve been waiting all your life.”

  She smiles and her eyes shine. We sit there for a while before the evening slips into night and then it’s time for us to go to bed.

  Tomorrow being Sunday we decide to go for a weekly grocery shopping at the nearby store. The rain is forecast to stay for a few weeks and then winter sets in. The mere thought of winter approaching sooner brings back a flood of old memories. Cold, snow, Christmas, festivities. Winter does bring one more painful memory of the past. And that’s Stella’s betrayal. But I don’t want to linger longer on that memory. It’s enough. I’m done with reminiscing the past and blaming myself for all the bad that happened to us and to Carrie after Stella left us. She did it for her own selfish motives and vested interests. I’m going to forget Stella forever. Tonight is going to be the last night of me thinking about her because from tomorrow I’m going to begin a new chapter of my life, I’m going back to doing things which I always liked and cherished. I’m going back to personal tutoring.

  What a fascinating little thing life is. When you think of moving forward, it tends to take you backward. It reminds you of all those pretty little moments of joy, those pretty little things that you always enjoyed but somehow lost in the quest of finding amusements in materialistic conquests.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Blake

  The first music class was all about getting acquainted with the instrument. I’ve never played a piano before except feeling fascinated about it, thinking how it would feel like to sit at and play one. Today is the second class and I’m standing outside William’s door, listening to the faint sound of the piano straining outside the wooden door.

  “Hey, come on in.” Caroline smiles pushing the door wider for me. I step in. She closes the door from inside and the two of us make our way to the staircase.

  I don’t know what William is playing but whatever song it is it indeed sounds quite melancholic. “Is he getting charged up for the today’s lesson?” climbing up the stairs, I mumble to Caroline.

  “He hasn’t played for a long while except yesterday when he taught you about the keys and notes. I think today he’ll teach you some tunes. So, I believe, yes, he’s getting charged up.”

  “Hmm.” I let out a nervous breath as we chew the stairs up and reach the patio.

  Unlike yesterday, the French windows are open today. The curtains are wrapped up, letting the cool evening breeze fall directly into the hall. Outside, the sky is blue with blotches of white clouds. The green trees sway as the cold wind pass through them. From the outside greenery, my eyes wander to the piano and the pianist.

  The big wooden structure sits in the center of the hall, all shiny black, ivory keys shimmering in the mild evening light strolling in through the large windows.

  I reach the piano and stand spellbound as I watch William play. His fingers dance across the keys, alighting first on whites and then gliding to blacks. His head bends toward the keyboard, black curls falling, covering almost half of his f
orehead. His eyes are serenely shut. The music sheet stand lies empty for he reads the notes in his mind. Swiftly, the music fills the entire patio, then spills out through the open French windows and dissolves in the pale air of the cool evening.

  After a while, he stops, opens his eyes of sheer blueness and looks up. First at me and then at his daughter.

  “Since when are you guys standing here?” His blue eyes grow narrow as if he’s not happy seeing us standing idle on either side of the piano.

  “For about twenty minutes, Dad.” Caroline lets out a lazy yawn.

  “Oh, you should have told me. At least, given me a sway on the shoulder.” He quickly rises from the stool, looping his thumbs with the suspenders of his pants. His eyes meet mine and I hold his gaze for a dear long time, not bothering to look anywhere else but at him. He quickly averts his gaze away from me and turns around toward the musical instrument.

  God! He looks handsome in gray chinos. His white shirt has loose baggy sleeves much in resemblance with the shirts worn by plowboys. Is he a pianist or a cowboy?

  I’m busy devouring his masculine appeal when I hear Caroline speak, “As if I don’t know how much you hate getting disturbed when you’re lost in your ebony baby, Dad.” She tosses a lock of black hair over her shoulder and saunters to one of the rattan chairs strewn across the hardwood floor. She then picks up her mobile phone from the small lounge table and begins scrolling.

  “Oh, yeah, I just forget. Maybe, it’s the effect of aging. I’m getting old and forgetful day by day.” He massages his temple and displays a faint smile.

  Who says you’re getting old, Mister Pianist, when you’re giving me enough reasons to feel hot under the ravenous effect of your magical musical spell?

  “Come on, let’s start with today’s lesson.”

  I bite my lower lip, feeling uneasy as I walk to the stool and sink into the leather.

  “Don’t sit stiff. Stretch your fingers, do some warm-up exercises of hand and then let your fingers float across the keys like a vessel floats on the waters, play, acquaint your hands and senses and feel the rhythm of music,” he commands but there’s a sense of permissibility in his tone. Perhaps, he doesn’t want to teach in a typical authoritarian way but is keener on me running the show. And I like it—he’s giving me full freedom to learn the way I want to. He’s letting me know that he’s there should I need any help but it’s on me how I take the challenge and get accustomed with the intricacies of playing the instrument.

  We sit at the piano for a while and whenever he comes close and leans down, I get a whiff of his earthy cologne. His body heat floats against my back and skates across my neck when he bends down and teaches me about high and low notes, giving me all reasons to inhale him greedily. His warm fingers brush against mine when he bends down and teaches me the right way to press a key or a set of keys. I find him irresistible. I find it hard not to get carried away by his alluring presence around me.

  He’s around me yet he seems quite far away. He tries to teach me, and I struggle hard not only to learn keys and notes but also ways to make him tick like he has made me tick with his magical stare and musical spell.

  Caroline constantly sits on the rattan chair and leisurely scrolls through her cell phone. Her eyes stick to the screen while mine darts between keys and her dad’s charming face. His commanding presence is strong enough to divert my attention. When I want to learn and impress him, his sexy baritone, his warm breath, the fragrance of his earthy cologne, his feather-like touches, his tender commands all seem to be conspiring together against my will. I grow hotter and hotter with each passing minute.

  With bated breath, I wait for the class to get over and when it’s over I take a sigh of relief.

  “That’s it for today. You’re going on the right track. It’s easy to learn piano, even kids can learn simple songs in a few days.”

  “What about the complex ones.”

  “It takes years of practice and patience, and of course a good teacher.” He bends down and pulls open the fallboard exposing the sets of shining blacks and whites. “Never close the fallboard, if the piano has ivory keys or they will get yellow.”

  “Oh, is it? I didn’t know that,” stepping aside, I speak or rather fumble. His nearness is causing me trouble and that shows up in my shaky feet and wobbly voice.

  “Now you know, so follow it religiously.”

  “I will.”

  Carrie is gone downstairs a moment ago and now I also beg for his leave and march my way to the staircase.

  Just as I reach the highest point of the stairs, a sexy baritone freezes my jelly feet. “You forgot something.” I turn around, eyes wandering to the red silky thing wrapped in long artistic yet strong fingers.

  “Oh, yeah.” I smile sheepishly. Walking my way back, I grab the scarf.

  “Take care. See you tomorrow.” He smiles.

  “Goodnight, Mister Wild.” I force myself to turn around and walk to the stairs, my feet still wobbly, breath still labored and eyes still desperate to steal one more glance of the charming music teacher.

  When I reach the stairs, I quickly look back and notice him occupying the stool, caressing the keys like someone caresses their sweetheart.

  I wish I were a piano.

  Chapter Seventeen

  William

  “Both of you in the truck. Now,” I order, stuffing the pillows and sleeping mats in the booth among other camping essentials.

  The girls are still chatting and giggling in the front garden. “If we start late, we won’t reach there before noon. That means, no place for us on the campground.”

  I hear footsteps marching to the car while I make some space for the food basket and water bottles. The truck is loaded with backpacks, tents, blankets, sleeping bags, pillows, camping stove, lanterns, mosquito repellents, and it has no space left for anything else. After struggling for a while and shifting and cramming things together, I somehow succeed in stuffing everything we need for our camping trip over the southern countryside.

  Once done, I make a mental note of things we’re taking with us. “Hope we haven’t forgotten anything,” murmuring to myself, I close the bed and scurry to the driver’s side. I notice both Carrie and Blake are at their places—Carrie on the passenger’s seat next to me and Blake at the rear seat.

  “All set?” I ask, hopping behind the wheel and putting the ignition on.

  “Yup,” both girls shout in unison. Revving the engine up, I drive the vehicle out of the house. Within minutes, we’re out of town and driving on the turnpike that flows to Southern Hay Campground.

  The sky is clear, no rainclouds hovering above us. It’s the perfect time of the year when families can go camping. I remember the time when me, Stella and Carrie would go on camping. Carrie was a kid, barely ten years old back then but since childhood, she’s been an avid admirer of nature and loved living in mobile houses amid the greeneries. I glance at my daughter and find her looking out the window, absorbing the yellow autumnal breeze and the warmth of the sun, and the green mountains and landscapes.

  I smile and don’t even realize when unintentionally my gaze travels to the rear-view mirror. I see Blake also looking out her side of the window. Both girls are busy devouring the scenes and landscapes of the region. Letting out a long satisfactory breath, I drift my eyes away from the mirror to the crystal-clear road in front of us.

  Weekend camping was my idea. Earlier, it’d be just the two of us, me and my daughter to camp in the beautiful countryside, but when Carrie insisted on taking Blake along, and Blake also said she would love to go with us, I didn’t mind it.

  In the past few weeks, Blake has become more or less a part of our small family. And since she’s stopping by almost every day at our house, I’ve learned a lot about the prankster. There’s a lot hidden behind the green of her mischievous eyes. Pain, anger, regret, guilt all dance in those beautiful eyes. I’ve often seen emotions churn inside those emerald depths of her. An artist can easily apprehend ano
ther artist’s psyche. Blake is an artist. She’s a remarkable piano player. Within a few weeks, she’s learned what other learners would take months or even years. She’s doing great at the instrument. Sometimes, it feels she’s a born talent, a born musician, a born piano player. She pays close attention to what I teach her and then implement it on the instrument and the most surprising thing is that she experiments with the keys and the notes and tries to create new patterns of music. This is something I don’t see often in students, especially in students of her age. I mean, she’s so young, hardly nineteen, but she shows the dedication and commitment of a responsible artist. She learns and plays with all her heart and soul. This reflects in her body language. She’s a bright student.

  I gaze in the rear-view mirror again and this time our gazes meet and it’s me who look away first. Something ticks in my heart but the next moment, I shake the intimidating thoughts off my head and focus on the road.

  By the time we reach the campground, there’s already a long line of cars waiting near the entrance. There are around twenty vehicles in front of us. We wait for our place for one hour and a half, and finally when we get the spot, all three of us shout in excitement.

  In the next few hours, we’re on the campsite, erecting our tents and getting our stuff out of the truck and arranging our mobile homes.

  ***

  After a light dinner of instant pasta and campfire roasted potatoes, the three of us play cards for a while. And then the girls go to sleep in their tent while I sit by the campfire, inhaling the cold breeze laden with the smell of burning charcoal, looking at the fire. The night is silent and except the crackling fire and intermittent chirping of the crickets, I can’t hear anything.

  The flames dance, going this way and that. The light cast by them flows across the dark trunks of the trees, twisting and curling in obscure shapes. I feel the warmth of the fire floating on my skin. Though it warms my skin, my insides still feel cold and icy. I need someone to replace this icy coldness of my heart. In my quest of securing a better life for my daughter, I lost myself, I lost the meaning of happiness. Now, my happiness lies in close companionship of my daughter’s happiness. Now, the main goal of my life is to see Carrie happy and cheerful. Because of her, I agree to teach Blake. Carrie has found a friend in Blake. She shares her secrets with her. This is enough reason to let the blonde with suspicious green eyes wander inside our house and into our lives. And now, I can’t deny that, because of Blake, me and Carrie have started seeing a silver lining amid the gray clouds. Our monotonous lives have become lively and vibrant. Blake talks and talks a lot. And when she laughs it feels like all living and nonliving things in the room are laughing along with her.