by Amy Poeppel
“Yes!” she told Diane. “Yes, I’ll be there. Absolutely, I can find it, and thank you, thank you very much.”
Diane gave her the details, telling her to be prepared to play from Elgar’s Enigma Variations and the second movement of Shostakovich’s Symphony no. 10. She would email the specific excerpts.
“I’m thrilled,” said Bridget, “and so honored for the opportunity.”
After they hung up the phone, Bridget jumped on her bed and screamed into her pillow.
As soon as she regained control of herself, she called the Realtor.
* * *
Bridget took a seat in the living room and began to tune her cello. What, she wondered, should she work on first? Her audition excerpts or the piece for the wedding? Her heart was beating quickly, and she knew it wasn’t only the audition making her feel so invigorated. She was excited to see Gavin and even more excited for the three of them to play together again, like old times, only better, now that they’d all grown up a bit. The very idea made her smile and gave her confidence.
As she turned the pegs, she could feel her cello fighting to stay in tune in the humidity. She would take it to the shop where she’d bought it years ago and ask for the name of a top luthier in London to give it some TLC beyond what she could give it herself. She would take a walk in St. James’s Park, followed by a visit to the National Gallery. Every time she pictured herself in London, with a regular job in an orchestra, walking into a proper rehearsal room with a conductor and concertmaster, going out for dinner with a flock of musicians, she felt a thrill. A rafter of musicians? A throng?
And how would she find herself in such a large group?
* * *
Out the living room window, Bridget saw a man walking toward the house. It wasn’t Kevin or Elliot. Bridget squinted. It was Nicholas Donahue, coming toward her with a satchel over his shoulder, and in his arms was Henry, in a posture of complete relaxation.
She put her cello on its side and went out to meet them, noticing the bank of clouds that was moving in, a hint of cooler air.
“Where did you find him?” she asked, afraid to speak too loudly in case she scared Henry away.
Nicholas seemed surprised by the question. “Isn’t he yours? Don’t tell me I’ve picked up a stray.”
“He’s ours,” she said, smiling at him and tentatively reaching out a hand to pat Henry’s head, “but he’s gone wild this summer.” She leaned down and kissed Henry. “This is the closest I’ve been to him in weeks.” This was the closest she’d been to any man in weeks, and she could feel Nicholas watching her.
“He came out of the shrubbery by the driveway when I parked,” Nicholas said, “and started meowing right at me, as though he could tell I’m starved for conversation. It’s lovely to see you.”
Nicholas had had his hair cut short since the last time she’d seen him and was neatly dressed, as if for a party. Had he got the date wrong? “Thanks,” she said and pointed toward the house. “I’m sure Will would love to say hello.”
Nicholas’s expression turned serious. “I’m sorry for dropping in on you and Will like this,” he said. “Frightfully impolite of me. I know the wedding isn’t until tomorrow—”
“No, it’s fine—”
“—but Gavin was staying with me at a house I’m renting and said he has a rehearsal with you today to practice Edward’s piece. I was hoping you might allow me to sit in, for research purposes. Mum’s the word, of course; I understand it’s a surprise.”
It was good to hear Gavin’s name and not recoil. “I didn’t know you and Gavin were friends,” she said.
Nicholas pulled Henry closer to his face and said, “Be very glad that the Glantz family isn’t staying here with you. Danny the Horrible would pull your tail from sunup to sundown.”
“Really?” asked Bridget, curious. “Does Gavin have a difficult child?”
“I hate to be judgmental,” he said. “Gavin’s a good friend, but he and his wife are demanding houseguests and the most tightly wound parents I’ve ever known.”
Bridget laughed, trying to picture Gavin as a family man.
“I’m not saying I was a perfect father,” Nicholas said. “I botched it up, certainly. But my kids are adults now, and I can’t fathom it—taming a toddler at this point in my life? And Gavin’s child is…” Nicholas made a face of complete exasperation.
“Raising kids wasn’t easy,” said Bridget. “I can’t imagine doing it at my age either.”
“The whole situation wore me out utterly. I’m exhausted. Do you know about his wife, Juliette? She’s a psychologist and lifestyle expert, which is rather ironic given the dynamics of her own family. She gifted me a copy of her book before she left, but after what I witnessed, I’m not at all certain her advice should be followed. Ancient Rhythms, Modern Love or some blasted thing.”
“No!” said Bridget. “You don’t mean Juliette Stark?”
Nicholas looked alarmed, saying, “Oh dear, have I said the wrong thing? Is she a friend of yours? I’m terribly sorry—”
“The Juliette Stark?” After almost three weeks of following the rules of Ancient Practices, Modern Life, Bridget felt as though she and Juliette were friends. “She’s married to Gavin?”
“You know her?”
Bridget couldn’t wait to tell Isabelle that their guru was coming to the wedding. “My daughter made me start doing her program. I have to admit, I feel pretty good after a few weeks of ancient grains and humming.”
“Well, you look marvelous, so perhaps Juliette knows what she’s doing after all.”
“Thank you,” Bridget said.
They walked inside just as a light drizzle was starting to fall. Bridget asked about the book he was writing, and Nicholas did, in fact, seem starved for conversation; he was delighted to discuss his progress. “It’s been so interesting to hear stories from your father. He told me how he met your mother.”
“Synchronicity,” said Bridget, as he followed her into the kitchen. “My father talks a lot about timing and coincidence, even the role of fate. It’s funny, I haven’t found that fate played a particularly impactful role in my life.”
“Fate didn’t bring you and Will together?” he asked, putting Henry on the counter.
Bridget looked at him and smiled, embarrassed. “I meant romantically.”
“So did I.”
“No, Will and I aren’t together,” she said. “We’re friends.”
“That’s… well, lovely,” said Nicholas. “I mean, wonderful that you… How special to have a long-time friendship.” Nicholas drummed his fingers on the kitchen island, and Bridget could feel his eyes following her as she opened a can of cat food.
“Look at this, Henry,” she said. “Remember the perks of a civilized life?”
The doorbell rang for the first time in a decade, a loud but soothing chime.
“That sound!” she said, delighted to hear the bell working. “My daughter’s boyfriend is a miracle worker. I’ll be right back.”
Bridget left him to go to the front door, which she opened to find the chiseled fireman she’d met at her father’s house (posed in a wide stance, wearing his full uniform), flanked by Elliot on one side (in jeans with a tool belt slung low around his hips, holding a flat package) and Randall Bennett on the other (wearing aviator sunglasses with his navy suit, carrying a briefcase). Bridget felt like she was hosting an elementary school career day.
Trying to get the greetings right, she kissed the music manager on the cheek, shook hands with the fireman, smiled warmly at the architect, and invited them all in.
After introducing themselves to each other, they stood around the kitchen. Bridget faced the men, unsure where to begin. She decided to start with the visitor whose presence was the most baffling.
“Marge called me at the station,” the fireman said, setting his helmet on the counter. “I think the fire at the house shook her up pretty bad, and she asked me to make sure your barn’s up to safety standards for the
party. She says you’ve got some bad wiring over here, something about you getting electrocuted recently?”
Marge knew perfectly well that Bridget had fixed all the wiring issues in the house and barn; this was a setup. “We did everything by the book,” she said, “but you can certainly take a look.”
“I’d be happy to do a quick inspection.”
Elliot looked defensive, like he was being challenged to a duel. “The electrical’s completely up to code. A licensed electrician did the installation and wired in new fire alarms, and we got permits for all the work.” In a voice more confident than his usual soft-spoken one, he added, “We installed all the exterior lighting fixtures just this morning for the safety of the guests.”
“Glad to hear it,” said the fireman, sounding somehow patriotic. “Marge will be relieved.”
Elliot handed Bridget the small package. “Here,” he said. “A gift from the town hall.”
Bridget opened the brown paper and pulled out a heavy plaque:
State Register of Historic Places,
Recorded Property
1795
“I’m landmarked?” she said.
“It went through. Congratulations.”
“So even if I sold the place,” she said, “no one can tear the barn down now?”
Elliot looked vaguely wounded. “You’re thinking of selling?” he asked.
Bridget wanted to say something reassuring, but she couldn’t. Instead she hugged the plaque to her chest, saying, “I only meant in theory.” She held the plaque out, like a trophy, and slowly turned so they could all see it.
“Would you like a bit of trivia?” Nicholas said. “Beethoven wrote his Opus 1 that year: three piano trios.”
“Really?” she said. This day, she decided, was turning out to be marvelous. “You know, I feel like celebrating. Does anyone want champagne?” She went to her refrigerator and pulled out a bottle. “Juliette Stark is going to have to forgive me,” she said, handing the bottle to Nicholas and getting glasses from the cabinet. “I’m in an outstanding mood.” She looked around the room, realizing the whole scene was starting to feel like she was starring in an episode of The Dating Game. Bridget couldn’t share the main reason she was feeling so elated, so she said, “We’ll drink to the return of my cat Henry.”
Bachelor number three… “What brings you here, Randall?”
“Randy. I really enjoyed our lunch the other day. And I have fantastic news that I wanted to tell you in person.”
“The other day? We had lunch over a month ago,” Bridget said. She felt an irrational need to explain to bachelors one, two, and four: “Randy’s my manager. Well, he’s not my manager, but he’s a manager.”
“And we went out on a date—”
The cork popped loudly and spewed champagne on Nicholas’s shoes.
“It wasn’t a date,” Bridget said to the other men. “It was a work lunch—”
“—that turned into a date.”
“Only because we ordered wine,” Bridget said, “and then I never heard from you again.” As Nicholas wiped the floor, Bridget took the champagne and poured herself a glass.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” said Randy, “and everything you said about the trio and your plans. And I thought to myself, Bridget Stratton doesn’t really want to leave her life in New York City. So, I got to work, and I managed to find you and Will a soloist. A star! He’s a little green but very talented, and he wants to meet you. I set up a meeting in my office for next week.”
Nicholas filled the glasses and handed one to Randy. “Is it anyone I know?”
“That depends,” Randy said, looking smug. “Are you familiar with classical music?”
Bridget waited to see how Nicholas would respond. Humbly, as it turned out: “Somewhat,” he said. He offered glasses to Elliot and to the fireman, who turned it down. He kept that glass for himself.
“Nicholas,” Bridget said proudly, “is a musicologist, historian, writer, professor at Oxford, and—”
“Nicholas Donahue?” Randy said. “Ah, I didn’t put it together. You’re here for the wedding?”
“Among other reasons,” said Nicholas. “Who’s the violinist?”
“Xing Luo,” Randy said. “He’s excited about Forsyth. He’s a marvelous player, was a child prodigy in Beijing.”
“Will doesn’t like prodigies,” Bridget said, wondering if there was even a point to this conversation. What would Will say? Would he be interested? Part of her was hoping he would surprise her; the other part was hoping he wouldn’t.
“He’ll like Xing,” said Randy firmly.
“We haven’t made our decision yet,” Bridget said. “We’re still thinking—”
“If you get Xing, you won’t have anything to think about,” said Randy. “It’s an honor he’s even considering joining you.”
Bridget found that comment insulting.
“Look,” said Randall kindly, walking right up to her, “you’ve dedicated your whole career to the trio, so I wanted to give you and Will one last chance to save it. I figured you couldn’t possibly be serious about wanting to move to London.”
“London?” said Elliot.
“London!” said Nicholas.
Before Bridget could respond, she looked up and saw that Mark was walking into the kitchen. Hello, bachelor number five.
“I got your message,” he said, breathless and eager, a manila folder in one hand and his phone in the other, “and I just happened to be in the neighborhood. Thought I’d drop by. Is this a bad time?”
This, thought Bridget as she sipped her champagne and looked at the men assembled in her kitchen, was really too much.
Mark and the fireman clearly knew each other; Mark clapped him on the back.
“The place looks fantastic,” said Mark. “I sure as hell didn’t think it was possible to get that barn looking so good.”
“Thanks,” said Elliot. “I was in charge of the renovation.”
“Is it safe in there now?”
“I’ll let you know once I inspect it,” said the fireman.
“Between the settling, the holes in the roof, and the bats,” said Mark with a laugh, “I thought for sure it should be condemned.”
“It’s perfectly safe,” said Elliot curtly, “and watertight.”
Mark smiled at Bridget. “Nice! You’ve gone way beyond curb appeal. We’ll have this place sold before the leaves change.”
Elliot looked disappointed, Nicholas looked intrigued, and Randall looked slightly bored.
“Wait.” Bridget wanted to change the subject. “I have to talk to Will before I say another word about any of this.”
“Talk to Will about what?” Will came into the kitchen carrying a large cardboard box that was overflowing with books and clothing. Looking both amused and bewildered, he said hello to each of the men in turn, shaking their hands as he went around the room. “Randall,” he said, “what brings you here?” He saw the open champagne bottle and glasses. “What are we celebrating?”
“I’ve got great news,” said Randall.
But Bridget was fixated on the carton Will had set down on the floor at her feet. “What’s all that?” she asked. His toothbrush and razors were in a cup balanced on top, his T-shirts folded underneath. He’d packed his stuff. All of it.
Mark looked pleased and smiled at Will like they were old friends. “Packing already,” Mark said. “You guys aren’t kidding around. Let’s get this place on the market.”
“What?” Will looked at the box. “No, this is just—”
“What are you doing?” Bridget said, surprised at the urgency of her voice. The sight of the box made it painfully clear: Will was done with her house. He was done with her. “I can’t believe you’re leaving.”
“What’s wrong?” Will asked. The five men watched as Will walked over to her, saying, “Bridget, this doesn’t mean anything. I’m not going anywhere. I’m just making room for Gwen.”
“You packed,” she sa
id, wishing she weren’t about to cry in front of all these people.
“I was being considerate.”
Will was, in fact, exceedingly considerate, but Bridget knew there was more to it. “We need to talk,” she said.
Nicholas turned to the other men, saying, “I, for one, would really like to see inside that spectacular old barn.”
Elliot got up, offering to give everyone a tour. Randall, Mark, and the fireman followed him and Nicholas out, leaving Bridget and Will alone.
Will hugged her. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said. “I honestly thought I was being polite. Tell me what’s going on.”
“I’m scared we’re losing each other.”
“Never,” he said. “Even if things change—”
“I got an audition,” she said, “in London.”
Will let her go, and she saw the look of astonishment on his face. “I guess we do need to talk,” he said.
“But I can cancel it. Neither of us has to go anywhere.” She took his hands. “Randall found a new violinist for the trio.” She watched him, trying to gauge his reaction. “I told him we don’t know what we’re doing, but he already set up a meeting for next week, and we need to decide… We could get right back to our life in New York, rehearsing and touring all the time. Is that what you want? How would Emma fit in to all that?”
“I don’t know,” said Will.
“Because you love her, don’t you?”
Will nodded.
“Do you know what you want?” she asked.
“Do you?”
“Do you?”
They looked at each other, neither wanting to speak first.
Bridget heard the sound of a man clearing his throat and looked behind her. There was Gavin Glantz standing in the doorway of her kitchen.
He was taller than Bridget remembered, older certainly, but then, so were they all. He had circles under his eyes and less hair than he had back in the day, but when he smiled, he looked exactly like the boy she’d met at Juilliard, the one with whom she’d shared a stage for years. They’d grown up together, traveled, laughed, and, yes, spent one remarkable night together. He waved at them, with a shy smile and funny little flip of his hand. She squeezed Will’s, and they crossed the room together to greet their old friend.