That Certain Summer

by Irene Hannon

As Teresa moved away, Karen began stuffing her music into her tote bag.

  His cue.

  Crossing the room to join her, he summoned up his most winning smile. “Do you have a few minutes to talk about the benefit?”

  Her head jerked up, and she gave him a startled look. “Sure.”

  Man, she had beautiful brown eyes. Soft. Warm. Inviting. And as for those supple, expressive lips . . .

  Focus, Walker. This isn’t about your feelings. It’s about helping this woman gain some confidence.

  He swallowed and took the seat beside her. “I’m starting to work with Steven Ramsey on the keyboard. He happened to be here one night when I stopped in, and he has a strong interest in music. After only a couple of sessions it’s clear to me he has real talent. Do you think it might be possible to include him in the program? It would build his self-esteem and give him a goal to work toward. I think he’d be ready to do one or two simple pieces.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “You’re giving Steven piano lessons?”

  “It’s no big deal. I have a lot of time on my hands.”

  “Of course we’ll include him! If you’ve discovered a way to give him a new sense of purpose and direction, you’ll have done a great service to him and his family. That’s a very thoughtful gesture.”

  His neck warmed. “There are benefits on both sides. But that’s not the only thing I wanted to talk with you about. Did you notice that one of the selections we practiced tonight for the benefit has a solo soprano section?”

  “Yes. This one.” She picked up a piece of sheet music from her lap. “We skipped over that part.”

  “I’d like you to do it.”

  She stared at him as several beats of silence ticked by. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’d like you to do it.”

  “You mean . . . sing by myself?”

  “Yes.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Yes, I am. I’ve been listening to you. You have a lovely voice, with a tonal quality that’s perfect for that piece. Clear and pure and ethereal.”

  More silence as she regarded him with an expression of disbelief and alarm. “I couldn’t sing in front of five people, let alone the five hundred we expect for the benefit.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not . . . I’ve never had . . .” She fingered the piece of music and took a deep breath. “Look, I can carry a tune, and singing with the group is fine, but singing alone . . . I couldn’t.”

  “I’ll work with you on it. In private, if you like, until you feel ready to do it in front of other people.”

  Her mouth twisted. “That could take far longer than we have. Years, maybe.”

  “We could give it a try, at least. If you want to back out later, we’ll eliminate that section, like we did tonight.” When she hesitated, he rose. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t we run through it, just you and me? See if the range is comfortable.”

  “Now?”

  “To paraphrase a line from The King and I, now is always a good time. Unless you have another commitment?”

  Again, she hesitated. “I do have some work to finish that I brought home from the office, but . . .”

  He could see she was tempted, and he pressed that advantage. “Take the leap, Karen. Sometimes our biggest successes come when we take a chance.”

  Her grip on the music tightened, crinkling the edges. “There’s also a risk you can fall on your face.”

  “That’s not going to happen in this case. I’ve spent my life in the music business. I know how to evaluate talent.”

  Her cheeks pinked. “I appreciate that assessment, but talent is one thing. Confidence is another.”

  “I have enough of that for both of us. Come on. Give it a try. Trust me on this.” He extended a hand—hoping she’d take him up on his offer.

  For both their sakes.

  As Karen looked at Scott’s outstretched fingers, she bit her lower lip. Hugged her music folder to her chest. Tried to quell the butterflies in her stomach.

  He was right, of course. Risk and reward went hand in hand. You couldn’t succeed if you didn’t try. Didn’t stretch yourself. And he’d given her an exit strategy. She could back out if things didn’t go well.

  What did she have to lose?

  Lifting her chin, she took his hand. His long, lean fingers gave hers an encouraging squeeze, and then he dazzled her with that killer smile. The one that transformed his face and never failed to make her heart stumble. Nor did her legs feel any too steady as he led her to the piano.

  But that was nerves, pure and simple. What else could it be?

  She dismissed the other possibility that came to mind.

  “I’m still not comfortable with this, Scott.”

  “We’ll take it slow and easy.” He slid onto the bench and opened the music. “Don’t push. Let the sound flow.”

  She lifted her music. It shook in her hands. As he began to play, her breathing went haywire. When he approached her cue, her throat tightened and she couldn’t produce a sound.

  Flushing in embarrassment, she laid the music on the piano. “I can’t do it.” Somehow she managed to choke out the words.

  Scott spoke in a quiet but firm voice. “Yes, you can.”

  “I wish I could.” She shook her head in regret. “But I can’t.”

  “All right. We’ll do it together until you’re comfortable.”

  Before she could respond, he launched into the intro again, refusing to take no for an answer. Karen sucked in a deep breath and tried to pull herself together. Okay, maybe if he sang along she could manage to get through it. But she’d never be able to do it alone. And she could imagine what her mother would say if she knew her oldest daughter was even thinking about singing a solo!

  Scott played the final chord of the intro, gave her an encouraging smile, and began to sing the melody in his pleasant baritone. Karen did her best, but her voice was shaky and she wavered on the high notes. Still, she made it to the end.

  Finishing the final measure with a one-handed flourish, he turned to her. “See. You did it.”

  “True. But it was awful.”

  One side of his mouth quirked up. “That’s a little extreme. The first attempt is always rough, whether singing or playing an instrument. Let’s try it again.”

  Once more he played the intro, and once more he sang along with her. This time, her voice was a little steadier and she didn’t have quite as much trouble with the high notes.

  “Better.” He gave her a pleased nod. “Let’s try it again.”

  They ran through the song half a dozen times. The last time he dropped out halfway through. She glanced at him in panic and her voice wavered, but he gave her a steady look.

  “Keep going.”

  And she did.

  As the last note died away, he angled toward her, resting an arm on the music stand. There was warmth in his eyes—almost as much as was in her heart. “I’d say we made great progress tonight. And the next rehearsal will be even better. We’ll try it with the choir next week.”

  Karen’s brief spurt of elation evaporated. “I’m still not sure I can sing in front of anyone else.”

  He studied her for a moment. “I’ll tell you what. Would you feel more comfortable if the two of us got together again first to rehearse?”

  “I don’t want to impose.”

  “I’ll be here Saturday morning with Steven. If you came around ten, we could spend a few minutes working on the piece after I’m finished with him.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “I’m sure.”

  At his definitive tone—and the intensity in his eyes—her pulse tripped into a staccato beat again. “Okay. Thank you. I think that would help.” Then she tacked on a caveat. “But I’m not ready to commit to anything. Singing with you, or with the choir, is a lot different than singing in front of an audience.”

  “Yes, it is. But in my experience, if you practice a lot, it’s not as big a le
ap to a real performance as you think it is.”

  “Since Val is the only one with performance experience in our family, I’ll have to take your word on that.”

  “It’s true. Trust me.”

  Trust me.

  His words echoed in her mind as she collected her music, said good night, and walked toward her car.

  And even though she’d met Scott just a few weeks ago, even though she’d been betrayed by a man she thought she’d known well enough to marry, she did, indeed, trust Scott.

  “How did practice go?”

  Scott stopped rummaging in the refrigerator and turned toward his mother, who stood in the doorway. “Good. We worked on some pieces for the benefit. Is there any leftover pot roast from yesterday?”

  “Yes. Are you hungry?” There was surprise—and hope—in her voice.

  “Starved.”

  Some of the tension in her features dissipated. “I think there are some potatoes too.” She crossed the kitchen and nudged him away from the refrigerator. “Do you want me to heat them up?”

  “That would be great.” He retrieved a glass from a cabinet and headed toward the sink. “Is there a YMCA anywhere around here?”

  “Yes. Not too far from church. Why?”

  “I think I might join. I need to get back into my exercise routine. I was always good about it on the road, but after the accident, I . . . anyway, it’s time.”

  After punching a few numbers on the microwave, Dorothy leaned back against the counter. “How are things going with Steven?”

  “Better than I expected. He’s got great potential.”

  “His mother tells me your offer of music lessons was the answer to her prayers.”

  “She was praying Steven could have piano lessons?” Scott twisted the tap off.

  “No. She was praying something would come along to make him want to live. To give him hope.” She paused for a second, her expression troubled. “Did you know he tried to commit suicide right after the accident?”

  Shock hurtled through him. “No. I didn’t.”

  “According to Martha, he thought his life was over. Everything but his physical life, anyway. That kind of black despair can cause people to do uncharacteristic things.”

  That was true.

  Scott examined the glass of water in his hand. It was half full. Or half empty, depending on your perspective. And he understood Steven’s perspective. He’d been there himself. But bit by bit, the darkness was receding. While he still didn’t know what lay ahead, the black void that had once dominated his vision of the future was beginning to brighten.

  “In any case, the music lessons have been a turning point for Steven.” Dorothy moved to the refrigerator and pulled out a bowl of coleslaw. “So, in a way, some good came out of your accident. Maybe not yet for you, but for others. If you hadn’t come to Washington, who knows what might have happened to Steven?”

  “Kind of like that old movie with Jimmy Stewart.” Scott took a drink of water. “The one where he’s shown what his town would be like if he’d never been born. About how one person can make a difference, and how lives are connected.”

  “It’s a Wonderful Life.”

  “That’s the one. Except in that case, I think an angel was the catalyst.”

  “Yes. Clarence. But humans can also be the source of great good. God often works through people to bring about miracles.”

  The microwave beeped, and as she crossed the room to remove the plate of food, Scott mulled over her words. He’d never given much credence to miracles. The word conjured up notions of amazing cures or tragedies averted, and he’d seen little evidence of those.

  But maybe all miracles didn’t have to be flashy. Maybe a miracle could also be a young man finding hope again. Or an insecure woman finding confidence. Or an injured musician finding his way out of blackness.

  He took his place at the table as she slid the plate of food in front of him. Funny. His mother had credited him with offering Steven hope, but it had worked both ways. In helping the young boy find meaning, he was finding meaning himself. And in helping Karen build confidence, he was better able to face his own future with assurance and optimism.

  As he dug into the food, a new lightness spread through him, lifting his heart and filling it with hope.

  Maybe miracles were all around him, every day. But like the man Reverend Richards had spoken about in his sermon, he’d simply been too blind to see them.

  17

  Karen tucked her music folder into her oversize shoulder bag, squeezed her keys, and turned to Kristen. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me? I’ll only be there twenty minutes, and we could stop at Mr. Frank’s afterward.”

  Her daughter drained her glass of milk and made a face. “I told you, Mom. I don’t want to go to church on a Saturday.”

  She was out of ammunition. Cajoling, guilt, a bribe—nothing had worked.

  She’d have to lay her cards on the table.

  Hugging her music folder to her chest, she took the plunge. “Look . . . I’d really appreciate it if you’d come. I need some honest feedback.”

  Kristen stopped rinsing her glass and cocked her head. “On what?”

  “Scott . . . Mr. Walker . . . asked me to sing a solo at the benefit.”

  As her daughter’s eyes widened, Karen’s stomach clenched. “I knew it was a mistake. I’ll call and tell him I—”

  “No!” Kristen set the glass on the counter, now fully engaged. “I think it’s a great idea! I’m just surprised you agreed.”

  “I haven’t. Yet. I’ll probably back out. I’m not solo material.”

  “Yes, you are! I hear you singing around the house sometimes when you think I’m not listening. You should go for it.”

  “I don’t know . . .” She blew out a shaky breath. “Can you imagine what your grandmother will say?”

  Kristen rolled her eyes. “She doesn’t like anything anybody does. You might as well not try to please her. Did you tell Aunt Val about this?”

  “No. Only you. And I haven’t sung in front of anyone except Scott. That’s why I wanted you to come today. I thought it would give me a chance to see how I do with someone else there.”

  “Okay. I don’t have to meet my friends until after lunch, and besides—I think it’s very cool you’re going to do this.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Kristen peppered her with questions as they made the short drive to church, but once they parked and started toward the entrance, she broke off the inquisition. “Listen.”

  They both stopped. Muted sounds of a simple, classical piano piece floated through the air.

  “Isn’t that pretty?” The piece was vaguely familiar, but Karen couldn’t think of the title.

  “Yeah.” Kristen picked up the pace again. “Imagine how great Mr. Walker must have played before the accident.”

  But as they paused inside the door, Karen saw at once that Scott wasn’t the pianist. He was standing behind Steven, who was giving the piece in front of him his rapt attention.

  She and Kristen held back until he finished, then clapped with enthusiasm.

  The young man twisted toward them, his complexion reddening.

  “Wow! I heard Scott was giving you lessons, but I had no idea you’d progressed this much.” Karen smiled at him as they joined the duo.

  “That was great,” Kristen echoed.

  Steven looked away and straightened the music. “It’s just a beginner’s piece.”

  Scott laid a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Pretty soon you’ll be passing me up. I never had the natural flair you do for the keyboard.”

  As Steven’s flush went another shade darker, Karen rescued him by changing the subject. “I brought Kristen along as a sample audience.”

  “Great idea. I hope you can convince your mom to do the solo.” Scott flashed her daughter a grin. “I’m afraid my powers of persuasion aren’t working very well.”

  “I already told her to go for it.”
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  “Keep pushing from your end.” He gave Kristen a conspiratorial wink. “Steven, I’ll see you Tuesday. Do you have a ride home?”

  “My mom’s going to stop by on her way back from the grocery store. She should be here soon.”

  “Okay. Then if you two will excuse us, Karen and I have work to do.”

  Steven pushed away from the keyboard, and as he and Kristen moved off to one corner, Scott focused on her. “I was afraid you’d get cold feet and not show.”

  His tone was teasing, but his eyes were serious. She lifted her chin a fraction, trying not to be distracted by the way his jeans hugged his lean hips or the impressive biceps beneath the sleeves of his black golf shirt. “I said I’d come, and I always keep my promises.”

  “I believe that.” He gave her a long look, then reached for the music and set it on the stand. After sliding the bench back into position, he took his seat. “Ready?”

  “No. But I’m here, so I guess I’ll try it. Could you . . . would you sing through it with me once?”

  “Sure. Let’s do some scales first, to warm up.”

  They ran through a few vocal exercises, and despite the presence of Kristen and Steven, by the time they moved on to the piece, Karen wasn’t nearly as nervous as she’d been the first time she’d sung it.

  As the last note died away, Scott gave an approving nod. “Nice. Now try it on your own.”

  Her nerves spiked, but when she checked out Kristen and Steven, they were involved in an animated conversation, oblivious to the rehearsal.

  So much for her audience.

  For the next few minutes, Scott played through the piece several times, and with each rendition, her voice grew stronger and more confident. He began to offer suggestions on interpretation and dynamics, and she forgot to be nervous as she concentrated on his instructions.

  “Okay. Let’s do it once more, and try to focus on all the things we’ve talked about.” Scott flipped back to the first page.

  As he began to play, Karen closed her eyes, letting the music filter into her soul as her mind processed and implemented all of his suggestions.

  The last notes died away and the church went silent—until the sound of clapping filled it. Karen opened her eyes to find Kristen, Steven, and Scott beaming at her.