Love at First Note

by Jenny Proctor

  “When I saw this handsome young man in the back row, I knew he had to be the piano player you told me about last week. This is him, right? I just wanted to make sure you had the opportunity to say hello.”

  I cringed as I heard my own voice echoing back in my head. What do you play? I kept my eyes on Sister Sheehan—dear, sweet, cover-blowing Sister Sheehan—but I could still see the smirk on Elliott’s face. “It’s nice of you to think of me, and I appreciate you bringing him over, but we’ve already met.”

  “Oh, well, that’s wonderful.” She turned to Elliott. “You know, Emma is a musician too. She plays the fiddle almost as well as my uncle Nesbit.”

  I tried not to wince. The fiddle? Uncle Nesbit? I couldn’t get to my Sunbeam class fast enough.

  Sister Sheehan squeezed my arm, her eyebrows dancing as she grinned. “I’ll leave you young people to it.” She shuffled out of the chapel while Elliott and I stood in awkward silence. I tried to think of something to say that might redeem me from our first encounter, but before I could open my mouth, Elliott gave me a nod and a brief “Nice to see you again,” then turned and left.

  Awesome.

  For the second week in a row, I tried and failed to focus on my lesson. I couldn’t think of anything but Elliott’s smug expression. The kids were all over the place, ignoring everything I said, and I could hardly blame them. I wasn’t making any sense. Finally we ate some animal crackers and colored some pictures, and I mentally vowed that next week we’d learn something useful. I looked at the next lesson. “I Am Thankful for Fish.” See? Perfect.

  At the end of Primary, I ducked out of church a few minutes early to avoid the crowds. And by crowds, I meant Elliott. I stopped by Maple Crescent long enough to grab my violin, then drove to my parents’ house, hoping Ava still wanted to work on her concerto. And also hoping for lunch.

  Church in Hendersonville ended an hour earlier than my Asheville ward, so my family was already home and gathered around the kitchen bar, the post-church feeding frenzy in full swing. Dad stood at the counter making himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich while Ava hovered by the open refrigerator, sniffing her way through containers of leftovers. I left my stuff by the door and plopped onto a barstool.

  “Hi.”

  “Hey! It’s Emma!” Dad called. “Karen! Emma’s home.”

  Mom appeared in the kitchen doorway and smiled. She moved around the bar and kissed me on the forehead. “What brings you to our end of the mountains?”

  I shrugged. “Ava said she wanted to practice.”

  “Are you hungry?” Mom nudged Ava out of the way and leaned into the fridge. “Your dad made sweet pork tacos for the missionaries last night. I can warm up some leftovers if you want.”

  “That’s what I was looking for,” Ava said. She swung her blonde hair over her shoulder. “Is there enough for both of us?”

  “There’s enough for all of us,” Mom said, “though it doesn’t look like your father was patient enough for a taco.”

  Dad grinned through a huge bite of sandwich. “This is only my appetizer.”

  I took the containers from Mom and pulled a few plates out of the cabinet. “Thanks, Mom.”

  She moved to the window seat at the back of the kitchen while I made the tacos—a plate for each of us. Ava took hers to the living room, leaving me alone in the kitchen with my parents.

  “So.” Dad rubbed his hands together. “Have you met the rock star yet?” He sat down next to Mom and pulled a cushion into his lap, then lifted Mom’s feet onto the cushion.

  “Huh?”

  “He’s talking about Elliott Hart,” Mom said. “Have you talked to him yet?”

  “He’s in your ward, right?” Dad said.

  “He’s in her ward, but he’s also her neighbor. He lives in the same house, right across the entryway.”

  Dad’s eyebrows danced playfully. “What are the odds of that happening? When’s your first date?”

  “Go easy on her, Jake.” Mom nudged Dad in the chest with her foot.

  She was playing all coy, scolding Dad for teasing me, but I didn’t buy it. I could almost hear the wheels turning in her brain, fast-forwarding through my potential future with Elliott. I couldn’t exactly blame her. I mean, the fantasy had crashed and burned within ten seconds of meeting him, but I’d still done the same thing.

  “Tell me about him,” Mom said. “What’s he like?”

  “He’s . . .” I had no idea what to say. I couldn’t say nice because, well, he hadn’t been very nice, not that I’d done much to deserve his niceness. I could say hot; that was totally true, but it was hardly a description that would satisfy Mom. “He’s . . . very talented.”

  She gave me a funny look but didn’t press further.

  “So guess who’s in my chamber group now?”

  Mom’s eyes sparked with interest. “Someone new?”

  I nodded. “New to the group but not to me. He’s filling in while Bruno’s in Florida with his granddaughter.”

  “He?” Mom’s eyes went wide. “Is it Grayson? Really?”

  I nodded. “He’s getting married in November.”

  “Oh! That’s so good! And such big news.” Ha. She didn’t even try to hide her relief.

  Dad gave Mom’s foot a final squeeze, then got up and retrieved his plate before leaving the kitchen. “I’m going to do some reading. Make sure you come see me before you leave.”

  I nodded.

  “How are you feeling about the wedding?” Mom asked.

  “Fine, I guess. Grayson seems really happy.”

  “Are you invited?”

  I nodded again. “Yeah, but only just now. I’m sure he wouldn’t have if we weren’t in the same quartet.”

  “Are you going to go?”

  “Go where?” Ava reappeared in the kitchen with her empty plate.

  “To Grayson Harper’s wedding,” Mom said. “Emma’s been invited.”

  “Who’s Grayson Harper?”

  “Seriously? You don’t remember Grayson? He was over here all the time.”

  “Emma’s old boyfriend from high school,” Mom added.

  “What, when I was like seven? No. I don’t remember him.”

  “Ava, his picture is hanging in the music room. It’s been there forever.”

  “The prom picture? Is he the black guy with the curly hair? The one in between you and Lilly? I always wondered who that was.”

  “For real? You don’t remember him coming over? He would play hide-and-seek with you for hours. And you would always ask if you could play his cello.”

  “Ohhhh! I do remember him! He was really nice.” Ava still hadn’t changed out of her church clothes. Her fitted green dress had once been mine, but she’d dressed it up with a skinny silver belt and a navy cardigan. She looked grown up—like it would suddenly feel funny to call her my baby sister. I finished the last of my taco, then stood up, leaning over the bar to put my plate in the sink.

  “Come on,” I said to Ava. “I brought my violin. You ready to practice?”

  A shadow passed across her face, and her mouth pulled into a pout, destroying any trace of the grown-up Ava I’d noticed just moments before. She heaved a sigh and turned toward the living room. “I guess.”

  * * *

  Two hours later, I could think of only one good thing about our infuriatingly awful practice session: I was so annoyed with Ava I forgot to be annoyed with Elliott.

  Ava wasn’t just planning on applying to CIM and Juilliard. She was also thinking about Eastman, and she’d probably apply to BYU. Regardless of where she wound up, if she majored in music, her college application would require a music audition. A month into her junior year, she should have been zeroed in on the process, but her lack of focus was killing me. All she was zeroed in on was her phone. I watched as she snapped a selfie with her violin, then applied a series of filters and sent it off to the digital world, where she spent so much of her time. I rolled my eyes. Apparently Ava had plenty of time to tweet abo
ut playing the violin, just not any time to actually practice the violin. I’d hoped maybe we’d reached a turning point since she’d called me about the video for CIM, but things were no better.

  If she wasn’t so good when she did play, I might just throw my hands in the air and walk away. But it felt wrong to give up when she was so close to being ready.

  “Ava, please come play this with me.” I gave it one final try. “If we play it together, you’ll get the feel of it and have an easier time practicing when I’m not here.”

  She sighed a purposely loud sigh and stood up, slipping her cell phone into her back pocket before retrieving her violin from the back of the piano.

  “On my count, all right? One, two, ready, play . . .” We made it through the first eight measures before her phone dinged with an incoming text, and she left me to play Barber’s Violin Concerto opus Fourteen on my own.

  “Ava, come on! Why did you want me to come over?” There was a reason I wasn’t Ava’s regular violin teacher. Mom brought it up once, wondering if she could save the money she spent on Ava’s tuition. It took about seven seconds for me to shoot that idea down. Even just helping her with her pieces on the weekend was enough to make me crazy.

  She shot me a backward glance. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been distracted. It’s just . . . this is really important. How about you play it for me all the way through and record it so I can listen and practice along with the recording.”

  It wasn’t a bad suggestion. But it would be even better if we could play through the entire thing together. Then I could help her identify any trouble spots she’d need to work on. “I can record it for you, but let’s play it through first.”

  She giggled, her eyes still glued to the phone.

  I sighed my own purposely loud sigh. “Seriously? I’m going home.”

  Mom poked her head around the corner of the kitchen and gave me a pleading look.

  “What do you want me to do, Mom? She’s worse than the Garrison twins, and their mother pays me to put up with their antics. I can’t help her if she won’t play more than four measures.”

  “These are important auditions, Emma.” Mom’s voice was quiet, soothing.

  “I know they’re important. I went through the same thing when I was her age, and I worked around the clock to be good enough. I had to build an entire portfolio of work, and I took it seriously, without anyone having to browbeat me into practicing.”

  Ava huffed, finally dropping her phone. “Well, isn’t it just too, too bad we can’t all be as talented as you. Talented enough to be first chair everything all the time, to get into CIM and Juilliard like it was nothing, to be the grand-high-violin-goddess of the Cleveland Orchestra and the Asheville Symphony. Isn’t it just so sad we can’t all be as perfect as you.” She slammed her violin into its case hard enough to make me wince and stormed out of the room.

  Mom let out a frustrated breath and shook her head. “I should’ve bought that girl an oboe.”

  I sank onto the piano bench. “I shouldn’t have rubbed stuff in her face. I just don’t understand. She’s so talented. Why won’t she try?”

  “You left her some pretty big shoes to fill,” Mom said. “I know you don’t expect her to be just like you. Your dad and I don’t either, but she puts the pressure on herself.”

  “But she’s better than I was at her age. She shouldn’t feel pressure at all—she’d be brilliant if she’d just try.”

  “She’s got a lot of natural talent.” Mom kept her voice low. “But I’m afraid you got the lion’s share of the one thing she might not have enough of.”

  I raised my eyebrows and waited for her response.

  “Desire. She has to want it, Emma.”

  I shook my head. “That’s ridiculous. We’ve talked about it. This is what she wants.”

  Mom looked tired. “I think you’re right, but I have to wonder if we aren’t pushing her too hard.”

  “If this is what she wants, there’s no other way to get her there. She won’t make it if she doesn’t push hard.”

  Mom sat down on the piano bench beside me, her movements slow and intentional. “You know better than anyone what she needs to focus on,” she said, “but I wonder if it might help if you tried being her sister without your violin in your hands.”

  I scoffed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Talk to her. Take her to see a movie. Ask her about school and her friends.”

  “So just give up on her music?”

  “Of course you shouldn’t give up. But there’s more to life than music, Emma. Your dad and I have been watching her the past few weeks, and we’re beginning to wonder if music isn’t actually what Ava wants to do.”

  “Has she told you as much?”

  “No. But . . . I don’t know. We could be wrong. Just go easy on her, all right? And find a way to be her sister.”

  “Fine. I’ll try. But I can’t let her give up on this thing with CIM. If Professor Graham likes her video, she’s in, easy as that. It’s a huge opportunity.” I stretched my neck, hearing the crack as I turned my head to the left, then right. “Here.” I handed Mom my cell phone. “Can you record while I play the Barber? I’ll send it to both of you. Can you just make sure she listens? It’ll help.”

  “I’ll make sure.”

  I pulled my violin up to my shoulder, bow at the ready, and waited for my mother’s nod to start the piece. She hesitated. “Please think about what I said, Em.”

  I nodded my head and motioned with my bow for her to start. I could think about what she said all night, but that didn’t mean it would make any sense. Ava and I had been holding violins since our instruments were only nine inches long and looked like they belonged in a toy store. Music was the only language we’d ever spoken to each other, at least spoken well. Take that away? The thought left me uneasy, to say the least.

  I finished recording the concerto and packed up to head home, stopping in Dad’s office long enough to wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him on the head.

  “You sounded good in there,” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  “So how’s life in West Asheville?”

  I leaned my head against his shoulder, breathing a muffled groan into the still-crisp collar of his Sunday shirt. “Well, my old boyfriend is in my chamber group, my new neighbor thinks I’m crazy, and my entire ward thinks it’s their sacred responsibility to marry me off. So, you know, normal stuff. Also, Ava hates me.”

  Dad chuckled. “It’s okay. She hates me right now too.” He squeezed my hand. “It’ll be all right in the end. It always is.”

  There was something about my father’s unshakable faith in nearly everything that made me smile. Any problem or struggle we’d ever had while I was growing up, his token response was, “Did you pay your tithing? Did you say your prayers? Then it’ll be all right in the end.”

  It might have been annoying if it was all for show, but he really did feel that way. He was always steady, always trusting. The rest of us wavered from time to time, but we never could for long—not with him around.

  I gave him another hug. If I squeezed hard enough, maybe I could leech out some of his faith for myself.

  Chapter 7

  Five minutes with Dad went a long way to lift my spirits, but I was still in a foul mood when I made it back to Maple Crescent. Mom wanted me to connect to Ava without music, but how? Besides, I liked it when we played together. While I’d been in school, I’d loved holidays and rare weekends at home when Ava and I had played. We’d holed up in the music room for hours, laughing as much as we’d played, carrying on until well past midnight.

  It was hard to believe that was the same Ava I’d just fought with for two hours. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been around her without the crippling tension that seemed to scream, I hate your everlovin’ guts! And your stupid violin too.

  Halfway up the front walk, I ran into Elliott.

  “Oh,” I stammered. “Hello.” We stood there
face-to-face for what felt like an interminable pause. He was in the middle of the sidewalk, blocking my path, so I waited, wondering if he was going to step out of the way or, I don’t know, say hello back, maybe. Since that was generally the kind of thing neighbors did.

  “What are you doing here?” he finally asked.

  Wait. What? What was I doing there?

  He must have mistaken my confusion for embarrassment because he said, “Look—do you want me to sign something? A CD? A photograph, maybe?”

  Wait! What?

  Sign something?

  Words.

  I needed words to talk my way out of this one. I spoke slowly, without stuttering, without saying one single um. Go me! “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Elliott sighed. “First you show up at my apartment. Then you follow me to the family ward, even though I told you I wasn’t interested in singles activities. I’ve seen you lurking around all week, sitting in your car, watching me. I’m sure you’re a really nice person, Emma. It’s Emma, right? And I don’t mean to take any of this out on you personally, but I moved to get away from this kind of stuff.”

  Oh my. I couldn’t decide if it was more hilarious that Elliott Hart had just accused me of being a stalker or more hilarious that he still thought we had a singles ward. I shook my head. “You’ve really got the wrong idea.”

  “Do I?”

  He was still blocking the sidewalk, so I cut into the grass and moved to the front of the house. “First of all, I’m here because I live here. It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

  “You live here? Here, here?”

  “Right next door to you,” I said. “I’m Lilly’s roommate.”

  He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead into his hand—a literal facepalm. Good. Decent of him to at least feel chagrined.

  “Second, there’s never been a singles ward in Asheville. The young single adults group pretty much consists of four freshman girls from UNCA, Darren Fishbaum, and me. That’s it.”

  He blinked. “Darren, the little tiny guy who spoke today?”

  “That’s him.” I shifted my violin to my other shoulder and reached for the front door. “Honestly, Elliott, I knocked on your door last week because the bishop knew we were going to be neighbors and asked that I welcome you and say hello. I got a little tongue-tied—I guess it was exciting to meet you in person—but really, truly, I’m not going to bother you again. You can play your piano and make your music, and I promise to let Darren know whenever he wants a ride to the stake singles activities he better not call you.” I stepped into the entryway and nearly had the door closed behind me when he stopped me with a question.