Maestro
Page 21
She waited.
He cleared his throat, then said, softly, “My real mom.”
“If what I'm planning works, then you won't know any differently. You won't even miss me. Perhaps you'll have me in your life, in a much deeper way than we can enjoy now.”
“I'll miss our friendship.”
“Bet you won't.”
“I will.”
“You won't.”
He sighed. “Go do whatever you have to do. I won't argue.”
She looked at him, not unsympathetic. Poor Matt, only thirty-seven and already so worn out by life that he might as well be eighty-seven. Well, she would do her best to fix that. To fix everything. She only hoped she'd be able to stay where she belonged.
Regardless, she wouldn't give up.
Annasophia stood up, then bent and kissed Matt on the cheek. “It'll be okay.”
He didn't answer; he only kept looking at his feet.
She hated to leave him like this, but as filled with confidence as she was, there was no stopping her. She had a concerto to play, then a place – no, a time – to go.
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Chapter Six
Annasophia sat on the piano bench on her apartment and touched her fingers to the keys. Who knew if this would work. Maestro being dead in this timeline might affect the conduit to the past in ways she couldn't imagine. Still, she had to try. She hadn't bothered talking to Matt about what to do with her apartment. If things worked out the way she hoped, there shouldn't even be an apartment here that belonged to an Annasophia Flynn. If things worked out the way she hoped, there should be another Annasophia Flynn in 2010, one who wasn't twenty-six years old but sixty-three.
Please.
She closed her eyes and began playing Rachmaninoff's Concerto No. 2. She played the opening chords so softly that she seemed to hear them as if they were coming from somewhere else. But it was too soon for that yet. The feel of the keys under her fingertips remained the same. She kept on playing – please, oh, please – and she gradually increased her volume, imagining a full orchestra playing with her. Playing with her, and playing with Maestro.
Or perhaps Maestro was alone, playing. He'd still, no doubt, be hearing an accompanying orchestra in his mind.
Oh, this beautiful piece, their conduit – their blessing and their curse. She kept playing, keeping her eyes closed, and still, the feeling of the keys under her fingertips remained the same. Keep going, she told herself. She thought about how much she loved Maestro, in the context of whatever relationship they shared. Whether teacher, mentor, friend, or lover, she adored him. Their love for one another, combined with their mutual love of artistry, of music, had created a potent mix and powerful force. With the love they shared, anything was possible.
The feel of the keys slowly changed under her fingertips. It now felt like she was playing Maestro's baby grand piano, the one he kept in his home at Larchmont. She had come home. Smiling, she continued to play. Any minute, she would see Maestro. Or feel him. Somebody was sitting next to her on the bench. She felt strong, sturdy legs against hers, then she heard a sharp intake of breath. She opened her eyes and beheld Maestro's astonished face before a baby began to shriek.
Pounding footsteps, coming closer. Instinctively, Annasophia ducked, and Maestro stood and pushed his way between her and whoever was coming for her. Something glinted, high in the air. A knife. Oh, my God. And it was coming down, intended for Annasophia, except it got Maestro. He had managed to duck, too, but not far enough, and the knife buried itself to the hilt in his shoulder.
“Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!” Elena's face was so twisted by fury that Annasophia hardly recognized her. Maestro sat down hard on the piano bench, bleeding from his shoulder. Annasophia wanted to examine the wound, wanted to get on the phone and call an ambulance, but she couldn't do a thing because Elena's hands were reaching for her throat, and there was nowhere to go but to scrabble under the piano, trying to get away. Elena wasn't fooling around anymore. She wanted Annasophia dead.
“I'm sick of you coming back!” she screamed at Annasophia. “Sick of it! Can't you ever die?”
Maestro stood up. His shoulder was still bleeding, and the knife still stuck out of it, presenting quite a gruesome sight, but he didn't seem badly hurt. Elena must have missed a major artery. Tears welled in Annasophia's eyes. He had risked his life to protect her.
“You told me she was dead,” Maestro said.
“I thought she was,” Elena yelled. “Any fool would have thought...”
“I didn't think you told me everything about the night Matt was born.” Maestro's face grew hard with anger. Annasophia had seldom seen Maestro look that way, but clearly, he meant business. He took Elena by the shoulder and drew her away from Annasophia. “You will get out of this house this very minute, or I'll throw you out.”
She lunged toward Annasophia again, but this time, Maestro had her well in hand. Elena was a good-sized woman, tall and strong-boned, but Maestro was bigger, and despite his injury, he was stronger. Pulling her along with him, he went to the telephone on the end table beside the loveseat. She fought but couldn't free herself. When she reached for the knife, though, Maestro had to drop the phone to keep her from doing further damage to his wound.
He used his advantage in weight and height to wrestle Elena down to the floor and pin her there, face down, on her stomach. “Anna, call the police.” He gave her the number.
She didn't have to be told twice. As poor little Matt wailed from his room, she picked up the telephone receiver. Don't worry, little fellow, she thought. Soon, you'll have your real mother. And this crazy woman will be gone from your life forever.
Elena fought with all her might to get free of Maestro, but there was no hope. The harder she struggled, the more firmly he pinned her to the ground. All at once, though, she stopped. Uh oh. That didn't bode well. Perhaps she was trying to get Maestro to relax his guard. Surely she didn't think he was that dumb.
Maestro kept hold of her, and Annasophia started to dial the number Maestro had given her for the police. As she moved the rotary dial, number after number, she met Elena's gaze. Elena had moved her head so she could look in Annasophia's direction, her face pressed against the floor. Incredibly, Elena began to smile. The smile spread over her lips like a malignancy, and her eyes gleamed oddly. Her expression reminded Annasophia of how Elena had looked at her while Matt had been coming into the world, and she shivered and dropped the receiver.
Shit. She'd have to hang up, then start dialing again, because she'd forgotten where she had left off.
Elena turned her face back to the floor. Perhaps she knew when to give up. Maestro would never let her up off that floor until after the police had come. After Annasophia called the police, she needed to call an ambulance. Maestro needed medical attention as soon as possible.
Why had Elena been smiling? Maybe she'd gone right out of her mind. Remembering how she had almost been stabbed, how Maestro had taken the knife meant for her, Annasophia felt her heart twist. Surely, he would be okay. Elena had to have gone way around the bend if she'd decided to resort to outright murder.
Annasophia started dialing the police again, but her fingers froze when she heard Elena's voice humming the opening bars to Rachmaninoff's Concerto No. 2. Since her face was turned toward the floor, Maestro couldn't clap his hands over her mouth without releasing her and giving her a chance to lunge for Annasophia – or the knife – again. It was up to Annasophia to stop Elena. She dropped the phone and rushed toward the woman. She would shut Elena up even if she had to stuff a loveseat cushion in her mouth to do it.
Elena kept humming, and her humming increased in urgency. Annasophia looked around as she reached Elena and Maestro. How odd! Her surroundings weren't fading, as they'd always done before when she had heard the concerto or played it. Everything looked as solid as ever.
Elena's humming reached a fever pitch, and she started to shriek and hum at the same time, but nothing changed. Annasophia
stayed right where she was. And she realized: the conduit must be closed. Maestro was alive over here, so the conduit – the concerto – could still work from his side, in 1974. But in 2010, he was dead. That had to mean that the conduit – the concerto – no longer worked from his side in the future. Since he was no longer there, he could no longer create his half of what seemed to be their full circle of magic, love, and music that had enabled Annasophia to time travel.
She no longer had the option of going back to 2010. She was in 1974 to stay.
Annasophia went back to the phone to call the police and have them arrest Elena and take her away. Attempted murder was a serious charge, so she would likely be behind bars for quite some time. After she called the police, she called the ambulance. She went to little Matt's bedroom and picked him up. Here he was, her precious son. Her precious baby. At her touch, he quieted. He already seemed to know her, to remember her. It couldn't have been long. Maybe a few days ago. She kissed his little forehead, then lay him back down in his crib to sleep.
Annasophia returned to the living room and sat down beside Maestro, who still held the now-silent Elena, and began to cry. Not out of sadness, but out of relief. No matter how much Elena hummed, she could no longer send Annasophia back. She could play all the records she wanted, and Maestro could perform the concerto with symphony orchestras within Annasophia's hearing anytime he wanted. She would stay put.
Here, where she belonged. With her son. And her soon-to-be-husband.
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Epilogue
2010. It had arrived much more quickly than Annasophia could ever have imagined. Here she was, a sixty-three-year-old woman, and what a wonderful life she and Maestro enjoyed!
They still lived in Larchmont, New York, and Maestro was still performing to packed concert halls. He showed no signs of slowing down, even in his seventies. She urged him to have regular checkups, remembering the cancer that had killed him in the other 2010, but he remained incredibly healthy and fit. Annasophia had a thriving musical career of her own. It meant she and Maestro weren't together all the time, since both had to tour according to their particular schedules, Maestro as a concert pianist and Annasophia as a folk singer. But she had become quite well-known in her own right, and her original music had been better received starting in 1974 than it had been in 2010. In her original timeline, Annasophia had been a moderately successful local singer-songwriter. In her new timeline, though, she'd become quite a well-known artist, recording with a major label and touring all over the country. Her and Maestro's lives were filled with love and music.
Matt, raised in a home with two parents who adored him, had thrived and had grown up to become a nationally-famous music producer. Though Annasophia hadn't been crazy about the idea of having another baby, she had become pregnant in 1984 at the age of thirty-six with Beate, Matt's little sister. The birth had been comparatively easy, and Maestro had been by her side, holding her hand the whole time.
Beate, who was the apple of Maestro's eye, had inherited what seemed to be Maestro's and Annasophia's musical talent put together. A piano prodigy, she had begun singing before she could talk and started playing the piano by ear soon thereafter. Now, in 2010 at the age of twenty-six, she was a world-famous singer-songwriter, fully living the dream for which Annasophia had striven in her original timeline. Despite their age difference, Matt and Beate were very close, and Matt had been Beate's producer ever since she had gotten started with her career at eighteen.
Elena had never bothered Maestro and Annasophia again. She had served a jail term, then had been paroled for good behavior. After that, she had seemed to drop off their radar. Neither Annasophia nor Maestro spoke of her, and the kids didn't even know who she was except as a woman to whom their father had briefly been married many years before his marriage to their mom. That suited Annasophia just fine.
In 1984, Annasophia and Maestro had traveled to East Tennessee to see if, in 1984, the same year Beate had been born, Annasophia's own mother had given birth to a child she'd named Annasophia. In fact, she had. Annasophia had befriended her younger self and had given her exactly what the young girl needed, and had indeed gotten in the other timeline: a teacher, friend, and mentor. The younger Annasophia was still living in East Tennessee, working as a local singer-songwriter, but this young woman was different from the young woman the elder Annasophia used to be. The young Annasophia, thanks to the elder Annasophia's influence and friendship, had made wiser choices in life with regard to sexuality, and she had a steady boyfriend, Calvin, a sweet guitar player who adored her and played with her in her band. She and Calvin visited Larchmont regularly, though, and Matt had offered to bring her and Calvin to New York City to produce their next album. Matt was married to music and only music, but he seemed to genuinely enjoy his life, unlike the laconic, sad-faced sound man Annasophia had known in the other timeline.
Wife to Maestro, mother to Matt and Beate, and friend and mentor to her younger self. She owed herself nothing less. And Maestro couldn't agree more.
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About Thomma Lyn Grindstaff
Thomma Lyn Grindstaff gets some of her best ideas when hiking in the mountains. She’s both a novelist and a freelance writer. She’s also a musician: a classically-trained pianist, singer-songwriter, guitarist, and composer. Other passions include studying philosophy, science, and spirituality. Last but never least, she’s a cat wrangler. She shares her home with four Ballicai (also known as cats). If you could sum Thomma Lyn up in three words, they would be Artist, Seeker, and Adventurer.
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Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Epilogue
About Thomma Lyn Grindstaff