Hearts Unfold

by Karen Welch

  Stani arrived with their breakfast, sending away the room service waiter and wheeling it in himself. Wrapped in the fluffy white robe she'd found in the bathroom, she joined him at the table, letting him fill her plate and pour her tea. He'd make a fine waiter, she assured him, if this music thing didn't work out for him.

  They had a full day planned including meeting Jana for lunch. But first they would spend a few hours browsing the Metropolitan Museum, maybe have a cup of hot chocolate on the street, just watch the flow of people that was so much a part of everyday life in New York. The weather promised to be fine, unseasonably warm and clear after yesterday's rain. They had best take advantage while it held, he said. If the rain returned, they'd be confined to the car for her sightseeing. He had a tour coming up, he reminded her. He couldn't risk catching cold now.

  “And I suppose running into the rain, standing there kissing me in the middle of the street, was not a risk?”

  “One I was more than willing to take. I knew your response would be sufficiently warm to protect me. And I was not disappointed. John said in the lobby some of the staff were applauding us. Isn't it funny that New York has a reputation for being cold and unfriendly when in fact it's a wonderful city for lovers?” Across the table, he studied her face, still flushed with sleep. She had started his day with a rush of desire, and he marveled that she could be so enticing without any effort.

  “Maybe that's only true if the lovers are silly enough to call attention to themselves. I suppose you warned me you'd become, what was the word, transparent?” Tearing apart a croissant, she delicately folded strips of bread into her mouth. “Do you think Jana will suspect? That we're more than friends, I mean?”

  “She already knows, I expect. She's always been able to read me pretty easily. She's really a very caring woman. There were times I felt she held back from giving me too much, I suppose because she was afraid it would seem disloyal to Milo. They love each other very much, I know. But Jana always lets things go Milo's way, never stands up to him. Please don't ever let that happen to us. We should be equals, shouldn't we, with enough respect for each other to have our own opinions, make our own decisions? I know compromise is important, but it shouldn't be one-sided.”

  “Since we're both so single-minded, I expect we'll have to compromise quite a lot. As long as we love each other enough, respect each other, and maybe add a lot of prayer into the mix, we'll be okay. My mother used to say that whenever she and my father had a disagreement, they would go away and pray on their own about it. She said it helped them to see the other's point, as if God had cleared the air for them.”

  “I somehow imagined your parents were always in complete harmony.”

  “Oh, no. Remember, they were both middle-aged when they married. In many ways, they were opposites, and their opinions were very strong, especially Mother's. My mother was passionate about everything, while Pop was more of a debater. He could argue any side of an issue, but Mother tended to stand her ground to the bitter end. There were lots of lively debates in our house, on everything from last spring's rainfall to the merits of one variety of tomato over another, not to mention their very different opinions on various writers and composers. Politically, they were at opposite ends of the spectrum, and politics was the one topic off limits. I guess that's why I have so little interest. I never heard any discussion at home about elections or policies. They simply refused to discuss it. Pop would very often quote the scripture describing the nature of love, love that believes all things, hopes all things and, he would say, most of all endures all things. They loved each other beyond all their differences. No argument ever lasted past sundown, and looking back at it, maybe the fact they had to make up so often made for even greater passion. Not that I want to follow that pattern.” She took a last sip of her tea, stood and stretched her arms luxuriously over her head.

  “Corinthians, right?”

  “What?” Carefully, she settled herself on his knee.

  “The nature of love, one of the letters to the Corinthians, right?”

  “Are you showing off?” She pressed her lips to his cheek, running her fingers into his hair.

  “Just a little. I've been doing my homework. Pastor Mike would be proud. I intend to be as familiar with these things as you are by the time we stand up together in that little church. And speaking of standing up, shouldn't we be getting ready to go? I'm sure I could be persuaded to sit here like this all morning, but you did say you wanted to see everything in the tour book in just six days.”

  John drove them to the museum. As he watched them walk away hand in hand, he wondered if Emily was prepared for the inevitable photographer or autograph seeker. Any time Stani chose to walk the streets of New York, there was the likelihood he would be recognized. John made a circle of the block, and when he passed them again, they had made it to the museum's entrance before two women had stopped Stani, and he was reaching for the pen in his coat pocket. John could see Emily, standing at his elbow, smiling patiently as she looked on. It would take more than that to upset her, he was glad to see.

  When he met them two hours later, they were walking arm in arm, laughing. They were quite a pair, Stani in his customary black, his bright hair gleaming in the sunlight, and Emily, ever so slightly taller, in her red coat, a soft white beret covering her dark head. He hardly recognized the boy, walking proudly with his girl on his arm, all his attention focused on her. Maybe the photo hounds would have the same problem, accustomed as they were to seeing him dash head down, alone. Maybe.

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Jana had not been prepared for the girl Stani had obviously fallen in love with. She was young, but she was also very self-assured. This girl, who said she lived alone in the country, the same girl it turned out who had found Stani in that remote area after the accident, was the kind of girl he might have hoped to meet if he’d had an ordinary life here in New York, a student, or even another musician, with refined tastes and a good education. Jana was amazed he had found her at all. He hadn’t sought the company of women, as far as she knew, since his recovery. But now he was so clearly in love, so totally engaged by this girl, it made her heart ache a little.

  The fact that he was loved in return, so plain to see on the girl's face as she watched him talking, eased the ache. He would be cared for, loved as he so deserved to be, by this unusual girl, and she would make his happiness the most important thing in her life. Jana had hoped against hope that someday Stani would finally be loved for himself, not for what he could do. She had tried, especially at first, but there had been so many barriers. Not only the fact that somewhere he already had a mother, but the need to maintain her marriage, never letting her love for the boy interfere with her dedication to Milo. Now Stani would be loved unconditionally, and with great passion she suspected. While she was reserved and soft-spoken, there was an intensity about Emily. Behind her calm smile, Jana sensed a woman capable of powerful emotion. A perfect match for Stani, who had always kept his emotions buried until he had a violin in his hands. She would teach him to live, to get outside himself and experience so much more of the world.

  Jana had brought a faded manila envelope with her to the restaurant. It seemed the perfect opportunity today, to pass it to Stani without Milo there. “These are the papers we got from your mother when you came to live with us. You should have them with you now that you’re out on your own.” She handed him the slim envelope. “I wish there were more, but this is all we ever had.”

  Stani took it hesitantly. He hadn't known of its existence until now. Jana had never felt the time right, and he had never asked. It seemed sad that there was so little of his early life, just the few fading snapshots and his birth and baptismal records.

  With Emily looking over his shoulder, her hand resting on his arm as if in support, he opened it and peered inside briefly. “Thank you, Jana. I would never have thought to ask. I guess I assumed there wasn't anything.” It struck her that he rarely mentioned his mother, never asked que
stions about his father, or talked of the years before he came to them. Had he believed his past lost forever, or had he simply wanted to forget?

  Ever since she’d learned that he was in love, just before Christmas, Jana had done a lot of thinking about the past. They had let him down, though of course Milo would never see it that way. They had taken him in, if they were truthful, with the intention of molding him into the image of a performing genius, overlooking his other gifts, his keen intelligence and sweet nature. It was a tribute to Stani's character that he had come through the months before the accident without completely losing his moral balance. And it was nothing short of a miracle that he had recovered from his injuries, fought his way back, and was now taking his life in such a different direction. Milo seemed confused by this new Stani, but Jana thought she could understand him better, having met this girl he loved. She had prayed that he would have a chance at a better existence after the horror of the accident and the months that followed. She often felt her prayers were just so many random thoughts and desires, that God would never be able to make sense of them. But she could see, when she looked at the faces of these two, that he had seen the need in Stani and provided the answer in the form of this wonderful girl.

  As they stood on the street saying their goodbyes, Jana put her arms around Stani in a rare show of affection. “I'm so happy for you, for both of you. She's lovely, really lovely,” she said in his ear.

  “Thank you, Jana. That means a lot to me. I told you, I'm the most fortunate of men. Now you see why.” He returned her embrace, wondering why it seemed so natural now, when in the past he had often found it awkward. “We'll see you on Thursday night. I hope Milo can be on time.” When he had invited them to dinner, along with Peg and John, Milo had made comments to the effect that he had a very busy day planned and would try his best to make it. Jana would recognize the excuse. Milo hated to be forced into scheduling anything that didn't involve business in some way. Purely social occasions were often overlooked, or cut short. But Stani hoped Jana would influence him this time. It was important for Emily to get this meeting behind her.

  “I'll see to it, Stani, don't worry. I'll remind him that Peg will be there. He'll see that as an opportunity.” Turning to Emily, Jana extended her hand. “My dear, I'm so happy to have met you. Now I understand much better why Stani has this new lease on life.”

  But Emily ignored the outstretched hand and offered a hug, leaning over the much smaller woman. “Thank you for making me feel so welcome. And for all you've done for him. He's turning out okay, wouldn't you say?” She turned to Stani and linked her arm through his. “Now, I want my carriage ride through Central Park if you don't mind. This day is too fine to waste inside a museum. I need some romance, Stani Moss.”

  Jana had to laugh. What an amazing sight, one she had thought never to see. Stani in love, smiling and happy, and blushing to the roots of his hair.

  In the car, John passed a note to Stani, along with a telling look in the rear view mirror. “Sorry, lad, but you'd better have this.”

  With a little groan, he tucked the paper in his pocket after a quick glance. “Tell him I'll be there, but later, four, I guess.”

  “What is it, Stani? Not a problem, I hope?” Emily hugged his arm, watching the telltale tightening of his jaw.

  “No, just business. You won't miss me for an hour or so, will you?”

  “Of course I will. But I'll survive. I can't expect to have you drop everything for me, not if I'm in training to be your sidekick.”

  “Sidekick? As if I ever dreamed of having such an adorable sidekick. John is my sidekick, darling. You are my girl.” He kissed her, folding her in his arms and tilting her head back against the seat.

  “Are you two planning to get up to that sort of thing every time the car starts to move? Stani, I'm in no way accustomed to you in the role of lover.”

  “But he's perfect for the part, John, you have to admit.” Emily's voice was slightly breathless, but her eyes were bright with laughter. “I'm afraid you'll have to get used to us. We've been spoiled by too much time alone in the country.”

  “I can only imagine what that means. Stani, lad, are you sure we shouldn't just go back to the hotel?”

  “No, she wants a romantic carriage ride, and she's going to get one.” John could only surmise what followed Emily's smothered laughter, as he struggled to keep his eyes on the flow of traffic.

  Emily had fallen asleep, her head on Stani's shoulder, as the carriage made its slow turn through the park. They had been photographed when the ride ended, caught just as Stani raised his arms to lift her to the ground. She was reaching down to him, her hair cascading over one shoulder and a tender smile on her face. The photographer had commented on the perfection of the pose, thanking Stani with a grin for giving him the shot.

  When they returned to the hotel, Emily agreed she could use a nap while Stani went to meet with Milo. “I'll be back by five or so. We have a late night, and you wouldn't want to doze off during Carmen, would you?” He left her curled on the couch in her suite, holding the memory of her sleepy smile as he set off for Milo's office. He had hoped the matter could wait; he'd done all he could to convince Milo of his stand on the issue of this latest recording project, but Milo was not ready to admit defeat. He wanted to discuss the idea further, his note had stated. He had a new thought or two if Stani could only give him a few minutes of his time. Not willing to antagonize him at a time when the meeting with Emily was looming, Stani felt he had no choice but to agree.

  By the time he returned to his rooms, his head was pounding ominously. John recognized the pallor and the tight lines around his mouth and ordered him to sit. “How bad's the head?”

  Stani probed his left temple. “Not too bad. Just get me some aspirin, please. Not the other. Not yet.” Stretching on the couch, he rested his head gingerly on the arm. “Remind me why I even try to reason with him? He always wins.”

  There was a soft knock at the door and he sat up immediately, wincing and running a hand through his hair. As John went to answer, Stani attempted to compose his face into a smile.

  With a final glance in his direction, John opened the door. “Come in, my lady. The master's just returned.”

  Emily laughed at his deep bow, but as soon as she caught sight of Stani she rushed past. Her hand went to his forehead, touching the already clammy skin. “Stani, you're sick. What is it?”

  He caught her hand, making an attempt to smile up at her. “Just a little headache, nothing to worry about.” He took the aspirin and water glass from John. “I'll be fine. Did you get your nap?”

  “Yes. Don't change the subject. What kind of headache?” She stopped his hand as he raised the aspirin to his lips.

  “Just the usual.” He sighed, sensing defeat.

  “Migraine?”

  “Not yet. Emily, love, I'll be fine. Just let me rest for a bit.” John stood by, silently holding out a prescription bottle for her to see. “No! I don't want that stuff. It knocks me silly.”

  She studied the bottle's label. “I'm sure it does. John, can we get some soda, something with caffeine? And some crackers, too. But Stani, if the aspirin doesn't work you'll have to take this. I won't stand by and watch you hurt. We'll need some ice too, please, John.”

  While John phoned room service, she went to the bedroom, returning with a pillow and blanket. “Stretch out. And let me take off your boots. Does the light hurt your eyes?” He nodded, giving himself over to her attentions. “John, would you mind closing the blinds? Now, show me where it hurts the worst.” He raised his hand to his temple, his eyes closed. “Near the scar?” Again, he nodded. “Did you have these before the accident?” She was scooping ice from the bucket John provided, folding it into a towel.

  “No, but ever since. Concussion.” The effort of a few words was painful now and he clenched his jaw.

  With a gentle hand, she brushed his hair aside and applied the ice pack. “Just try to relax. I take it this is the res
ult of the meeting with Milo?” She looked to John for confirmation. “Just forget about it now. He's not worth a migraine, I'm sure.”

  The room service waiter was at the door in minutes, bearing a tray of Cokes and a big basket of crackers. “Looks like the party's here. Can you sit up long enough to drink this? It'll help the aspirin work faster.”

  “I don't drink soda, love. It's too sweet,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “I don't care, darling. Consider it medicine. Now drink. And eat at least one of these crackers, so maybe you won't throw up all over me.”

  He grinned weakly. “Are you this compassionate with all your patients?”

  “You're not my patient. You're my man. Now just lie very still and think good thoughts.” She took up a position at the end of the couch, holding the ice pack in place and massaging the back of his neck, watching with satisfaction as he visibly relaxed, expelling a long sigh.

  Emily looked her question to John, who seemed to read her thoughts. “Maybe one a month, depending on what's going on, although lately they’ve seemed to come less often. His doctor said it's typical after that kind of head injury. Any kind of tension can bring it on.” His voice low, John stood over Stani, staring down with a concerned frown. “He and Milo are in negotiation over some new recording project, if you want to call it negotiation when one party is always right.”

  “You're sure this doesn't have anything to do with me?” she asked softly.

  “Mozart,” Stani whispered. “I'm not deaf, you realize.”

  “Shh. You just relax. Mozart?”

  “Milo’s pushing him to compose, variations or some such thing. He's always done it, even when he was a little boy. Called it his doodles.” He flashed a momentary grin at Stani's grunt of protest. “But this time, Milo wants him to write them out for orchestra and record them. Frankly, I don't quite see why he's so set against it.”