Reverb (Songs and Sonatas Book 7)

by Jerica MacMillan

  Julia closes the door behind me, and then gestures at the couch. “Go ahead and get unpacked. I’ll grab the stand.” She disappears down a hall, coming back a moment later with a standard black music stand that she sets in the middle of the room.

  I open my case, peeling back the blanket covering my instrument and undoing the velcro before twisting the spinner holding my bow in place and pulling it out. I go through the familiar ritual of tightening my bow, stowing my violin under my right arm and letting my bow hang from my index finger while I dig my sheet music out to set on the stand.

  Julia sits in a chair to my right, her friendly smile still in place. “Gabby said you were also looking at a grad school while you were here?”

  I nod. “Yeah. I met with the dean of the college of music at Summerville Conservatory, but the violin professor was out of town.”

  “What did you think of the school?”

  I shrug. “It’s nice. They have some decent financial aid packages, so that’s helpful.”

  “Do you think you’ll audition?”

  Pulling my mouth to the side, I shrug again. “I’m not sure. I’d like to meet the violin professor before I make a decision. But it gives me another excuse to come back. And if I miss a few classes to do it during the school year, my professors can’t get mad at me since I’m visiting a potential school.”

  Her grin widens. “Good point.” A knowing look creeps into her face. “And from what I understand, you don’t need much of an excuse to come back anyway.”

  My cheeks heat. “Yeah. If it were up to Brendan, I think he’d want me to transfer and finish my degree down here.”

  “I can’t say I blame him. It must be hard to be so far apart.”

  Needing to break eye contact, I adjust the sheet music on the stand, moving papers around. “Yeah.” I swallow. “It is. And it’s not that I don’t want to move down here. I only have one year left, though. Trying to transfer now would be …”

  “Impossible,” she finishes for me, her voice kind and compassionate. “You don’t have to justify your decisions to me. I get it. I wouldn’t transfer if I were you either. And I hope no one’s asking you to.”

  I shake my head.

  “Good. Because if he were, I might have to figure out where he spends most of his time, go down there, and slap him around for you.”

  A laugh bursts out of me, and I manage to look at her again. She crosses her legs and clasps her hands together, resting them on her knee. “Now. You need to play for me. Gabby wants me to find you gigs when you’re in the area.”

  My eyes widen. “What? I thought I was here for a lesson. She didn’t say anything about that to me.”

  “Ha. No. She wouldn’t. We can call this a lesson if you want. I’ll point out anything I see that I can help you with. But it’s also for me to get a feel for your playing. I play lots of soundtracks plus a variety of live gigs. I’m also adjunct faculty at Edgewater University, but we don’t have a master’s program, or I’d suggest you look into it.”

  I slide sheet music around on my stand again. “What do you want to hear?”

  “Warm up first, then we’ll dive into something. Gabby mentioned Sibelius?”

  Of course she did. “Sure. We can do Sibelius.” I bring my violin to my shoulder and place the bow on the D string, taking a breath and starting my three octave D minor scale routine.

  Julia is largely silent throughout the lesson, only giving me a couple of tips about elbow placement on string changes, minor tweaks to help facilitate the music. Sometimes she has me repeat a phrase, not to fix anything technical, instead asking me to draw more emotion into the music. After Sibelius, we move to unaccompanied Bach, and I play the E major sonata, which is one of my favorites.

  By the end she’s beaming. “You play beautifully. Your technique is on point, your sound rivals some of the best violinists I know, and if you can draw more emotion into your music all the time, you’ll be a force to be reckoned with. Let me know whenever you’re in the area. I’ll definitely be able to fill up your schedule.”

  I pause in loosening my bow to blink at her a few times. I’ve never had someone be so complimentary to me about my playing. “Wow. Um, okay. Thanks.”

  She shows me to the door, and we say goodbye amidst a flurry of thank yous and promises to stay in touch. Once in the hallway, I take a deep breath and pull out my phone to request a ride and then text Gabby. I was nervous when Julia told me how much you talked me up. But our lesson or whatever you want to call it went well.

  Settling my violin case on my shoulder, I smile and take a breath. This was exactly the confidence boost that I needed. Maybe I won’t ever manage to beat Damian in head-to-head competition, but I’ve been working hard for years to perfect my technique. I know there’s still room to grow there, but being told it’s solid and that the next thing to work on is emoting more makes me feel like my desire to be a professional violinist isn’t so far out of reach after all.

  Coming to California seems to have been a good decision all around.

  On Saturday morning, Brendan drives us to his parents’ house for brunch. His mother insisted, he said.

  A mixture of apprehension and anticipation swirl in my belly. Gabby told me all the horror stories about how his mom, Shannon, treated her when Jonathan brought her over. The woman even went so far as to try to break them up. Fortunately, Gabby was smarter than to fall for her tactics, but it caused a rift between Jonathan and his mom for quite a while.

  From all accounts, things are largely repaired between them.

  She was nice enough to me at Gabby and Jonathan’s wedding. But that was before I eloped with her middle son in Vegas.

  From what Brendan said, she wasn’t happy about being left out. Part of the reason we’re here now is in an effort to smooth things over.

  Parking his car in the driveway, he turns to me, a smile pasted on his face. “Ready?”

  I gulp. “I thought so. Why do you look like that?”

  “Like what? I’m smiling. What’s wrong with how I look?”

  Still staring at his rictus, I shake my head and swallow again. “It’s awful and forced. Does your mother hate me for marrying you?”

  He lets the horrible smile fall from his face—thank god—and blows out a breath. “I don’t think so. I’m not sure how she’s going to react, honestly. I was actually kinda surprised about how upset she was when I called and told her we got married.” He shrugs. “I’m the middle child. As long as I showed up when I was supposed to and stayed on the beat, I was largely ignored. I have no aspirations to be famous, so she tends to focus her attention on Jonathan and Colt. I didn’t think she’d care that much.”

  I reach over and squeeze his forearm. “Of course she’d care. You’re her son. She loves you.”

  His face lightens, and he covers my hand with his. “Yeah. I know.” Taking another deep breath, he looks at the front door, which is now open, his parents standing there waiting for us to come in. “I guess we better get this over with.”

  I laugh at the doom in his voice. “You sound like you’re about to get a root canal without anesthesia.”

  He gives me a pointed look. “It’s probably going to be just as painful.” Leaning over, he gives me a soft kiss. “Stick close to my dad if you can. I’ll do my best to buffer you from Mom’s undivided attention.”

  My laugh dies at the serious expression on his face, and instead I nod. “Okay. Just remember, I can hold my own if I need to.”

  One corner of his mouth turns up in a devious smile. “Yes, I’m well aware. I’m looking to protect her from you as much as you from her.”

  This time, I let out my laugh and reach for the door handle. He meets me in front of the car, threading our fingers together before leading me up to his parents. “Mom, Dad, you remember Lauren.”

  I hold out my hand to each of them in turn, and they both examine me as they shake my hand, Wayne firmly, Shannon barely touching her palm to mine. Her cool, assessing gaze
roams over us, stopping briefly on our linked hands. She steps back, gesturing us inside. “Come in. Brunch is almost ready.”

  Brendan moves his hand to the small of my back and ushers me inside, giving his parents hugs and exchanging pleasantries as we pass them.

  Despite the initial coolness of our reception, brunch ends up being comfortable, conversation flowing on all sides as we eat our prime rib, eggs, and fruit. The only hitch is at the beginning, right after we sit down.

  “Wow, Mom. You went all out. This looks delicious,” Brendan says as the food is served.

  Shannon sniffs. “Well, I thought this could stand in as your post-wedding brunch, since we weren’t allowed to do one for real.”

  Brendan sighs next to me, opening his mouth to say something snarky I’m sure.

  I put a hand on his arm to stop him and give his mom a smile. There’s no need for us to be antagonistic right now. “Thank you. We are planning on having a more traditional ceremony at some point, since we know it’ll mean a lot to both of our families.”

  Shannon passes a plate of bacon to her husband, her eyes never leaving mine. “I take it your parents were less than pleased as well?”

  I give her what I hope is a winning smile. “They were disappointed not to be there. And surprised by the news, of course, since neither of us planned on getting married that trip.” I spread my hands in a helpless gesture. “It’s hard to invite people to spur-of-the-moment events.”

  “Quite.”

  Our eyes remain locked for what seems like forever, but is probably only a few seconds. While I might not want to antagonize her, I also won’t allow her to intimidate me. Gabby always wanted them to like her. Her southern upbringing makes her a pleaser where parents are concerned, so it took her a while to stand up for herself. I have no such heritage to uphold. And I intend to stand up for myself—for us—from the start.

  Wayne breaks the tension, passing me the bacon and asking me about school.

  By the end of brunch, after filling them in on my plans for graduation and beyond, I’m feeling better about the situation. At least his parents had met me before we got married. My parents are actually handling everything remarkably well, considering. I hope when we actually go visit them, it goes at least as well as this.

  Pulling her napkin out of her lap, Shannon gives both of us a smile. “As I said, I consider this kind of a late post-wedding brunch. And since you haven’t had a proper reception, I also got a cake.”

  She stands and goes to the kitchen, coming in with a miniature wedding cake—two tiers, frosted in white and adorned with beautiful sugar paste flowers.

  “That looks delicious,” I gush, wanting to continue smoothing things over.

  Brendan looks from me to her. “Thanks, Mom. That’s very thoughtful. You didn’t have to do that.”

  She gives him a smile. “It’s not every day one of my sons gets married. The occasion should be marked properly. Do you two want to cut it?” Before we can answer, she sets it in front of us and hands Brendan a knife.

  He stares at her for a second, looks at me, looks at the knife in his hand, then back at her. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

  She purses her lips and gives him an exasperated Mom look. “You and Lauren cut the cake. You feed each other a bite. Then Lauren and I will go to the kitchen and cut the rest so we can all eat it.”

  He glances at me out of the corner of his eye and takes a deep breath. “Mom—”

  He stops when I lay a hand on his arm, then slide it down to cover his hand on the knife and lean in close. “It’ll make her happy. It’s a simple thing. Let’s just do it.”

  Turning his head, he gives a slight nod. “Okay.”

  Shannon smiles, practically beaming as we cut a sliver of cake and feed it to each other. It’s not as decadent as the cake we had on our wedding night in Vegas, and it feels weird to have an audience for something that I now associate with sex and intimacy. We’re both fully clothed, but his eyes flare when my lips close on his finger, and my thighs clench when his tongue swipes a piece of frosting off my thumb.

  The moment is interrupted by clapping from his parents, then his mom swoops in and removes the cake and the knife. She sends a polite smile my way. “Lauren? Will you help me in the kitchen?”

  I return her smile and stand. “Of course.”

  Brendan snags my hand before I can leave, though, tugging until I bend down so our faces are close together. He gives me a peck on the lips and whispers, “Are you going to be okay? I told you I wouldn’t let her corner you alone, but you’re about to shut yourself in the lion’s cage.”

  I glance at Wayne, who’s sitting across the table, watching us and surely listening. I try to whisper as quietly as possible. “She’s being nice. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  Brendan glances past me to his dad, and I see Wayne raise his eyebrows out of my peripheral vision. But he doesn’t say anything.

  I straighten up and head to the doorway where Shannon has disappeared.

  She’s set out small china dessert plates with a simple platinum trim for the four of us and is starting to cut the cake. I expect a smile or some acknowledgment that I’m here, but she barely glances up, taking me in out of the corner of her eye.

  My stomach sinks. Brendan was right. The fangs are coming out now. I slide onto one of the barstools, waiting for whatever’s coming next, prepared to just let her say whatever she has to say, go back out and pretend everything’s fine while we eat our cake, and then leave as soon as possible.

  “So you’ve managed to sink your claws into my second son.” She tosses the comment out casually as she plates a slice of cake.

  I stiffen. I’d planned on just letting whatever she said roll off me, figuring it was some sort of warning not to break his heart. Sinking my claws in? What?

  “And I see you’ve decided to bare your fangs.” My voice drips with enough sugary sweetness that my teeth should be full of cavities.

  Her head snaps up, and she stares at me, knife still raised in the air, the other poised above the slice of cake she just placed on a plate. Then she lowers the knife and her hand to the counter, a malicious smile curving her lips. “You’ve got more spirit than your friend, I see.”

  I shrug in response, having nothing to say to that. Gabby has plenty of spirit, actually. She wouldn’t be where she is without it. But that’s not actually the point here.

  “I’ve seen the articles about you, you know.” She turns back to the cake to cut another slice. “How are you enjoying the attention?”

  My face twists in revulsion. As much as I want to remain unaffected, I can’t help physically reacting to reminders of the media attention I’ve been subjected to. “How do you think?” I spit back.

  “Well, I’m sure I don’t know.” She plates the slice of cake and then meets my eyes again. “I don’t actually know you at all. Spending a few hours in the same room at my oldest son’s wedding hardly counts as quality time.”

  “And this does?”

  She shrugs, turning back to the cake again. “I’m getting to know you.”

  If I didn’t already think this woman was insane from the horror stories Gabby told me, this right here would clinch it. Gritting my teeth, I suck in a breath through my nose, striving for calm. “I was supposed to be working at an orchestra camp for middle and high schoolers this week. And next week. But I’m not because that article that came out last week called me a slut and a gold digger, and all the parents called the camp director and told them they didn’t want me working with their children.”

  Shannon stops cutting the cake and looks at me, her face impassive. “And now you’re getting flown on what amounts to an all-expenses paid vacation and introduced around to people who can help advance your career. Doesn’t seem like a bad trade off versus getting paid a pittance to be a glorified babysitter.”

  My nostrils flare, and I grab onto the counter, my knuckles going white with the effort to stop myself from picking up one o
f her china plates and flinging it at her head. “I enjoy being a counselor there. I was a camper there for several years. It’s fun to run sectionals for the middle school orchestra and perform with the other counselors at the staff recital. It makes me a better musician, a better teacher. Getting paid for it is a nice bonus. Yes, Brendan paid for my plane ticket. Funds are tight since I got fired for the negative press I got as a result of marrying him. But he is my husband. That means he paid for my plane ticket with our money.”

  Triumph lights her face, and I realize the misstep that I’ve just made.

  She steps closer, leaning over the counter. “So you admit it. You married him so you could get your hands on his money. You see what Gabby’s life is like now. You want a piece of that for yourself. And who can blame you? Your family obviously can’t afford to pay your way through everything. You’re a scholarship student, cobbling together gigs and odd jobs and taking on students to fill in the gaps. Living in your wealthy friends’ house. Why not snag a husband who can take care of you and secure your future when you have the chance?”

  My mouth is open to defend myself when Brendan’s voice cracks through the air. “Enough!”

  He steps fully into the room, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, pulling me against his chest. “That’s enough, Mother.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Brendan

  I watch Lauren follow Mom into the kitchen, trepidation and hope tangling in my chest. Maybe she won’t try to pull what she did with Jonathan and Gabby. Maybe she’s learned her lesson.

  “How are things?” Dad’s voice draws my attention away from the doorway into the kitchen.

  “Things? Could you be more specific?”

  He chuckles and takes a sip of his juice. “Let’s start with something easy. How’s it going with Lauren?”

  “Good.” I glance at the doorway to the kitchen again. I can hear their voices, but can’t make out the words. It sounds pleasant enough, though. “It’s hard having to be long distance for the time being, but we’re making it work. I’m glad she was able to come down for a little while.”