That’s when I felt the pain shooting through my right hand, and I cradled it against my chest. Half in a panic, because an injured hand could be a disaster for a musician. That thought ended quickly as Nathan let out a yell and charged me.
Two of the other musicians grabbed him.
“Motherfucker!” he shouted again, his face red from my fist. “Why can’t you just leave her alone? Every fucking stop on this tour you’ve been screwing her … and breaking her heart.”
Half the orchestra gasped, as if they didn’t know already, and I saw Karin’s face pale. Rage impelled me forward, but James grabbed my arms.
“Don’t!” he said. “You’ve already done too much.”
Everything went silent, however, with the sound of Savannah’s open palm slapping Nathan’s face. “Nathan, shut up!”
I stood there, part of a frozen tableau, with the orchestra ringed around me, and James holding my arms. And then the silence was broken as my wife burst into loud sobs.
His tone bitter, angry, Joseph said, “Thank you all for an amazing tour. Good night.” Then he turned and marched away, quickly.
“Let me go,” I said to James, my voice quiet. “I’m done with him.”
I was too late, though. Savannah had already run to her mother.
I sighed, then turned toward Karin. “Let’s go.”
She stared at me, her face a mixture of grief and complete disbelief.
“Let’s go,” I repeated. “We need to talk.”
Gregory
Karin and I walked out of the hall in silence. Because what was there to say, after all? She walked quickly, slightly ahead of me, her back straight, tense, angry. I’d quickly packed the Montagnana and now carried it in my right hand.
An after party was scheduled in one of the ballrooms upstairs. I would not be attending, nor, I suspected, would Savannah.
I had to talk to her. Somehow, I had to convince her not to go to Chicago, or back to Russia, or anywhere else. To stay here with me. I had to … I had to make her understand that she’d become so important to my life that to lose her would destroy everything
But first, I had to deal with Karin.
Her heels echoed off the marble floor as we walked to the parking reserved for members of the orchestra. Most of the audience had already cleared the hall, but traffic exiting onto the streets of Boston would be snarled for another half hour or longer. Delightful.
We reached the car in silence. I quickly put the cello into the back then automatically walked to the passenger side to open her door for her. She gave me an aggrieved look as I closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side.
I started the car, and in the silence that followed, she said, “Just tell me the truth, Gregory.”
My stomach was twisted—my entire body flooded with dread and nausea, sharp pain pounding a crescendo between my eyes.
I stared straight ahead and gripped the steering wheel with both hands. “I want a divorce.”
She flinched.
I put the car in reverse and backed out of the spot. This end of the parking lot had few cars, but I’d been through this before. There would be hundreds trying to leave at the same time. I wished I’d taken a cab tonight. I wished I’d left Karin at home. I wished I was in Colorado or Idaho or Montana or any of the dozens of cities I’d been in over the last few weeks. I wished I was anywhere but here.
I wished I was with her...
“Do you love her?” she asked.
I paused. It was so much more complicated than that. Yes, I loved Savannah. But that wasn’t the reason I wanted a divorce, even though that was what Karin was trying to assert. It was all tied together, though. Because I didn’t love Karin. And our marriage had simply gotten worse as the last couple of years went by. And much worse when she decided she wanted to have children, whether or not I wanted them. But I couldn’t absolve myself of blame. Because ... I’d been a complete shit and there was no way around that.
But Savannah …
Savannah had shown me what I didn’t know I was missing. What I never realized I’d been craving. Connection. Understanding. No matter what was going to happen between us, she’d shown me what true love was. What it felt like. And, what it felt like when it was gone.
Finally, I settled on the one answer that I knew was the wrong answer, the one that I knew would hurt the worst, but the simplest one, the only answer I could give.
“Do you love her?” Karin repeated as I tumbled through my thoughts. Her voice was angry, but tight with tears.
I nodded once, closing my eyes briefly. “Yes.”
I put the car in park on the ground level near the exit as we came to a stop behind a dozen or more other cars.
“I hate you,” she whispered.
I swallowed. Then I said, “I know.”
“You never loved me. It was always her. Always.”
I couldn’t answer that. Because it was true. Even if it wasn’t the cause of our marriage falling apart, Karin wouldn’t be able to separate it all out in this tiny Lexus as we sat in traffic. What exactly was I supposed to say? My instinct was to temporize, to tell her it wasn’t true, to comfort her. But that would be wrong. It would simply drag this out and make it so much worse. And it was going to be bad enough as is.
She stared out the window at the parking lot. Someone behind us honked, because honking their horn was going to make us all go faster. Idiots.
“Is what Nathan said true? Have you been sleeping with her this summer? On the tour?”
I squeezed the wheel and said, “I don’t think it’s necessary to get into that.”
She slapped her hand on the dashboard with a loud crack. “It is! Tell me truth, Gregory! You’re still my husband.”
I sighed, and said, “Yes. It’s true.” I couldn't help it. As I spoke the words, I knew I sounded ... defeated. Ashamed.
Most of the cars ahead of us had cleared out. But the one ahead of us was just sitting there, the couple inside seemingly texting or something as they sat thirty feet from the gate. Not moving. No cars in front of them. Brake lights on. I felt my irritation rising rapidly, and I finally muttered, “Could they possibly drive any slower?” I laid on the horn, the sound echoing through the parking lot.