chapter Sixteen
I seriously think my jaw bounces off the floor a couple of times when Dr. Jordan tells Daddy he should let me go to Boston.
“It was just a matter of time until it happened. Up until yesterday, Julianne, you hadn’t dealt with the trauma. Your brain hadn’t fully processed what happened. By having that break, you essentially hit the reset button. Don’t get me wrong, you’ve got a lot to work through, but I don’t think you’re in any danger of a recurrence.”
I nod—the appropriate response—but I don’t tell him Mama stands in the corner. At least she hasn’t whispered in my ear again. Oh yes, I remember what happened yesterday. As soon as I stepped into the inner office and saw the bookcases, it all came back. I’m not convinced the danger is gone.
That night, I’m afraid to go to bed. Without the time-warp pills Dr. Jordan prescribed, the nightmares come back. But I don’t want to take the pills, either. They put me smack-dab in the middle of my own zombie apocalypse—Night of the Living Dead Girl, that’s me.
I call the only person who’ll understand, the only one who can calm me down and bring me back from the brink.
“Hey there, gorgeous.”
“Hey yourself.”
“You ready for Friday?”
“Ready as I can be. Listen, I need a favor.”
Here it comes.
“Anything.”
What, no joke?
“I—I can’t sleep. Nightmares. I have sleeping pills, but they do funny things and I don’t want to take them. Play me to sleep?”
“You’re lucky you caught me at home. Did you have something in mind?”
“The Etudes-Tableaux?”
“You got it, kitten.”
I hear him set the phone down, and he begins. I put him on speakerphone and place my cell on my nightstand. I nestle into the pillow and close my eyes.
It’s so beautiful I want to cry. When I die, I want this playing in the background. I want this to be the soundtrack of my afterlife, spinning out into eternity.
What was Rachmaninoff thinking when he wrote this? What heartbreak was he suffering? Was it anything like mine?
Dave switches to “Song Without Words” and I sigh. I let go and hear my breath even out, grow deeper. I think of Dave, Isaac, and Sergei Rachmaninoff.
When I go under, I think…I love him.
***
Wednesday morning, I open my eyes and realize I see Isaac today.
Suddenly, a zombie apocalypse doesn’t seem so bad. I fully expect him to back out of this whole deal and never come near me again. Which is why I’m shocked when he enters the studio with a bounce in his step and a Dave-worthy grin. But…that can only mean one thing.
He wouldn’t.
He would.
He did.
Who is she?
The answer’s so obvious that I can’t believe I didn’t see it coming. I even threw it in his face last week… I don’t get to mope around about interrupted hookups from a decade ago. Apparently, he’s done moping. Last week was just a fluke.
“Hey, kiddo, how’re you feeling? Your daddy said you were sick. Hope it’s not contagious, ’cause we’ve got a lot of work to do. Are you excited?”
I’ve been replaced again. Between Mama and now you, my world’s been knocked off its axis, and you want to know if I’m excited? Time to keep my eye on the prize, which is getting into the NEC and getting the hell away from this whole messed-up situation. I ignore the phantom lady behind the piano.
Isaac doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Since you were sick, I used the time to come up with an itinerary. Wanna see? We’ll leave early Thursday morning, get there Thursday afternoon and have that night to sightsee. I can show you the campus if you want. Then Friday is the audition, but we don’t fly out until Saturday afternoon, which leaves most of Saturday for more touristy stuff. I know someone—”
“No, that’s okay. Dave will show me around.”
If I hadn’t been studying his face for months and months, I might have missed it, but because I know it like a C Major scale, I see his enthusiasm die a degree. When he answers, his voice is back to normal.
“That’s cool. I’ll look up some buddies while I’m there.”
“You should do that.”
Just to be a bitch, I bite my lip and lean back against the piano to remind him of what we did the last time we were in this studio together. He clears his throat, and I know I’ve won this round.
***
I’m awake. I’m packed. I’m ready. I’ve talked to R.J., Mr. Cline, Dave and Daddy and said my goodbyes. At the last minute, Daddy hands me a note. It reads, “Good luck, Julianne. I know you’ll be great. And I’m proud of you. Love, Mama.” It’s her handwriting, not a forgery. I tuck it into my pocket and decide to think about it later.
Before dawn, Isaac picks me up in his sleek black car, and we head west to Mobile Regional. Airport Boulevard is completely desolate this time of the morning. We park, and after he shuts off the ignition, there’s a moment when I think he might say something, but then he opens his door and gets out. I turn to do the same, but he’s right there, holding it open for me.
Mobile’s airport is tiny, so it takes all of three minutes to get through security. That leaves an hour to sit and wait. He pulls out his phone and thumbs through the morning’s news. I get my e-reader and toggle to the trashy romance I just downloaded, Heart’s Desire. I snicker at the cheesy title, and Isaac looks up. I pretend not to notice.
A half hour later, I excuse myself to hit the restroom one last time, but I accidentally whack Isaac’s knee in the process.
“Sorry, sorry—”
“My fault—”
Gah! I can’t even walk right.
We eventually board the plane, and Isaac carries my bag for me—to save my shoulder, of course. And Daddy wouldn’t spring for first class, so we’re squished together like bad cleavage, me against the window, Isaac in the aisle. And I mean in the aisle. Like I’m a leper he’s afraid to touch. I brushed my teeth before I left. I didn’t put on perfume because I knew every other woman on the plane would.
Just before takeoff, the flight attendants walk up and down the aisle, closing the overhead compartments. When the blonde one—Patsy, according to her name tag—gets to our row, she looks Isaac up and down and scowls at his long legs.
“Excuse me, sir, could you please face forward? We need to keep the aisle clear.”
“Sorry.” He makes a valiant attempt to tuck his legs into the cramped space in front of him.
She must have pity. “Actually, we have a seat available in first class if you’d like to switch? There’s much more leg room up there.”
I swear my heart drops right into my stomach. I hear the acid fizz. Call me codependent, but I don’t think I can be alone right now without imploding from stress. I wish Dave were here instead of Isaac. Mama turns around in her seat in front of me and peers over the top.
Shut up! Don’t you dare say a word.
Isaac tells Patsy, “Nah, I’ll manage.” He’s not done yet. “But my friend here might like to move up.” He leans over and whispers, “Your father paid for these tickets. You’d better take the better seat.”
Words. I’ve said them since I was nine months old, but at this moment? I have none. At least, none that I can shout on a small airplane. Mama grins. The attendant looks at me expectantly.
“If that’s what you want, Isaac.”
One of the men in front of us swivels around. “Hey, lady, if you don’t mind? Me and this guy,” he says and gestures to his seatmate, “we gotta weigh six-hundred pounds between us. You think one of us could move up instead?”
“My name is Patsy, and yes, you may absolutely move up. Sorry.” She turns to us. “I should have offered the seat to one of those gentlemen first. But if anything else opens up, I’ll let you know.”
Isaac harrumphs and puts in his ear buds. He can’t turn them on because we’re about to take off, but I get the message.
Whoosh.
“You don’t have to be such a dick about this. I’m sorry you have to sit with me. I’m sorry you have to go to Boston with me. I’m sorry you had to be my teacher. I’m sorry we go to the same church. I’m sorry you found out about Mama and me, and I’m sorry I—” I fumble, swallow. “I’m sorry I kissed you. Both times. I’m sorry I disgust and repulse you. I’m sorry about your whole situation and I’m sorry your uncle had a stroke. Then this never would have happened and you wouldn’t have to put up with me.” I stop for a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”
I don’t look up to see his reaction. Instead, I lean my head against the window and close my eyes.
Two can play at this game, a*shole.
I hear him snicker. “Cranked much?”
I keep my eyes closed. No way is he baiting me again. Whatever he has to say, I don’t want to hear it. I’m so done with these games. Focus on the audition. I jump when I feel his hot breath on my ear.
“Sorry that you’re sorry, but you don’t have to apologize. Was thinking of your comfort when I offered you the seat. Your legs are almost as long as mine. Thought you’d want some time to yourself to prepare for tomorrow. Should have known you’d be cranked up and take things the wrong way.”
Well, okay then. But I’m still not talking to you.
“You gonna ignore me the whole trip?” Silence. “Knew you were tense when you leaped out of the car this morning and fell over me on the way to the bathroom.” He has the nerve to laugh.
A*shole.
He’s quiet after that, and I eventually relax. I must doze off because the next thing I know, my hair is plastered to my head on one side, my hand is asleep, and I’ve drooled on my own shoulder.
I slit my eyes to sneak a peek at Isaac. He’s still upright, but his head leans back against his seat and his hands are folded across his chest. So beautiful. I think it before I can stop myself. But an a*shole.
Mama presses her lips into a thin line.
As soon as we step into the terminal at Logan International, Isaac lights up like he did the day I told him I loved Rachmaninoff. I still despise him, but he bounces down the hall and his enthusiasm is contagious. We get our luggage and step outside to find a shuttle to the hotel. Then it’s my turn to light up from the inside.
“Is that…snow? It’s snowing? Really?”
Light bulbs flash in my head. There’s a scene in every holiday commercial I’ve ever watched, and it’s so beautiful. I wondered—living in Alabama—if I’d ever get to try it. I tilt my head back, stick out my tongue and catch my very first snowflake on the tip. It tastes like dirt, but I’m so happy right now, I don’t care. I don’t even care that all these strangers around probably think I’m goofy. My smile is so big it stretches my face, and the one on Isaac’s reflects it back to me.
“That was awesome! Will you be embarrassed if I do it again?”
He chuckles. “Not at all. Never seen you like this. It’s kinda cute.”
I throw him another smile and fight the overwhelming urge to give him a big, wet smooch on the cheek. Hell, I’m so excited I’d kiss a stranger. I tilt my head back and get a cold sting in the eye. Snowflakes are better on the tongue than in the eyeball, so I close my eyes and take in the bitterly cold air that stings my cheeks and numbs my nose. This is heaven, and I haven’t even left the airport yet!
I giggle and twirl around in a circle, relishing the snowflakes caught in my hair, on my coat, and then one gets trapped in my eyelashes. I blink it away and Isaac laughs again.
“Isaac, shouldn’t you hail a cab or something?”
“Hmm? Oh. Yes. The hotel shuttle should be around soon. Keep an eye out for it.”
“How about you keep an eye out for it, and I’ll twirl around like an idiot?”
“Perfect.”
We share another megawatt smile, and I decide maybe I don’t hate him so much after all.
***
Our hotel rooms are right next to each other’s, and just as I’m about to slide my room card into the slot, Isaac clears his throat.
“You said Dave’s showing you around, and that’s fine. But I have tickets for a performance tonight at Jordan Hall, and I’d hate to see them go to waste.”
Jordan Hall is the heart of the New England Conservatory. It’s the main concert hall inside the building of the same name, but according to the shiny brochure in my suitcase, it also houses a couple of smaller ones. The Keller Room, tucked back in a corner of the building, is where I’ll play for my life tomorrow. Isaac doesn’t know Dave can’t meet me until Saturday morning, after Friday’s audition.
“I thought you called some of your buddies?” I say.
“I could, but you’re a whole lot prettier than Conrad. I’d really like to take you.”
He blushes then adds, “You can see the campus then, too, and I’ll take you by the Keller Room.”
Oh, what the hell.
“Sure. I’d like that.”
Inside the hotel room, a phone conversation with Dave echoes in my head: “So, what are you going to wear?” Not thigh-highs, that’s for sure. It’s so freaking cold outside that I don’t know how girls in Boston function in skirts and tights. I’m in love with the snow, but the cold hurts. I remove my shoes and socks to rub my blue feet. My toes tingle as the blood flows again. I’m not sure I brought clothes warm enough for a night out on the town.
Although, I did pack my back-to-school boots, the ones Mama bought me that day at the outlets. They’re black, sleek, and timeless. They also reach high enough up my leg that no snow or slush will spill into them and leave my feet cold and wet. So I’ve got my outfit planned from the knees down, but the rest…ugh. Black is always safe: tight black pants and a slinky black top with plunging, multi-strand ropes of pearls. Very European, mais non? Oui. Thanks to my appetite-killing happy pills, I’m rocking this outfit.
My phone beeps with a text from Isaac—Ready? I answer by knocking on the wall between our rooms. I grab my coat and purse and step out into the hall. I’m met by a low whistle.
“Definitely prettier than Conrad.”
“You like?” I spin around to give him the complete view.
“You are so much trouble, you know that?”
“Would you want it any other way?”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I blush at the double entendre. Isaac flashes a crooked grin and holds out his elbow. I slip my hand in and shiver because, unlike most of our other times together, this feels like a real date.
***
“Sasha Rozum? The Sasha Rozum? Are you kidding?”
We stand outside Jordan Hall, and Isaac has just handed me my ticket for tonight’s performance, which features one of the top pianists to come out of the former Soviet Union in the last fifty years. Also, he’s a Rachmaninoff expert.
I could die.
“Seriously, Isaac, this is probably the best moment of my life! Thank you so much!” Without even thinking, I throw my arms around his neck and give him the most sincere hug. I don’t care what it looks like or if it’s weird, or if he just got lucky with Heather Swann. I’m just so happy. A little tear slips out before I realize it’s there.
He laughs. “If I knew you’d be this excited, I’d have told you on the plane. You know, when you were so sorry.”
“Yeah, um, I guess I’m sorry about that, too. Nerves. Am I forgiven?”
“With a reaction like that, hell yeah.”
He leads me inside, and I have an out-of-body experience. Jordan Hall looks like the inside of a gilded Faberge egg that someone cracked open to reveal glowing gold within. It’s the most grand concert hall I’ve ever seen. I can’t make my eyes big enough to take it all in, and I want all of it. I want to be greedy and keep every little piece of this hall—this night—for myself. I’ll tuck it away in my pocket and when things go dark, I’ll pull it out so its golden shine illuminates every part of my world. If only it were possible.
The program has a biography of Rozum, along with tonight’s lineup. I read aloud, “Variation on a Theme of Paganini. The Paganini? I thought you hated it, said it was overplayed?”
Isaac shrugs. “Not my favorite, but has its merits. Seeing you so happy for once is worth suffering through it.”
My heart swells and again, I have to fight the urge to kiss his cheek. While we wait for the performance to start, I take a picture of the stage and send it to R.J. He texts back with a smiley face. There’s also a text from Dave: How was your flight? Will call tomorrow. xoxo.
As expected, Sasha Rozum is astonishing. After each piece, I leap to my feet and clap until my hands can’t take it anymore. So what if it makes me look like a country bumpkin? I don’t care—good performances deserve to be appreciated.
Afterward, we break away from the masses filing out into the frigid night to find the Keller Room. It’s around the corner and toward the back of the building, which is dark and locked tight. We stop in front of the door and I raise my hand over my eyes, leaning in to peek through the glass.
Small. Lots of chairs. No stage. The panel will be able to see every move I make, every fingering, every expression on my face. This could be good or bad; I’m not sure which.
“Seen enough?”
I nod. “Yeah. It’s nice to get a lay of the land. Now I know what to expect tomorrow.”
“You hungry?”
My happy pills must have worn off, because my stomach rumbles at the thought of food. “Starving.”
“Good. I know a place.”
Isaac takes my hand and twines his fingers with mine. He leads me back out of the darkened hallway to the main entrance. Now my stomach not only growls, it flops around as well. This is…nice? And super weird. I decide to go with it. How many times does a girl like me get to have such a magical evening? Boston, Jordan Hall, Sasha Rozum, a hot guy taking me out to dinner? Yeah, I can handle this.
***
I try to interpret the menu, but Isaac knows exactly what he wants.
“The sea bass with saffron, please.”
We’re at a little restaurant across from Jordan Hall called House of Kabobs. I didn’t expect much from the name, but it’s a quirky, ethnic place with great people-watching. When in Rome, right? I settle on something called ghormeh sabzi with basmati rice and hope for the best. And I’m pretty sure the waitress laughed at my accent.
Besides the snooty waitress, there’s only one thing keeping this night from being perfect, and because I’m a sucker for punishment I have to bring it up.
“So, does Heather know you’re in Boston with me?”
Isaac chokes on his drink. “Heather Swann? Don’t know, but I certainly didn’t tell her.”
So this is a secret, huh? Too embarrassed to admit he’s with me for three days.
“Won’t she want to know where you are?”
He shakes his head. “Why on earth would she want to know where I am?”
“Well, aren’t you together again? When I saw you after I was sick, you were in such a good mood. No offense, but good mood isn’t really your thing. So I figured, you know.”
He sets his drink down on the table and levels those hydrangea-blues at me. “Why do you always assume the worst? No, don’t answer, I know why.” He clears his throat and tries again. “Did it ever occur to you that I was excited to be coming to Boston with you?”
No, no it didn’t.
“Well, I am. And I hope you’re having as great a time tonight as I am.”
I nod this time. I don’t trust myself to speak. I need to think, but my brain is mushy as grits. I could kiss the snobby waitress for choosing that moment to bring us our mystery meals. Isaac practically devours his sea bass, but I just poke at my food. The rice isn’t bad, but the rest looks funny. Then I kick myself. I’m in Boston where I swore I’d try new things, start a new life.
After dinner, it’s too cold and I’m too tired to do any more sightseeing. I’m so full and content that I lean against Isaac on the train back to the hotel. Plus, the woman on the other side of me smells like moth balls. I shiver in my thin coat and he puts an arm around me. I’d like to pretend it means something, but I don’t dare. I shouldn’t even be thinking about Isaac or why he’s suddenly all warm and fuzzy. It’s time to concentrate on what I came here to do. Tomorrow I’ll seal my future with the best performance of my life.