“It was. I’m sorry too.”
I was supposed to meet Salix in front of the liquor store where she was busking. That was at the end of the next block. First of all, I wasn’t sure that I wanted to lead Dad right to the front door of a building full of alcohol. Secondly, I wasn’t sure that I wanted him to meet Salix. Salix was sparkling and clean and all the good things. Dad was messed up and dark and several bad things in a row.
We were nearly there, but we could still cross the street. The intersection was steps away.
No. I did not want him anywhere near the liquor store. No. I did not want him to meet Salix. Not at all. Maybe never. He wasn’t welcome to be part of the story yet.
“Let’s cross here, Dad.”
“We don’t need to. I can resist the liquor store, Maeve. I’m more of a bar guy anyway.” And then he stood still. “Hear that?”
Salix. She was playing “Clocks” again. The song she’d been playing that first time I saw her at the bus station.
“The light’s red. Let’s go.”
“She’s amazing.”
“Yeah, she is.” I tugged his arm. “We’re going to miss the light.”
“I’ve seen her around, busking.” I could see him thinking, linking the various parts. He grinned. “That’s her, isn’t it?”
“Who?”
“That’s the girl. The girl.” He was already walking away. “Come on, introduce me.”
“I don’t—” I didn’t want this to be happening. I didn’t want him to ruin it. I didn’t want the two of them to collide like this. If they met, I wouldn’t be able to have them unmeet, ever.
“Dad!”
He spun back, a big smile on his face, handsome and bright-eyed. “What?”
So this was how it was going to go.
“Okay. Wait for me.”
—
Salix was playing with her back to us.
“Don’t.” Dad stopped me from getting her attention. “I just want to listen for a minute.”
He closed his eyes and listened until she finished the song and set her violin down to get a drink of water. Salix noticed me then.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey.” We smiled at each other for a long moment, and then I remembered to introduce them. “Salix, this is my dad. Billy Glover.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir.”
“Call me Billy.” Dad tossed a handful of coins into her case. “You’re very talented, sweetheart.”
“So are you,” Salix said. “I’m a big fan of the Railway Kings.”
“That was a million and a half years ago, but thank you.”
“Can I walk with you?” Salix put her violin away. “Where are you going?”
I glanced at Dad.
“A meeting,” he offered. “I’m sure you’ve heard all the gory details.”
I didn’t deny it. I didn’t say anything. Salix took my hand.
“Come on.” Dad sighed. “I don’t want to be late.”
—
The sidewalk in front of the Legion was crowded with smokers standing in knots of two or three, waiting until the last minute to go in. Dad lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, standing off to the side with us, observing the crowd just about to go in. It was a typical East Van mix: punks with chains and scowls, hipsters with carefully crafted facial hair, old men and women with walkers and stoops and wrinkles, a little group that looked like they’d just come from an office downtown, and another group that looked like they were all longshoremen. The sidewalk started clearing out.
“I hate this shit,” Dad said. He dropped his cigarette and ground it underfoot. The baby was due in four weeks, and I couldn’t have cared less if he never quit smoking. If it was going to help him stay clean and sober, I’d buy him cigarettes myself. “It was nice to meet you, Salix. I wish I’d met you sooner. And I’m sorry for that.”
A couple of days later, Salix and I met Mr. Heidelman outside the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra building. He led us through a back door and along several hallways, until we ended up in the theater, where the entire orchestra was rehearsing a Mozart concerto, which I would not have known if Mr. Heidelman had not told me what it was. When it ended, the conductor waved Salix onto the stage.
“This is it,” she whispered. “I might vomit. If I do, can we just pretend that it never happened?”
“Climb up to the top and don’t drop the flamingo wineglass. All the way to the top. You can see the city lights from up there. You can do it. And the view will be worth it.”
“Don’t drop the flamingo glass,” Salix said. “Got it.”
“Kick off your flip-flops,” I said. “It’ll make it easier to climb.”
“Done.” She glanced down at her boots, polished to a shine.
She put her hand on mine. She was trembling.
I squeezed her hand. “Tell me ten things you can see from here.”
“A scuffed-up floor.” She looked up. “Exit signs. An empty theater. The stage. Lights. Musicians. The conductor.” She took a long, slow breath. “My violin. My hand. You.”
“Better now?” I let go of her hand.
“A bit, yeah.” She kissed me on the cheek. “Thank you.”
Salix followed Mr. Heidelman up the stairs and into the spotlight.
“Good morning, everyone,” he said. “May I introduce you to a fine young violinist, Salix Bradley.”
The conductor was a large man, balding, with a bushy gray beard, red-framed glasses perched at the end of his nose. “What are you going to play for us, my dear?”
“I’m going to play the first movement and…” Salix paused. I could see her swallow, and then swallow again. She glanced around. “The first movement.”
My insides ached for her. Vicarious nerves.
She took a breath and gave her head a little shake. “The first movement and the cadenza of Beethoven’s Concerto in D Major, opus sixty-one.” She lifted her violin and readied herself to play.
I wouldn’t even have been able to get up there. I wouldn’t even have been able to climb the steps. My legs would have been too weak. And if I had made it to the stage, I would have just curled up into a ball and trembled until someone carried me off. It was a miracle to me that Salix could be up there. And it was a surprise to see her be nervous. She just was not that person to me. She was strong and brave. But there she was, scared of something.
I gripped the chair, my stomach churning. She looked so small standing still on that gigantic stage, with the rows and rows and rows of musicians staring at her, and the bright, hot lights suspended way up above, glaring down.
Salix stood, frozen. It felt like an hour passed, even though it could only have been seconds before she lowered her violin.
“You can do it,” I whispered. “You can do it.”
Salix looked in my direction. The stage lights were so bright that she couldn’t actually see me. But maybe she didn’t need to. Her shoulders rose. She took a deep breath in. Just when I thought I might have to run to the bathroom to vomit, she set her violin under her chin and turned back to the orchestra.
“And then I’m going to play an original composition of mine,” Salix said.
“Whenever you’re ready.” The conductor smiled.
Salix put the bow to the strings and made a note, and then another. Then she stopped.