“Sorry.” Salix gave her head another little shake. “Nerves.”
“A matter of course. Take your time.”
Salix adjusted her violin and let out a long breath. Then she closed her eyes. I was hardly able to breathe.
Salix began to play.
The music was much larger than I had ever heard from her before. The acoustics of the theater lifted the notes up and out until the sound nearly filled the space. I had heard Salix practice this piece for weeks now, but it was as if I was hearing it for the first time. Every note danced in perfect form, and even I knew that she was playing it flawlessly.
The musicians listened intently. There were about a hundred of them, and they all held their instruments in their laps, but not at ease, more as if they had to stop from playing along with her.
When she finished, the silence wasn’t quiet at all. The musicians murmured among themselves, and behind me Mr. Heidelman let out a low whistle.
The conductor gave a little twirl of his wrist. Continue.
“I wrote this for my girlfriend, Maeve, who sometimes lets fear get the best of her. It’s called ‘Fear Itself.’?”
I let out my breath, not knowing that I’d been holding it. She hadn’t told me that she was writing something for me. At first the notes were long and mournful and almost made me want to cry. And then the tempo quickened, and the song fell open and spread out, and for a moment I didn’t like it at all. Not because it was bad, but because it wasn’t as beautiful as the beginning, and I couldn’t tell where it was going. The notes were so many raindrops, falling. But then Salix closed her eyes and swayed, and collected the song into something calm and beautiful, and it was a warm, glowing orb, something I could imagine holding in my hand.
Finished, she lowered her violin and bowed. The orchestra members leapt to their feet, clapping and cheering and whistling, all of them. I sat there for a moment, stunned. But then I leapt to my feet too, clapping so hard that my palms stung.
“Brava!” Mr. Heidelman shouted. And then we were both yelling. “Brava, Salix! Brava!”
Claire took Owen to get his cast taken off the next morning. He wanted to go swimming without it to celebrate. I had the bright idea to use the wagon to bring all the beach stuff down to the van, rather than carry armload after armload. Even with Salix helping, it was a task that felt like it went on forever: towels and flippers and masks, beach balls and inflatable dolphins, umbrellas, chairs, buckets, shovels, sunscreen, hats. And then all the food. While Salix and I packed the van, Claire was gathering sandwiches and carrots and berries and muffins and piling it all into the cooler.
I had an idea that I hadn’t told anyone about yet. Seeing Salix in front of that orchestra had inspired me. She had felt all the hard feelings, but she had done the hard thing anyway. She just did it. She was prepared to handle whatever happened. Or maybe not prepared, but at least willing to do it and hope for the best. Feel the fear. Do it anyway. So when everyone else was buckled in and Claire was about to wedge herself behind the steering wheel, I put my hand on the door.
“I’ll drive.”
“You’ll what?” Claire said.
“I’ll drive. If that’s okay with you?”
“Of course!”
“We’re all going to die!” Corbin screamed from the backseat.
“Save our souls!” Owen said.
“Enough.” Claire handed me the keys and went around to the passenger side. She put her swollen bare feet up on the dash and pulled her skirt up to her hips. “Hallelujah. Let’s go.”
“You can do it, Maeve,” Salix said.
I steered the van out of the garage and down the alley to the street, where I had to suddenly stomp on the brakes to avoid hitting a cyclist who was zooming down the hill on the sidewalk.
“Holy shit!” Corbin hollered. “You almost hit that guy!”
“Language,” Claire said. “She didn’t hit him. You’re doing fine, Maeve.”
“He’s supposed to be on the road! Not the sidewalk.” I gripped the wheel, my breath caught in my throat. And then I undid my seat belt and got out of the van. Sure, feel the fear and do it anyway. Theoretically. But in real life? “I changed my mind. Someone else drive.”
But no one else got out. I leaned in. Four sets of eyes gazed back at me.
“Get back in and drive us to the lake, Maeve.” Claire patted the seat. “Everyone makes mistakes. Next time don’t forget that there is a sidewalk at the end of the alley.”
“I almost killed him.”
“But you didn’t,” Salix said. “A near miss is a miss. They happen all the time. Let’s go.”
Owen stuck Hibou up to the window and made her wave with a stubby wing. “Hibou will drive if you want.”
“She’d probably be better at it than me.” But all the same, I got back in.
“I’ll drive,” Corbin said.
“You can have a turn in the parking lot at the lake,” Claire said. “If it’s not too busy.”
—
Claire directed me to the upper parking lot, which was about half full.
“This’ll do.” Claire slid her swollen feet back into her flip-flops and heaved herself out of the van. “I want to go for a swim first, but then the boys and I can come back for a drive.”
“Yes!” Corbin said.
“Not me,” Owen said. “It’s not legal.”
“Up to you. Maybe Hibou will want to give it a try.” Claire slung her purse over her shoulder and headed for the trail, a pronounced waddle in her step. “You guys bring the wagon with everything. I’m going to dunk my gigantic puffy self in some nice cool water.”
—
Salix and I swam to the middle of the lake and floated on our backs, watching the clouds move slowly across the bright blue sky. When we finally came out of the water, Claire laid out sandwiches and cherries and carrot sticks and cheese and chips and salsa.
“I am so hungry,” she said as she filled her plate. “And can you pour me some iced tea from the thermos?”
I poured her a cup, which she downed in one go. And then I filled it up again.
“Thank you.” She belched. “Heartburn.” She sat in a chair, flopped her head back, and groaned, her belly gleaming in the sunlight. “I just want to be naked and floating.”
“The floating you can do,” I said. “But your favorite lifeguard is here and I doubt he’d let you take off your bikini.”
“Is he?” Claire twisted in her seat to look at the lifeguard tower. “The one with the stick up his ass and a thing for young girls in bikinis?”
The lifeguard turned his head in our direction, as if he could hear us talking about him. Claire waved, and he waved back, which made us all laugh.
—
When the boys were hungry enough to get out of the water, Claire told Corbin that if he wanted to go drive the van, he’d better be quick about it. “I don’t think we’ll stay much longer. My back really hurts.”
“Can I sit in the driver’s seat just by myself this time?”
“No. You sit on my lap.”