Nocturne (18 page)

“That makes sense.” I nodded, unable to look at Gregory. But, I had to—I needed to be a grown-up about this. “Gregory,” I cleared my throat as all eyes fell on me.

“Yes?” His eyes were intense, and I almost lost my words.

“I just wanted to assure you that I had nothing to do with those rumors spreading—”

He waved his hand, as he always did when he found something exasperating. “Please, Savannah, the thought never crossed my mind.”

“Okay, I just wanted to make sure, because … I know how stressful things can get for students academically, and the lengths some students would go to get a good grade. I would never—”

“Savannah,” he cut me off sternly but with a softness in his eyes I’d never seen. “I never once thought that of you. You’re an excellent student with a good head on your shoulders. Well, I suppose you’re no longer a student…” He cleared his throat before continuing. “Despite your regular disregard for my authority in the classroom—”

“What?” I cut him off with a chuckle. Watching the corners of his mouth turn up in a grin, I caught on. “Oh, you’re baiting me …” I looked down, heat filling my face as I bit my lip.

“I learned from the best.” He laughed freely, patting James on the shoulder as he stood and began collecting our plates from the table.

I’d only heard him laugh once before. And that precipitated our kiss. I had to freeze and isolate that awareness. Because his laugh did things to my emotional makeup I couldn’t even identify. So I pretended, and the rest of us joined him in apparently comfortable laughter.

Gregory re-entered the dining room, looking far more relaxed than I’d ever seen him. He still had a slight crease between his eyebrows, though, and I began to wonder what he was holding in there. “Would you ladies like to stay for some coffee?”

Madeline and James shared a shocked look. I smiled, and without asking what Madeline wanted to do, I replied, “I’d like that.”

Gregory

“How hospitable of you.” James arched his eyebrow as he reached behind me to grab four coffee mugs.

“Sarcasm?” I shot back just as sarcastically.

“You nearly passed out when you found out who was coming to dinner, and after that whole rumor conversation I figured you’d want them out of here as soon as possible.” He turned so his back was against the counter, crossing his arms across his chest.

Keeping my voice quiet, I answered. “I had no idea that Savannah thought I’d assume she’d had anything to do with those rumors. The thought never crossed my mind.”

“Why do you care what she thought, Gregory? You don’t care what anyone thinks,” he challenged.

“That’s not true.” What was he talking about? Of course I cared. Well. I felt my eyebrow wrinkle a little, and I thought about it. Okay, so I usually didn’t care. But … I was starting to care a great deal about what Savannah Marshall thought … of me.

I went on. “I didn’t realize how much a rumor like this could affect a student. You and I know how foolish rumors are, but the students don’t, apparently. You and Madeline were right, James. Savannah’s talented and works hard. I’ll help support that any way I can.” My hands shook slightly as I poured the coffee, and I realized that my monologue wasn’t making a lot of sense.

That’s because my thoughts were muddled. After only two weeks of helping Madeline, it was clear Savannah was a natural teacher as well. That was troubling, given Madeline’s hypothesis that Savannah might not be fully committed to a career in playing.

“Just be careful,” he muttered as he took two mugs and shuffled into the living room.

Carrying the other two mugs into the living room, my breath involuntarily caught at the sight of Savannah on the oversized leather loveseat. She was sitting up straight, highlighting her years of orchestral training. Her poise was evident in the way her long, tanned legs were crossed at the ankles and her hands were resting in the lap of her green summer dress. The soft waves of her golden hair were hanging carelessly over her shoulders, as they always did. Her smile interrupted my staring.

“Thank you.” Savannah smiled brighter as she took the mug, wrapping her long fingers around it and leaning back against the couch.

James and Madeline were sitting rather close on the opposite couch, so I took a seat next to Savannah. Sitting slowly, I thought I felt her eyes on me, but when I looked up she was simply staring into her coffee cup. She hadn’t yet taken a sip.

“So, Savannah,” James leaned forward, “I’m dying to know what it was like growing up with Vita Carulli. It must have been a fascinating experience.”

Had he gone mad? Madeline seemed to think so too, given the crooked glance she shot in his direction. Savannah had brought up her mother’s name in my presence exactly once, and in a tone that made it clear she felt overshadowed, uncomfortable. And the one time I met her mother, in her presence, Savannah was reserved. Tense even. I didn’t know what the reasons were, but it was clear that relationship was extremely strained.

“James, certainly we can find something else to discuss—” I tried to offer an exit from an already uncomfortable evening for Savannah, but she cut me off.

“Oh, no, it’s fine.” She spoke softly as she placed her mug on the side table.

Though she pulled off a practiced smile, her two-second blink before she started speaking suggested I should pay very close attention. Savannah ran a hand through her long hair and started talking.

“
Growing up
with Vita Carulli is … a loose term, James. The three of us lived in Italy together until I was twelve. Any growing up I did after that was with my father and his parents in Philadelphia.”

Her voice and expression seemed wistful, but apparently James was tone deaf to it, because he kept talking.

“Wow, what did you like most about Italy?”

“Well, I have the most vivid memories from the Teatro dell’opera di Roma. My mother spent most of her time in Milan at the Teatro Alla Scala, but what’s beautiful about the theater in Rome is, the shows aren’t held in that theater in the summer.”

Her smile turned genuine and her face lit up. “In the summer, they move the theater and dance performances to the ancient Baths of Caracalla …” her voice trailed off along with her eyes.

“That must have been beautiful,” Madeline interjected.

I was stricken speechless by Savannah’s seemingly perfect Italian accent as she spoke the names of the theaters, leaving me to wonder if she still spoke any, as I’m sure she had to know some when she was younger.

Savannah’s hazel eyes grew wide as she looked to Madeline. “Oh, Madeline, you have no idea. There’s absolutely nothing on earth like opera under the stars. The first year my mother was prima donna there, Malcolm Carroll was conducting, and it was ... a powerhouse. Just ... amazing.”

Closing my eyes for a second, I put myself there. Under the stars in Rome, watching the opera with Savannah.

“Your father is a French horn player, right? Why did you choose the flute?”

While James’s questions were bordering on interrogation, I wanted to hear the answers as well. She’d told me before, in the coffee shop as she played with my hands. I seemed to have gone deaf the second her skin came in contact with mine because I had no recollection of what she’d said.

“Right,” she nodded, her smile fading, “he’s horn, and my mother…” Savannah continued on to the story she’d told me that day.

I found myself drawn to her hands. Remembering.

“Anyway,” she continued, “I always thought the flutes and the strings sounded the most beautiful out of the entire orchestra.”

“Strings, huh?” I interjected, growing slightly uncomfortable in my own silence. “What made you settle on the flute?”

A mischievous grin played on her lips. “The flute was prettier.” She shrugged unapologetically.

“How honest of you, Ms. Marshall,” I teased, chuckling a little.

“My mother was as supportive as she could be, and my dad …” Savannah sighed, leaning forward and running an index finger along the rim of her mug, staring again into her untouched coffee. “My dad was as supportive as he could be for knowing what kind of life I was preparing to lead.”

I chose an entirely different career path than my parents, leading to decades of tense half-conversations over the phone and tight greetings on holidays. Apart from her mother, I knew Savannah’s father was an accomplished musician, as well. To willingly step into a life mastered by one’s parents, and to try to make it one’s own? That took a certain constitution. Backbone.
She
wanted to do this, and not rest on her parents’ laurels. At least, that’s what she started out wanting. Her enthusiasm for instruction was growing more concerning. I’d caught her practicing after instruction was done for the day, and she was gaining ground in technique. She had to keep playing. Savannah straightened her shoulders, which pulled the fabric on her dress tighter across her chest. I checked my watch.

“Tired, Gregory?” Madeline set her now-empty mug on the coffee table, eyeing me teasingly.

I was tired. But, I wanted to listen to Savannah tell more of her story. Her history. Truth be told? I wanted to sit and listen to her voice until sunrise. It was as melodic as the notes that came from her flute.

“I know I am.” Savannah yawned and stood. “Thank you both for dinner, it was lovely.” Her eyes lingered on mine and I couldn’t look away. I didn’t want to.

James held out his hand for Madeline. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

“Thank you,” Madeline whispered.

As they walked through the door, Savannah stepped forward and around the coffee table. As she slid past me I caught a whiff of her perfume. She still smelled like lilies. Clearing my throat, I caught up to her as she reached the door.

“Savannah, I enjoyed chatting with you this evening.” My voice shook with an unsteadiness foreign to me.

Her tender smile calmed the buzzing through my body. “I did, too, Gregory. Thank you.”

As she turned for the door again, I found myself not wanting her to leave. But I had no reason for her to stay. Maybe just a few more seconds. “Savannah, you didn’t touch your coffee, was something wrong with it?”

She said she’d like some coffee, I’m sure of it. I’d asked if they wanted to stay for coffee, and she said,
I’d like that.
With her back to me, I watched the tops of her ears lift a bit as she smiled.

Looking back over her shoulder, she spoke quietly. “I don’t drink coffee.” Biting her lip, her eyelashes brushed the apples of her cheeks as she looked down and away and headed toward Madeline’s car.

My heart raced as I watched them pull out of the driveway and down the street.

 I don’t drink coffee, either.

Savannah

I
t had been a few days
since Madeline and I had dinner with James and Gregory, and here the four of us were, sitting in the faculty ensemble together near the end of the first week of orchestra camp. While most of the staff played together in the BSO or other ensembles, I felt like I didn’t belong. At all. Sure, they were all nice and welcoming when I sat down. But, as James handed out a few sheets of music he wanted us all to play, my nerves started firing.

I can’t blame it all on the music though. Gregory was only a few seats down from me, sitting behind his cello. I knew that was
the
one. I couldn’t remember the maker, or how old it was, but I’d read in
Music Trades
that he’d taken out a mortgage on his family home on Beacon Hill to purchase it.

The man had more interaction with his cello than with any human. Realistically, I knew this to be more the rule than the exception with musicians and other performers. Most musicians are married to their craft. Except maybe my father, who walked away from his life in the orchestra pit to raise me as normally as possible. He had shared his wife with the opera for over twenty years. Now I often wondered how their relationship would look once they resumed life in the States.

As Gregory warmed up, the muscles in his shoulders and forearms flexed and relaxed with each note. It bothered me that his stomach-clenching eyes were closed, but it also gave me an excuse to study the rest of his face. I often had to remind myself how young he was. He was barely thirty-one, even though his attitude, manner of speech, and general outlook on life suggested he was much older.

“Don’t be nervous, Savannah.” Madeline playfully nudged me with her elbow. “I wouldn’t have asked you to join us if I didn’t think you could handle it. You’re going to do just fine. This is supposed to be fun.”

“Fun?” I chuckled. “
Fun
is playing on a city street corner or in the grass somewhere. Fun is not sitting in a room full of musicians you’ve admired your whole life, preparing to play with them. It’s exciting … I’ll get back to you on the
fun
.” I arched my eyebrow and took a deep breath as James commanded our attention. I thumbed through our music as he spoke.

“First of all, I want to thank you all for a great first week with the students. I know it’s not over yet, but I think we can all agree that the students get more talented each year. While that makes some parts of our job easier, the challenge lies in continuously pushing them to do better. We have a great staff on hand to accomplish just that.” James nodded once to Gregory, who nodded back.