Nocturne (16 page)

“I wouldn’t blow you off, Savannah.” He sighed as he squeezed me back.

“I’m just going to say it, Nathan. I’m sorry. I want things to be okay with us. You’re my friend.” I was speaking so quickly I wasn’t sure if he was able to understand me.

He didn’t let go of our hug, and I was okay with that. “I’m sorry, too, Savannah. I’m going to miss you like crazy, you know that?”

I nodded, tears stinging my eyes. Pulling away, I playfully slapped his chest. “I’d say I’ll miss you, too, but I don’t even know where you’re going to be. Did you audition anywhere, you cryptic freak?”

Nathan bit his lip; his face looking like it was going to explode with pride.

“Spill it, Nathan Connors, or I’ll call your mother and ask her!” I was bouncing on the balls of my feet, buzzing with anticipation.

“Chicago!” He raised his arms in victory as I stared at him bug-eyed for a second.

“What?” I squealed. “Nathan!” I screamed as I threw my arms around his neck, jumping up and wrapping my legs around his waist without much thought.

This was big. The Chicago Symphony Orchestra was one of the United States “Big Five” orchestras, along with New York, Philadelphia, Cleveland and, of course, Boston.

After turning me around once, Nathan cleared his throat and carefully set me down. Okay, things weren’t going to go all the way back to normal ... he was awkward and stepped out of arms’ reach. I took a breath, resisting the urge to kiss him, which is exactly what I would have done a couple of months ago. Settling instead for a smile, I wiped tears from my eyes.

“God, Nathan, I’m so fucking
proud
of you! When the hell did you sneak away to Chicago?” I asked, suddenly needing to sit.

“I had my final audition last weekend.” He sat next to me, the smile still beaming off his face.

“So … when do you leave?”

“The position is open for the start of the season in the fall. I’ll be staying with my brother this summer until I find a place.”

“Wow,” I whispered.

We sat in silence for a few minutes. I wasn’t worried about missing him. Our friendship formed around seeing each other during summers only, since I was from Philadelphia and he was from Chicago. I was thrilled for him that he got a position at his hometown orchestra—it’s what he’s always wanted, and getting a spot with one of the big five the first time out was nearly unheard of. He was in love with the city and decided sitting in the audience at one of their performances that he wanted to make a life for himself playing the flute.

“Listen,” he said, snapping us out of our respective introspections, “I’ve got to get to my final rehearsal. Want to grab a drink later?” His dimple appeared, and I knew we would be okay.

“You bet. I’ll come to your place around nine, okay? I’ll walk out with you. I have to go see Madeline.”

Nathan walked me across campus to Madeline’s office before heading to graduation rehearsal. Relieved that things with Nathan were settled, I was able to head into Madeline’s office with excitement about the summer. I’m sure I would have been useless to Madeline if Nathan and I hadn’t mended things before I headed to Tanglewood.

“Savannah Marshall, what am I going to do with you?” Madeline teased as I peered my head into her office with a playful look of innocence on my face. She’d asked me to stop into her office a couple of weeks ago, but … life.

“Sorry, Madeline.” I smiled as I sat in the seat across from her desk. “I’m sure you’ve heard Nathan’s good news?” I’d been smiling for the last half hour and my cheeks were starting to hurt.

She nodded. “I had no doubts he’d get in. It was keeping his auditions a secret that was the challenge for me. So, Savannah, I’m glad you came in to get your materials for the Institute, but, I must apologize,” she took a careful breath before continuing, “I wasn’t aware that your mother was retiring this season and would be coming back to the States. Are you sure you want to spend your summer in Lenox?”

“She won’t be back till fall,” I spit out, causing Madeline’s eyebrow to arch. “Uh, my dad is going over there to see her last performances, then they’re going to spend the summer travelling Europe together before coming back home. Kind of an emotional farewell for her, I guess.” I shrugged.

“And you didn’t want to go?”

“Madeline,” I exhaled slowly, looking just past her, “I lived in Italy until I was twelve and got to travel a lot then. I’ve had to share my mother with Europe for the last decade, and, honestly, I have no desire to tag along for another summer.”

Madeline knew me since I was fourteen; she’s the only one I could be that honest with.

“Of course. Well, here’s all the information you’ll need,” she deftly changed the subject, handing me a green folder. “I’ll be running the flute workshop, as usual, and you’ll be shadowing me the whole time. During the Young Artists Orchestra, we’ll have lots of different things for you to do. The faculty also usually has private ensembles throughout the summer. Usually the woodwinds and strings play together, and we’re hoping you’ll join us.”

Almost on command, my throat started to close. I was able to hold my own and excel in the company of my peers. But the instructors at the Institute, Madeline included, were at the absolute top of their game. What could they possibly want with me?

“No need to get all red-faced, Savannah,” Madeline cut into my impending panic attack. “I’ve played with you for years, and I know not only will you learn from us, but you can keep up. You know that, too.” Just as I started to breathe normally again, and take a sip from my water bottle, she interjected one last thought. “Don’t worry. I’ve kindly asked Gregory Fitzgerald to treat you as a colleague and not a student, as would be his inclination.”

Sputtering and coughing. That’s how I responded.

“What? What are you talking about? Mr. Fitzgerald doesn’t work for the Institute … does he?”

“Last year was his first year. Naturally, he excelled at it and produced some great things from his students.”

Of course he instructs there now,
I thought.
Shit.

“You did well in the class, though. An ‘A’, judging by your transcript,” she said, holding out a piece of paper.

“
What?
” I snatched the transcript from her and scanned down the page until my eyes fell on
Music Theory, G. Fitzgerald.
Where, as Madeline stated, was the letter ‘A’.

“Savannah, you look pale. What the heck went on in that class?”

Realizing Madeline must have been deaf to the rumors that had floated for a few weeks around Gregory and me, I quickly got my shit together.

“I, uh, just argued with him constantly in class. It seemed to really piss him off.” I shook my head at the ‘A’ that seemed to blink on the paper.

“Well, maybe something got through.” She shrugged and patted my shoulder. “As you know, I have a summer home in Lenox,” she continued, “and you’re welcome to stay with me if you don’t want to reside on campus.”

“Oh, Madeline, that’s so kind of you. Thank you so much.” I gave her a quick hug before walking, slightly dazed, back to my dorm.

Yes, stay with Madeline. And far away from Gregory Fitzgerald.

Gregory

B
ack home after a long
, but satisfying day, I set the keys on the table by the door and headed for my cello.
Home
being James’s summer condo in Lenox, Massachusetts, near Tanglewood. Much of the BSO, and some of the conservatory faculty, had second homes or timeshares here, given the frequency with which the symphony plays here.

The area was picturesque, exclusive, and, most importantly, quiet. I’d had the house to myself most of the summer, though James would be arriving shortly from Boston. He wasn’t teaching at Tanglewood all summer, but he had been recruited for a master class for the Young Artists Orchestra. Starting in a week, he would also be conducting the staff ensemble.

The summer had been smooth so far. Generally I dislike teaching—apart from private instruction—but I was coming to realize it had less to do with teaching itself than it had to do with the caliber and willingness of the students. As disturbing as it had been, with Savannah’s constant challenges, I’d sorely missed teaching music theory when the school year came to an end. Teaching excited, brilliant students—that was a reward, and one I’d never expected. And the students who came to the Tanglewood summer program were exactly that: promising, intelligent, and hardworking. I was in my element here.

I’d found myself wondering if perhaps I should have taught Robert, the blind boy, back in the spring. The more I thought about how I’d passed the boy off to a former student, the less comfortable I felt.

Up until now, I’d managed to avoid Savannah most of the summer, with some exceptions. That was likely to change shortly. The faculty had formed a small ensemble, which would begin practice Tuesday evening. Madeline was part of the ensemble, as was her shadow, and there would be no avoiding her.

In truth ... I didn’t want to avoid her. I didn’t want to, but I
had
to.

I hadn’t been completely successful in keeping my distance. Three weeks before, the entire faculty and incoming students had met in a large auditorium for a welcome and introduction. I had been standing roughly halfway up the middle aisle, looking for a seat when I saw her near the orchestra pit, standing beside and just behind Madeline.

She had a smile on her face as they spoke with Joseph McIntosh, who would be directing the Young Artists Orchestra this year. McIntosh was an up and coming conductor who had taken over the Cleveland Orchestra only last year. Slightly shorter than me, with tousled hair and a youthful, always smiling expression, he spoke in an animated fashion, his hands waving all over the place. I froze, watching them, not able to help the fact that I hated her talking with him, even though it was none of my business.

But then her eyes wandered and locked on mine.

I froze in place, staring at her. Her eyes, her face, her hair. Her eyes widened a little, and she smiled. Just a little smile, at the corners of her mouth.

I kept my composure. I returned the smile, nodding to her, and then taking what felt like a thousand breaths to slowly turn away, I found my seat. The sight of her eyes, of that smile, stayed with me for hours.

That’s not true. I could still see her. Every time I closed my eyes.

The taste of her lips …

The two-week workshops were intense, and we didn’t get to spend much time with those in a different instrument from ours, so I saw a marked change in Savannah Marshall by the time the final performances rolled around. Madeline had told me she was a natural with the students, and she was right. Despite helping instruct students who were close to her in age—some only two years younger than her—I saw an effortless authority flow from her. The hot-tempered young woman who couldn’t wait to challenge my every word morphed into a mature professional before my eyes. She laughed with her students before the performance and commanded their undivided attention as she led them through their piece. She made it look easy.

Madeline’s inference at the end of the semester that Savannah might not be interested in pursuing a professional playing career, paired with her obvious natural ability instructing other musicians, concerned me. While I initially had reservations about Savannah playing with us in our kind of private ensemble in the next couple of weeks, those were now washed away. With any luck, playing with us would be encouraging to her. She’d be able to keep up; there was no question there. I’d listened to her audition recording several times over the last three years, blown away each time by the confident skill of that seventeen year-old. Doing anything else with her career but playing as long as she could simply wasn’t an option. I intended on doing my part to make her see that.

Just as I sat down and pulled my cello from its case, a car pulled in the driveway. Sighing, I latched the case, figuring it was James, and he’d want to catch up. Regardless of what I was in the middle of doing. As he opened the door, I lifted an eyebrow at the number of grocery bags he was carrying. I had food here, and he was just in for the weekend.

“James.” I nodded, walking over to him and taking a bag that was teetering from his grasp.

“Thanks, man,” he replied as he set his bags on the table.

I gestured to the groceries. “What’s … all this?”

“Dinner.” He smiled and started unpacking steak, asparagus, and potatoes. “How was the workshop?”

“Fantastic, actually. There are some incredibly talented strings this year. More so than last year, I’d say. The students from last year got exponentially better, and the new ones are just …” I trailed off, watching him pour marinade over the steaks. “I appreciate you cooking dinner, but isn’t that a lot of food for the two of us?”

“We’re having guests tonight, Gregory. Madeline lives around the corner, and she and Savannah will be joining us.”

I nodded, taking a deep breath as I ran my tongue across my lips. Savannah would be here for dinner.

“Madeline lives around the corner, you say?”