Nocturne (29 page)

“Just you and your cello? Surprise, surprise.” Karin didn’t follow me down the hall. She leaned against the wall and watched me go.

Without engaging with her any further, I slammed the door behind me and made my way for James and Madeline’s.

As soon as I settled into their living room, I set my iPod in the dock on their shelf and pressed play. Within seconds, I was playing Assobio a Jato along with the sounds of Savannah playing her flute during her brief senior year. We’d each recorded the other playing so we could practice in our spare time. Sometime after she left I moved my CD recording to my iPod, and this was the first time I pressed play.

Closing my eyes as I moved through each measure of the song, I watched Savannah’s eyebrows pull together, strands of her golden hair falling into her face as she kept up with whatever tempo I set. I wanted to play harder and faster than this recording, but I stayed with Savannah, allowing her even tempo to wash over me, to calm the bitterness I felt toward Karin.
How dare Karin try to use her insecurities to guilt me into having children with her.

Sweat formed across my brow and slid coolly down the side of my face as I was brought back into the practice rooms at the conservatory, where Savannah and I had stolen many kisses. Too many. Shaking my head slightly, I returned my thoughts to Karin. Perhaps I was unnecessarily cruel in suggesting she leave the house for a few days. I was the one with the issue. I was the one struggling with the idea of forming a family. Whether or not Karin could admit it now, this tour would give both of us time to cool off and reassess our goals. I was confident that by the time I returned in August, we would be able to start fresh, with clear expectations on moving forward.

As I neared the end of Assobio, the memory of Savanna’s smile every time we successfully finished the piece left me breathless, and angry. I set down my cello and walked to the docking station, roughly tore my iPod out of it, and threw it against the wall with a growl.

Walking over to where it lay on the ground, I knelt down and picked it up. Thumbing back to Savannah’s recording, I deleted it as quickly as I could.

Savannah

“Are you sure about this, guys? I feel a little weird about it.” Sitting across from Nathan and Marcia at a tiny coffee shop in Andover, I struggled over the decision to join the Big Five tour for the summer.

“What the hell is holding you back?” Marcia chuckled. “You’re just home from Moscow and have zero plans for the summer. At least this will give you something to focus on. And keep you playing.”

“Can’t you come, too?” I looked to her pleadingly.

“I’d love to, you know that. I would have auditioned for it if I hadn’t already committed to so many private lessons this summer. They start right when school ends.” Marcia was a middle school band director in Andover and seemed to absolutely love her job.

Nathan feigned hurt. “What? I’m not enough?”

I laughed. “No, I’m thrilled you’re going. But … that’s the thing. Like Marcia just said,
she
would have to audition. Madeline said I could just …
take
her spot.”

I shook my head thinking about the brief conversation I had with Madeline the day after her wedding. She told me the organizers of the tour would be more than happy to have me in her spot, especially since I played for the Bolshoi Ballet, and they knew I had maintained my training.

“Come on,” Nathan cocked his head to the side the way he always did when he was being sweet, “don’t you think the organizers—the ones from Boston anyway—are thrilled to get their hands on you again?”

“What does that mean?” I asked, biting the inside of my cheek.

Marcia smiled. “Savannah.”

“Marcia,” I shot back playfully.

“They love you,” she continued warmly. “Not just because you’re amazingly gifted, though that’s a huge part of it. When you left it was like the star quarterback walking away from a zillion-dollar NFL deal, or something. You could have had any symphony you wanted, and they were all just waiting for you to decide.”

I sighed, recalling the many emails and letters I’d received over the last five years asking me to come practice with, or audition for, orchestras from Boston to San Francisco. I ignored some, politely declined the others. That wasn’t what I wanted then.

“We’re not saying they’re going to spend the summer scouting you, Savannah,” Nathan entered. “But if you take yourself seriously on this tour, you could very well have your pick all over again … if that’s what you want.”

“All right, all right, I’ll do it.” I smiled, butterflies forming in my stomach over performing with the most elite musicians in America.

“Yes!” Nathan high-fived me. It would be great to spend the summer catching up with him, as well. “It’s basically just going to be the youngest members of the symphonies anyway, since we’re the ones who are going to lead them in a few short years. So, we’ll be in good company.
And
you’ll finally be able to meet Christine.”

Christine was Nathan’s girlfriend of the last six months. She graduated from Eastman the same year Nathan graduated from NEC and was one of two harp players with the Chicago Symphony. Whenever he said her name his eyes would light up, and his entire body jerked to attention every time he heard the chime from an incoming text message.

I smiled. “That’d be great. Well,” I sighed, “I suppose I should call the number Madeline left me and get organized. Nate, you’re not staying in the hotel for the next two weeks are you? We should just stay at Madeline’s. She said to call her if we wanted to, and she’d cancel her house sitter.”

Marcia played with her napkin as she spoke. “You’re not going to stay with—”

“No,” I cut her off. She and Nathan shared a sideways glance. “I don’t want to talk about that right now, okay?”

“Okay,” she shrugged, “let’s talk about what we want to get at the liquor store this afternoon. You two aren’t staying at Madeline’s
or
in a hotel. You guys can stay with me. I own a house, remember? I’m all grown up and stuff.”

We all laughed. For the first time in several years, aside from my experience with Bolshoi, I was feeling excitement over my prospects come the end of the summer.

Several hours later, I was sitting at a table outside the Hyatt Boston Harbor, overlooking the water. A refreshing breeze blew through my hair as I sipped a Chilean Sauvignon Blanc, watching tiny boats go back and forth across the harbor. From this distance, the city looked beautiful. Peaceful and inviting, taking in the view of Boston from this distance reminded me why I’d chosen NEC over Juilliard, despite the enticing scholarship package they’d offered. Even Nathan left his beloved Chicago to attend here. The proper blend of American history and contemporary excitement, I’d once hoped to call Boston home. Despite my best efforts, it was impossible for me to separate Boston from Gregory Fitzgerald. I was gazing at the place my heart was broken.

“Savannah, darling, we could have met somewhere
in
the city.” My mother rushed to her seat, fifteen minutes late for our date, calling her drink order to a passing waitress.

Dressed in a sleeveless black dress that had a pencil skirt which accentuated her thin frame, she wore bright red pumps and a matching patent belt round her tiny waist. I’d say it was a bit much for afternoon drinks, but she’d passed her expectations of style onto me, and I’d begun to follow them over the last several years—especially during my time in Moscow. I played with the bottom of my grey skirt as I addressed her.
 

“You know I love the view here, Mother.” I sighed, drinking more of my wine.

“How was James and Madeline’s wedding?”

“Lovely,” I replied with a smile.

“Gregory Fitzgerald … was he there?”

“I’m not sure why you have to look at me that way,” I commented on her accusing gaze. “But, yes, he was. He was the Best Man.”

It was interesting that five years later, meeting in Boston brought Gregory to my mother’s mind as well. She had been less than pleased to find out about what happened between Gregory and me, though she only knew about the kiss. When I fled Boston and went to Nathan’s, she pulled it out of me on the phone one night. Incensed, she threatened to call the school and have him fired before I convinced her that he wasn’t the reason I was leaving. I’m not sure if she bought it, because I couldn’t tease out all of the reasons I was leaving myself, but she bought it enough to back down on her threats.

“Hmm,” she paused briefly to plaster on her stage smile while accepting her Manhattan from the waitress, “did you speak with him?”

“Mother,” I sighed, “it was five years ago. Move on. I have.”

“You don’t sound so convinced—”

“For God’s sake,
Mother
, drop it!” My voice came out a bit louder than I, or my mother cared for, and the people at the next table looked up. Embarrassed, I picked up my wine glass and took a large gulp, shifting my gaze to the tiny white caps bobbing through the water.

“So, you’ve decided to join that Big Five tour, I hear?” my mother inquired after an acceptable length of silence.

My jaw failed me and dropped just enough for her to arch her eyebrow. “How did you …” I trailed off, not really needing an answer. Her connections in the American music industry ran so deep, it was hardly surprising that she found out about a decision I’d made only hours before. “Never mind.”

“And am I to assume that since we’re having this conversation here, and not in Moscow, you’ve chosen to leave Bolshoi?”

I didn't try to disguise my exasperated exhale. “We’re on break for the summer, Mother. I’m not sure what my plans are.”

She clicked her tongue against her teeth and shook her head, looking across the harbor with a sour look on her face. “You simply can’t settle down, can you?”

“Interesting choice of words, coming from you.” I carefully set my glass down and braced for her counterattack.

“Young lady, I’d watch my tone, if I were you.”

“Well, we’ve established I’m
not
you, haven’t we?” It had been a year since I’d seen my mother, and I was already regretting asking her for drinks. It was too long and cold of a swim to make a break for it now, though.

My mother stood gracefully and tucked her clutch under her arm. “I don’t have to take this attitude from you, Savannah. I’ll be on my way.” After she took an elegant half turn and a single step, I stopped her.

“Wow, this is getting easier for you.” My pulse raced as I prepared for what I would say next. “Being
on your way
. Is that the same term you used on Dad when you left him last year? That you’d be
on your way?
”

She turned around slowly and stared at me as ruffled as I’d ever seen her. Her blue eyes darkened, and her mouth swung open. I’d rendered Vita Carulli speechless. I’d never addressed her leaving. Not with her, anyway. Not only had I not seen her in a year, I hadn’t spoken with her either. While I received phone calls from both of them on the day she left, I happened to answer my father’s call first and got the raw version of events. She wanted more, he had said.

More than my father giving up his own career to raise me while she traveled the world doing what she loved.

More than having the entire opera world love her.

More than doing exactly what she wanted, when she wanted.

More than having my father wait lovingly for her for two decades and welcome her home with open arms to resume their life
together.

She packed her things and moved to Boston. Fucking
Boston
. The city
I
loved.

Taking a page from her score, I slid my bag over my shoulder and stood to leave.

When I reached the place she was standing, shocked and unmoving at my words, I leaned in so only she could hear me. “
I’ll
be on my way, 
Mother.
”

Walking through the lobby of the hotel and out to the parking lot, I never turned around to see how long she stood there. In that moment, I didn’t care if she stood there forever.

Alone.

Savannah 

“N
ervous?” Nathan leaned in and whispered
to me after we finished tuning.

I shook my head “no” as the comforting buzz of excitement coursed through my body. One benefit of being in the flute section is being seated near the front of the orchestra. While I wasn’t nervous, because I wouldn’t have to visually take in the entire orchestra to keep my eyes on the conductor, I reveled in feeling the power of the whole orchestra behind me.

Nathan and I arrived a little earlier than necessary. I knew no one was going to particularly care that I was there, if they even noticed. I wanted to be sure to make a good impression on the conductors we’d be working with, in the event that I wanted to audition for any of the orchestras represented in this room. Despite Nathan’s insistence that I take the seat ahead of him, I demanded to sit last chair based on principle. Everyone else in the flute section was a member of one of the Big Five. I was an outsider.