Porcelain Keys (8 page)

“You should start preparing for Juilliard now. If you audition this year, then you can enroll next fall.”

I gave a humorless laugh. “Okay, let’s ignore the fact that I haven’t taken formal lessons for five years, or that I can’t get enough practicing in when I’m living with my dad, or that a semester’s tuition is probably more than I earn in a year. I don’t know the first thing about getting into Juilliard, other than that my chances are slim.”

“You could find a good teacher to help you prepare. There’s still time.”

“I can’t. It would be too hard to keep it from my dad.”

“Maybe he would let you take lessons if you practice somewhere else.”

“He would never agree to it. Do you know how many people offered to teach me for free after my mom died? He turned them all down. He told them that both he and I needed some time away from music, and he would let them know when things changed. Things haven’t changed yet, and to be honest, I don’t think they ever will.” I shook my head and began walking up the trail again, silently cursing the emotion burning in my throat. It seemed to ignite something deeper in my soul, a desire I’d kept suppressed far too long. I wanted to take lessons. I wanted to chase the dream of Juilliard. It was where Mom had gone to school, and as a child, I’d wanted nothing more than to follow in
her footsteps. But Dad had torn the dream from my hands, and until that moment, I hadn’t realized just how raw the deprivation still was. “I can’t even think about this until after I move out,” I said, my voice thick.

He walked quietly beside me, his face troubled. Finally he said, “I’m sorry for pressing you. I’m just . . . in awe of you, Aria. You’re like a beautiful caged bird, and I want to unlatch the door and set you free.”

I didn’t respond right away, and for the remainder of our hike I steered our conversation to more lightweight topics, like friends and movies and school. When we reached the lake, we wandered around a bit, circling the grassy shore to find a place to settle in and enjoy the scenery. A flock of geese waded along one edge of the football field–sized lake, and we skipped rocks across the clear water as we moseyed along. Aspens and pines skirted the lake, and beyond the trees, the mountains rose around us.

“Aria!” Thomas called out from ahead of me with a beckoning wave.

When I caught up, he was standing next to an old fishing boat that was half-covered in moss.

“That thing has been there since I was a kid,” I said.

His mouth slowly curved into a smile. “Can you swim?”

“Why?” I asked nervously.

He tossed his backpack on the ground and tipped the fishing boat right-side up. The seat was caked with dirt, and he kicked it off with his shoe, then wiped it clean with his sleeve before pushing the boat to the water’s edge.

“Hop in,” he said.

I laughed and shook my head. “Why don’t you take it for a test drive first? And when you get back soaking wet, let me know how cold the water is.”

He picked the weathered oars off the ground and peered into the boat. “I don’t see any holes.”

I leaned over and examined the boat for myself. “That’s because they’re hidden under all that dirt.”

He reached down and scooped up a handful of water, tossing it playfully at me. I straightened and gasped as the frigid water splashed my face and neck. “See,” he said, his eyes gleaming, “it’s not so cold, is it?”

I wiped my face with the sleeve of my hoodie and glared at him. “In relation to the Bering Sea, no.” I had an impulse to shove him into the water, but after taking a moment to size him up, I thought twice. He was a head taller than me, and my willowy frame was no match for his broad shoulders and muscular arms. Retaliation would undoubtedly result in getting dunked, so I gave up the idea.

“Come on,” he coaxed, “we’ll stay close to shore.”

“Promise?”

He offered me the oars. “You’re the captain.”

“If I’m the captain, shouldn’t you be the one rowing?”

“Aye, aye,” he said, tossing the oars in the boat. “Get in, and I’ll do all the rowing.”

“Okay, but if we sink . . .”

“If we sink, I’ll buy you dinner.”

“I thought you didn’t date.”

“I don’t. But if the boat sinks, I’ll make an exception.”

It sounded like a good trade-off. Be submerged in cold water, get a dinner date with Thomas. I hesitated just long enough not to look overly eager, then climbed in the boat, hoping it would sink.

He gave the boat a shove, then jumped in. I picked up the oars and started rowing.

“I thought I was supposed to row,” he said, holding out his hands.

“I’ve got it,” I said, aiming for the middle of the lake. If the boat was going to sink, we’d have to be far from shore.

“I thought we were staying close to shore.”

“There’s a great view of Pikes Peak from the middle of the lake.”

He smiled, that little dimple surfacing on the side of his mouth. “You’ve got to give a guy a chance to be chivalrous.”

I sighed and handed the oars to him. “To the middle of the lake,” I ordered in my most authoritative voice.

“Aye, aye, captain.”

He made it to the middle of the lake eventually, in a roundabout sort of way. We settled in, quietly taking in the scenery around us. The morning sun had risen above the trees, and golden light bounced off the water, flickering across his face. I watched him as he gazed into the water, his face relaxed and carefree. Being with him made me feel the same. Like all my worries were left behind in some forgotten place. It was just me and him, sitting on a still lake in the quiet morning.

I eyed the bottom of the boat, which was still dry, and silently lamented that I most likely wouldn’t be getting a dinner date. I wanted to ask him why he didn’t date, but I wasn’t sure how to casually broach the subject. “So,” I started hesitantly, “I couldn’t help but notice that you avoided answering Trisha’s question the other day.”

“Which question was that?”

“Why don’t you date?” I felt my cheeks begin to flush. “I mean, is it your parents’ rule or something?”

He looked down at the clear water, then dipped his hand in and slowly swayed it back and forth, making little ripples.
“No. And I didn’t answer her question because it’s hard to explain. Most people don’t understand my reasoning.”

I gazed at him, hoping he’d trust me enough to explain.

“I know this sounds weird, but . . .” He bit his lip and paused. “I don’t date because it’s my way of protecting my mom.”

“How does you not dating protect her?”

A little crease appeared between his brows. “She’s just been through a lot these past couple years.” I waited for him to expound, but he went back to quietly swaying his hand in the water. Back and forth, back and forth. Just when I thought the conversation had hit a dead end, he said, “I told you about my brother’s baby.”

I nodded.

“Well, Richard, my brother, was my age when he got his girlfriend pregnant, and that in itself was hard for my mom because they were going to give the baby—her first grandchild—up for adoption. But then . . .” Thomas took a deep breath and his expression darkened. “When the baby died . . .” He seemed to be having some inward struggle, like he was deciding just how much to share with me. It was a good minute before he spoke again. “Richard has always struggled with drugs and alcohol, and when the baby died, he sort of went off the deep end. In fact, he’s in jail right now.”

I still wasn’t sure that I understood. “Do you think you would make the same mistakes your brother made if you dated?”

He paused briefly as he opened his mouth to speak, then with a slight grimace said, “Believe me, I’ve already made my share of mistakes. But . . .” He shook his head as though veering from what he was going to say. “It’s more
complicated than I can really explain. But if I have a girlfriend or if I drink or mess up at school, it’ll just add to the stress she’s already feeling.”

“That’s kind of a lot to put on yourself.”

He shrugged. “I guess. But if it lightens her burden, it’s worth it to me. And it’s not like I’ll always be this stringent with myself. I’ll date someday—maybe when she’s had some time to heal and I go to college, but for now, it’s just simpler this way.”

“Well, it’s a good thing this isn’t a date, then,” I said half-jokingly.

He straightened and looked at me. “I’m sorry, Aria. I don’t mean to lead you along or anything. I just . . . like being with you.” He smiled, a glint of cheerfulness returning to his eyes. He gazed at me, the light reflecting off the water making his eyes a calming blue. “You make me feel at ease. I’m glad you’re my friend.”

Funny how what he said put my own feelings into words. He reached into his hoodie pockets and pulled out the two apples he’d picked earlier. He handed one to me and took a bite out of the other. “Mmm,” he murmured as he chewed. “I love September apples.”

When I bit into mine, it was crisp and sweet. Everything that morning was sweet. The golden light, the still water, and—sweetest of all—Thomas Ashby sitting three feet away, glowing warmer than the morning sun.

To my surprise, we made it back to shore dry. As I helped him pull the boat back onto shore, something in the black dirt caught my eye. A small and white rectangular shape. I squinted and looked closer, and what I saw
stopped my breath. It was a miniature book of sheet music, white porcelain with hand-painted music staves. I recognized it instantly, and it evoked a memory from five years earlier.

Mom and I knelt in front of my bed, a few months before she died. She put her finger over her lips and said “Shhhh,” then pulled a cardboard box from beneath my bed. She opened it and pulled out a piano-shaped music box. It was the size of a shallow shoebox, and the white porcelain was adorned with hand-painted birds. “This is for you,” she whispered. “I’m going to fill it with things that will remind you of me, of how much I love you. It’s our secret, okay?” I interpreted the meaning of her gesture and latched onto her thin waist, sobbing into her blouse and telling her I didn’t want the music box, I wanted her. She gathered me in her arms and told me to be brave.

I hadn’t wanted to think about the music box back then. To me it was nothing more than a sad representation of what would ultimately replace her. She and her warm embrace would leave me, and in return I would get a cold porcelain box of trinkets. In truth, I’d forgotten about it. But now, here was a piece of it, in the dirt, a mile from the house.

With a trembling hand, I bent down and picked it up, folding my fingers over it before Thomas saw it. I stood there, clutching it in my hand, trying to figure out what this meant. How had it gotten up here, and where was the rest of the music box? Had Dad dumped it in the lake? Had he buried it? Destroyed it? The thought of never knowing what Mom had placed in it brought tears to my eyes. I swallowed them back, not wanting Thomas to see how upset I was.

“Aria? You okay?” I felt Thomas’s hand on my shoulder.

“Yeah,” I said, turning to him with an automatic smile.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Come on. Let’s head back.” I started walking away, but he caught my arm and turned me back toward him.

“You can trust me, you know?” His hand was warm on my skin, and goose bumps rose on my arm. Somehow I sensed the honesty of his words.

A sigh filled my hesitation while I tried to figure out the best way to explain. I opened my hand and showed him the little piece of porcelain.

“What’s that?”

I brushed my thumb over it. “It’s a piece of a music box.” I explained where it came from, and that I didn’t know what had happened to the box after Mom died.

“So how do you think a piece of it got up here?”

“I don’t know. My dad must have brought it up here for some reason.”

“Why don’t you just ask him about it?”

I didn’t respond right away because my answer was pathetic.
Because I’m too afraid to ask.
For the past five years I’d lived in fear. Fear of doing or saying anything that would remind him of Mom, because of how he reacted every time he was. But Thomas’s question forced me to see the truth of my situation. I was seventeen. A senior in high school. When would I have the courage to face my own father?

“I don’t know,” I finally said. “But I will.”

T
he closer I
got to home, the more determined I became to ask Dad about the music box. I left Thomas in the orchard, then walked home, trying to summon enough courage to confront Dad.

I clutched the piece of porcelain in my hand as I entered the kitchen through the back door. Dad was leaning against the counter, the phone to his ear.

“So it’s true, then?” Dad said into the phone, looking at me. He jerked his head toward the table as if to say,
Sit down. I need to talk to you.

I sat at the table, suddenly not feeling so brave anymore. I shoved the piece of porcelain in my back pocket, deciding to postpone asking about it until I knew what Dad wanted to talk to me about.

“All right. Thanks for looking that up for me,” Dad said into the phone, then he hung up and turned to me, folding his arms across his chest. “I think you’re getting a little too friendly with that neighbor boy. I don’t want you hanging around him anymore.”

I blinked. “Why not?”

“I was talking to someone down at the station today about his family. They said the Ashby boys have a record.”

I shook my head. “I think you mean Thomas’s brother, Richard. Thomas told me his brother got into some trouble with drugs or something.”

“No—I mean both the Ashby boys. I don’t mean to judge, and I don’t know all the details, but I know for a fact that they both have criminal records.”

“That can’t be right. I mean, he doesn’t seem like the criminal type.”

“It is right. I just checked with Gabe. And I want you to stay away from him. The last thing I need is you getting into trouble.”

“I’m not going to get into any trouble. And believe me, Thomas is as straight-laced as they come. He isn’t the type to—”

“Let me be a little more specific, Aria. I don’t want you doing anything illegal, and I don’t want you doing anything that will get you pregnant.”