The Christmas Violin (6 page)

He closed his eyes trying to remember Willow’s last name. If he knew that, he could Google her. Maybe find out where she lived or another way to contact her. He was always terrible with names.

Something with a “C”, he thought. Damn, I can’t remember.

But he could remember her slender neck, long arms and legs and the way she swayed, like a willow branch in the breeze, as she walked. That, he could never forget.

He figured the name would come to him. Usually, when he couldn’t remember something it came to him while he was in the middle of doing something totally unrelated. It was in his brain somewhere, just couldn’t pull it out at the moment.

The flight wasn’t full and he had the row to himself. He was glad. He didn’t feel like talking, and when he sat next to someone he felt obligated to do so. All he wanted to do was close his eyes and think of her.

Willow

Two hours seemed like ten, and when Willow pulled into the hospital parking lot, her mom was waiting for her just inside the front entrance. As soon as Willow saw her mother’s red blotchy face, she knew her dad was dead. She was too late.

“I’m sorry, Willow,” said her mother, sobbing.

Willow flew into her mother’s opened arms, burying her face into her mother’s bony shoulder.

“I came as fast as I could,” she cried. “I thought you said he was going to be all right.”

“I thought he was. It happened so fast. He was hooked up to all of these machines. They started beeping. The nurses rushed in and they told me to leave. They worked on him but they couldn’t bring him back.”

Willow pulled away from her mother’s shoulder so she could look at her. “I’m so sorry, Mom. I wish I could have been in time. For Dad. For you.” And this time, Willow opened her arms and her mother buried her face in Willow’s bony shoulder and cried.

It seemed like they stood inside the front door in their sobbing embrace forever, each one not wanting to let the other go. Finally, Willow spoke. “Can I see him?”

Her mother nodded. “I told them they couldn’t take him until you saw him.”

Willow followed her mother around the corner to the elevators. The elevator door slid open and they were the first on, followed by a woman carrying a floral arrangement with blue carnations and a balloon that said “It’s a Boy!”

“Five, please,” said the woman, trying to keep her balloon from bobbing in their faces.

Willow’s hand shook as she pushed four then five.

Irony hung in the air like an unwelcome guest. One life had ended and another had begun. The pregnant silence was awkward, and Willow felt like she should say something to the woman, who hadn’t stopped smiling since boarding the elevator. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” the woman said. “It’s my first grandchild, and I’m so excited.”

Willow felt her mother’s hand squeeze hers. The elevator beeped and Willow scurried out of the elevator like a deer fleeing a hunter. She put her hand to her chest, which felt like someone was squeezing it like a sponge.

Her mother placed her hand on Willow’s arm. “Are you sure you want to see him?”

Willow sniffed and wiped both eyes with the back of her hand. “Yes. I have to.”

She and her mother held hands as they walked down the long hallway. All of the doors were ajar – except one.

Her mother stopped in front of the closed door. “Do you want me to come in?”

Willow shook her head. “No, this is something I want to do alone.”

And she opened the door.

The Old Woman

A dog barked. Then another dog barked. Then another and another. Pretty soon it seemed like the whole damn street was an oversized kennel. The old woman hated barking dogs. They drew attention and she didn’t like attention. And they made her jumpy. She liked it to be quiet when she went through the trash on Maple Street. She was able to think more clearly.

The people who lived on the street, which was lined with thick maple trees on each side, didn’t seem to mind her going through their trash, as long as she put everything back the way she found it. One trasher didn’t do that and he was run off. He’d rummage through the bags and leave trash strewn on the sidewalk. She hadn’t seen him in this part of town since. She preferred this area. It was an older section of town, crowded with old homes that people took care of. Not like Queen Street or, worse yet, Princess Street, where the homes were falling down and the trash was junk that even she wouldn’t want.

Sometimes, if the Maple Street folks had something they thought she might want, they’d leave it in an open cardboard box instead of buried in a bag. It was easier for her to find. That’s how she found the pillow she carried around in her metal shopping cart. It sat in a cardboard box, all by itself. She hadn’t noticed until later that it still had the store tags attached to it.

That was the night she noticed a woman peeking through drawn curtains on the second floor. It was as if she had been waiting for the old woman, watching to see if she found the pillow. Thinking about the pillow reminded her that she needed a new one since hers had been stolen.

The old woman pushed her cart down the sidewalk, stopping to look inside the blue recycling bins that lined the street and check any cardboard boxes. No sense in going through bags of wet trash if she could find what she was looking for inside a recycling bin or cardboard box.

She stopped in front of the house where she had found her Christmas surprise. It was the last house on the right in the first block, a wooden Victorian with a wraparound porch and intricate gingerbread.

At one time, the neighborhood had been filled with Victorians, but over the years the homeowners had removed the gingerbread and covered the outside with siding. The old woman figured it was because the wooden Victorians were too much work to maintain. But not this homeowner. He took care of the house. Every few years, she’d see a man on a ladder painting. Few people painted the outside of homes anymore. People went for convenience, even when it meant losing the charm.

She looked around. The man must be out of town. Or had forgotten to put out his trash. There were no bags and no blue recycle bin.

When the old woman came to the stop sign, she stopped to catch her breath. Her bones were creaky and tired and all she really wanted to do was crawl into her sleeping bag. She crossed the street and went down the other side. She didn’t find a toothbrush, but she did find an old sponge. She figured she could rip off a piece of the sponge and jab a stick into it. It wasn’t as good as a toothbrush, but it would do until she found one. The old woman was used to making things work.

By the time she got to the end of the street, she was laboring for breath. It was getting harder and harder to get around and she cursed her lungs. They weren’t holding up as well as the rest of her, she thought.

On the way back to the cemetery, she had to stop every block or so to rest. By the time she walked into the shed, she was too tired to even open her sleeping bag. Instead, she collapsed on top of it.

Peter

When Peter pulled into his driveway, it was nearly midnight. Despite coming home earlier than he had planned, he decided to still take the next day off. He’d use the time to think about his plan. He hoped to start the new year with a firm timeline for launching his business. Now that he had decided to jump off the cliff, he wanted to make sure he wasn’t headed for jagged rocks below. He was willing to take chances, but he wanted the odds to be in his favor.

He grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and drank it while he unpacked. He thought he’d fall into bed when he got home, but his mind was restless, thinking about everything that had happened. Running into Willow. The interview. Willow. His decision to open his own office. Willow.

Channing, he thought. Her last name was Channing.

Before he could forget her name again, Peter popped open his lap top and typed W-i-l-l-o-w C-h-a-n-n-i-n-g.

He ran his fingers through his hair. He laughed. No wonder she’s so good. She’s a concert violinist.

He found tons of information online. He learned that she played all over the world, wasn’t married, had one child, Luke, who died when he was four. That’s who’s buried in the teddy bear grave.

He saw that she had an upcoming Christmas concert locally and went to the theater’s website and bought a ticket. At least he knew he’d see her at the concert, even if it was from seat 105 in row O.

Peter hung up his shirt in the closet and noticed the box of Camilla’s CDs he had stashed away after she died. He had planned to get rid of them, but couldn’t bring himself to discard something that had meant so much to her.

He carried the box to his bed and looked through the CDs, one stack at a time. He found what he was hoping to find in the third stack. His heart skipped a beat. It was a CD of Willow’s. She was dressed in a sexy black dress and heels, holding her violin by the neck in one hand and her bow in the other. Her hair was windblown. She looked so damn beautiful, he thought. Her name, Willow, was written in red script on the CD cover.

He flipped the CD over and looked at the songs. His eyes fell on “A Lullaby for Luke”. He popped the CD into the player and sat on the bed. The music, the beautiful music he had heard in the cemetery, filled the room. He closed his eyes, picturing her playing in the cemetery in front of the teddy bear grave. He listened to the lullaby over and over.

Willow

Willow closed the hospital door. She took a deep breath and her lips trembled as she looked at her father who lay on the bed, covered up to his neck with a white sheet.

“Oh, Daddy,” cried Willow, rushing to his bedside. She leaned over and kissed his cold forehead. She pulled the vinyl chair in the corner as close to the bed as it would go. She sniffed.

“I’m so sorry, Daddy. I thought we’d have more time. There are so many things I want to tell you. So many things I want to say and now I’ll never have the chance. Damn God! First Luke; now you. Why do I lose everything I love?”

She leaned over and buried her face in his side. Moments with her father flashed before her. The two of them riding the elephant at the circus. Him sitting in the front row, sticking out his tongue, trying to calm her nerves when she walked on stage for her first violin recital. Getting yelled at for missing curfew.

“I hope you know how much I love you,” she sobbed. “You were always there for me. You always believed in me. I’m sorry for all of the times I disappointed you. Thank you for loving Luke and not judging me.”

Willow remembered the day she learned she was pregnant. Her mom was visiting and insisted that she get a check-up. She could see that Willow wasn’t feeling well.

“Mom,” said Willow, after she got home from her doctor’s appointment. “I found out why I haven’t been feeling well.”

Willow’s mom placed her hand to her heart. “What is it, Willow? Is everything OK?”

Willow took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”

Willow’s mom hugged her. “Thank God, Willow. I thought something was wrong, but this is something to celebrate. I’m going to be a grandma.” She pulled back to look at Willow. “The father?”

“He’s not in the picture,” Willow said.

“Oh, I see. Are you OK with that?”

Willow nodded. “It’s for the best.”

Willow’s dad never asked about Luke’s father, even though Willow knew he wanted to know who got his little girl pregnant but wasn’t man enough to do what was right. And Willow just didn’t have it in her to tell them what happened. She figured they would never understand. She wasn’t even sure she did. But she knew that she and Dan came together and it was beautiful. They were able to give one another something they both had been searching for, even if it was for just two nights. She would never think of it as something cheap.

Willow found her father’s hand under the sheet and cradled it in hers. “I’ve been struggling, Daddy. Really struggling. You always said that everyone has a gift and that the violin is mine. But it’s cost me so much. I need to know what I should do with the rest of my life. I’ve asked God for a sign, but there hasn’t been any. I feel so lost, Daddy. Even my music doesn’t bring me as much joy as it once did. I want to feel what I used to feel, when Luke and you were alive and my music touched the world and made people happy. I want that back, but I don’t know how to get it back.”

The Old Woman

The old woman shivered. She opened one eye and then the other. She had fallen asleep on top of the sleeping bag, too tired to crawl inside the night before. She wondered what time it was. She wished she had her Cinderella watch; it was in the cart that was stolen. It was one of the prized possessions she had found while trashing. Half of the blue band was gone, but it kept time just fine.

She sat up and ran her tongue over her teeth. They were caked with grim. She never let them get this dirty. She never let her body get this dirty. But she no longer had the energy to take care of her body like she once did. A daily visit to a bathroom with a sink was all she needed to clean herself. But lately, she lacked the energy to do it. She tried to mask her odor with body spray she found, but it made her smell like a strawberry and she wasn’t sure that was any better.

She stood and checked to make sure that the shoebox filled with her Christmas surprise was still there. She didn’t know what she would have done if that box had been in her cart when it was stolen.

She slipped her hands into her coat pocket and felt the hinges she had found. She wrapped them in a piece of toilet paper. She would leave them on top of the rock when she put the key back underneath it. She knew the caretaker would find them. Whenever she had something to leave for him, that’s what she did. And when she returned at the end of the day, it was always gone.

She hoped he liked the hinges. She wished she could have found the screws that went with them, but she hadn’t. Even so, she figured someone like him, who specialized in fixing things, probably liked hardware. These were splattered with white paint, but she knew he could make them look new again. Once when she came home, she found the shed had been painted. She never thought her shack could look so grand. It could use a new coat now, she thought, wondering if it was on the caretaker’s to-do list.