14. August

Chapter fourteen

August

I knocked once on the closed bedroom door before opening it a crack. Constance stopped playing and lowered the violin to glare over her shoulder like I alone bore the responsibility for putting her in this prison cell. The warden invading her space.

God help me. It was only Monday, the first official day of Christmas break, and the white flag in my pocket screamed to be waved.

“I’m leaving. Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?”

A head shake.

“There’s a festival of lights in town. I thought we could—”

Another head shake, more adamant. Who was I fooling?

Sighing, I gestured to the music stand. “You should take a break. You’ve been at it all morning. It’s vacation. Don’t you have friends?”

Deadpan. She snagged her phone from a nearby table and wrote a message in her notes app.

Pretty sure you hate all my friends and have forbidden me to be within 100 miles of them.

“I never said… This is about that boy, isn’t it?”

An eye roll. Constance made a shooing motion.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me. I’m perfectly within my rights to be concerned over a boy. You’re fourteen. And for god’s sake, use words. Do you know what it cost me for a private speech therapist?”

She stamped a foot and stabbed a finger at the door, her features snarling even when no sound escaped.

“You will not talk to me that way.”

Without uttering a sound, she mocked my speech and took a stance, waiting for me to exit.

“Fine. Be that way.” My voice inched toward hostility. “Should I bother buying a tree? I get the feeling I’m the only one who will enjoy it. Another waste of money.”

Constance petulantly shrugged and faced the stand, reorganizing the sheet music. She did not have the gift of an eidetic memory like her father, so memorizing pieces took time. She had an ear for tone and could listen to a passage once or twice, picking out the notes on the piano or violin with relative efficiency, but she had to work at it. It was a stumbling block, nothing more. She persevered, determined to overcome any obstacle. If I wasn’t so pissed off, I might have been proud.

I tried a new angle, curbing my anger. “You could pick out your own gifts. We could go out for lunch. Whatever you want. The sky is the limit.”

No response. She wouldn’t be bought.

“If you stay home, you’re at the mercy of a father who doesn’t have a clue what to get you for Christmas.”

Nothing.

“Constance, I wish you would—”

She brought the bow to the strings and played, ignoring me altogether.

My phone rang from the kitchen, saving me from asking another redundant question—or shouting because my agitated nerves could only take so much nonsense. I closed the door and jogged down the hallway before the call went to voicemail.

The display read Rock Glen Haven , and I stalled, my finger halfway to answering. “Goddammit. Not now.”

More drama was the last thing I needed, but ignoring the call wasn’t an option since I was Chloé’s only family on this side of the ocean. We weren’t even family, but in October, when she’d asked me to be her emergency contact, I’d reluctantly agreed. What could I say? No? She was my daughter’s mother. Like it or not, I had an obligation.

Steeling myself, I connected the call, muttering a hardened, “Hello?”

“Hello, Augustus.”

Despite our distance, despite how radio waves bounced the cell signal from tower to tower to tower to bring Chloé’s voice into my living room, she sounded the same as always. Smoky, silky, and sexy, Chloé’s talking voice resonated much lower than her singing voice, laced with an Austrian accent that had diminished with her time in North America. It shocked people to learn she sang mezzo-soprano. Chloé’s voice had drawn me in all those years ago. It didn’t have the same effect anymore. If anything, it coursed a chill up my spine.

“What happened to no contact?”

“Relax. I’m not breaking the rules. I got permission. Special circumstances. It’s Christmas in two days. They’re having a social for families that morning. Tea. Snacks. It’s not much, but we’re allowed thirty minutes of visitation.”

Jaw clenched, I asked, “And?”

“And I want to see my daughter, Augustus.”

The muffled sound of a violin traveled from down the hall. I didn’t think Chloé could hear it but moved farther away, cupping a hand around the phone to block excess noise. No rules existed barring her from talking to her daughter, only my stubbornness.

“You’re not supposed to see her. That’s a court order.”

“Unsupervised. You could come too. Even if you don’t, this place is crawling with professionals. We wouldn’t be alone, Augustus, you know that.”

“It’s not a good idea.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m already having a hell of a time with her,” I snapped. “It will make it worse.”

Chloé grew quiet. A muffled voice over an intercom sounded through the phone, reminding me where she was and the reason for our current circumstances. Down the hall, Constance’s bow bounced when she raced over an especially difficult section of ascending and descending sixty-fourth notes. The conductor in me wanted to knock on the door and tell her to mind her grip because it was too tight. The father in me wanted to tear the bow from her hands and crack it in half over my knee, scream at her to go outside and be a child for god’s sake because she was fourteen and had her whole life ahead of her.

Then I remembered Niles and his unrealized dream. I imagined him at Constance’s age, wanting more and wishing his parents would believe in him. Unlike me, Constance hadn’t been tainted by her mother’s pressure. She’d thrived with it. But I knew what this life could do to a person.

“I’m sorry, Augustus. I know you didn’t want this.”

Regulating my temper, I asked, “How’s it going?”

“It’s harder than I expected, but I feel good… now… most days.” The music down the hall stopped, and silence bled through the phone line. “Can I talk to her?”

“She doesn’t talk.”

“She can listen. I have things to say.”

Constance’s bedroom door opened. Like a moth to a flame. Did she know? Could she sense her mother’s presence if only through a phone? She glanced down the hall, made eye contact, and vanished into the bathroom.

Relief flooded my veins.

“She’s not home,” I lied. “She made friends at school. She’s out with them.” I pictured auburn-haired Cody and debated telling Chloé our daughter had a boyfriend, but that would have been another lie since I’d forbidden it.

“Is she practicing?”

“No more than she wants to. I won’t force it.”

A haggard sigh. “Will you tell her I called?”

“No.”

“Will you bring her on Christmas?”

“I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”

“You’re angry.”

“Of course I’m angry.”

“She’s my daughter, Augustus. Please.”

“You lost your parental rights, so it’s my decision, and I said I’ll think about it.”

With nothing more to say, we got off the phone. Constance emerged from the bathroom and headed to the kitchen, rooting around the fridge. She inspected a bruised apple and put it back.

“Not much in there. I’ll hit the grocery store while I’m out.”

Abandoning the fridge, she checked two cupboards

“We can go grab pizza.” A last-ditch effort to earn her company.

She shook her head, signed something she knew I wouldn’t understand, and returned to her room, slamming the door.

The frayed threads of my control snapped. Anger boiled over. At Constance. At her mother. At my upended life. “For the love of god, use words,” I shouted. “Quit acting like you’re incapable. I’m sick of it. I want to have a normal conversation with my daughter. Is that too much to ask?”

She opened the bedroom door and slammed it a second time to get her point across, an unnecessary measure that infuriated me further.

“I gave up everything for you, you ungrateful brat!” Grabbing the car keys, my phone, and the remaining shreds of my sanity, I left the house before I said something else I regretted. Her skill at poking raw nerves trumped my ability to keep my mouth shut, but I should have bit my tongue. What I’d said was worse than cruel, and I was supposed to be the adult.

Peterborough bustled with Christmas spirit, of which I had none. I wandered a festively decorated street lined with quaint gift shops and cheery patrons carrying packages and sharing greetings. They rushed from shop to shop, merrily preparing for the upcoming holiday.

The scent of woodsmoke hung in the air, emerging from a chimney several blocks over. A charcoal cloud of smoke rose and dissipated in the low gray sky. The weak winter sun strained to heat the city, but the temperatures hovered below freezing.

Cars parallel parked on both sides of the road, windshields cleared of snow in an arc. Most wore thin layers of white on their roofs. An elderly gentleman shoveled outside a hobby shop, his knitted tuque sporting a fluffy pom-pom that bounced and nodded with his movements. Lampposts shimmered with garlands and bobbles. In the distance, the faint notes of Christmas carols. I couldn’t decipher from where they originated.

I wandered aimlessly, defusing, concocting Christmas plans only to dismiss them moments later, knowing Constance would hate each one. In a busy café, I ordered hot cocoa with a whipped cream topper and peppermint stick and took it to an unoccupied wooden bench on the sidewalk.

I hadn’t graced the music room at Timber Creek on Friday, choosing to stay home and work on the new composition instead. The one that wouldn’t let me go. The one that manifested itself only when in Niles’s presence. Meaningful and meaningless all in the same breath. I should ignore it. I had more important work to focus on. Commissioned pieces. But no, it was to be my downfall. The pull to writing it was insatiable.

I hadn’t seen Niles since the concert.

Since the kiss.

Since…

You need to pull your shit together if we’re ever doing this again.

Over and over in my mind. His words. The sensations. The blasted symphony wouldn’t stop.

I sipped the cocoa and licked the cream from my lips while staring at my phone, contemplating and weighing the pros and cons. Anticipatory notes danced in the back of my mind just thinking about him.

Setting my drink aside, I pulled up his name, typed, Now you have my number too , and hit send.

Our first text.

Minutes ticked by. Nerves turned my stomach soupy. Then, a reply. Hello, August. Are you fishing for conversation?

I smiled. Yes. Am I that obvious? Are you busy?

Getting ready to go to my parents’ for Christmas dinner. Joy of joys. What are you up to?

I glanced along the street in both directions. People with high spirits and sparkling energy raced about. A profound weight of loneliness sat on my chest. Inertia kept me rooted to the bench.

Nothing much. Better he thought of me relaxing at home than hiding from responsibility.

Instead of a reply, my phone rang.

“It’s hard to type and get ready at the same time,” he explained when I answered. “Can you chat?”

“I can.” His voice alone lifted my spirits. “Dinner with the family, huh? You don’t sound excited. I sensed sarcasm in your message.”

“It’s the one time of year my avoidance isn’t tolerated.” The buzz of an electric razor sounded over the line.

“You’re shaving again.”

The noise stopped. Niles chuckled. “Yes. Problem?”

Hesitation. “You… The beard was attractive. I liked it. It suited you. It was gone at the concert, and… I missed it.”

“I like it too. January. I shave to appease the masses at this time of year. First, the school and parents. The Christmas concert demands I play the part of a professional educator—or rather, Dr. McCaine does. I represent the whole school, don’t you know?” He huffed. “And second, my mother would have my head if I showed up to dinner looking sloppy. Beards are apparently messy. If it was up to any of them, I’d likely lose the hair too.”

“Don’t you dare.”

More chuckling. “Oh, I caught a vibe that you like it.”

I flushed, remembering the aggressive way I’d fisted it the other day while we were kissing. The memory of the soft strands tangled in my fingers had kept me awake at night, yearning for more. I glanced up and down the street with a nauseating fear that the pedestrians knew my thoughts.

Facing my attraction to Niles unnerved me, so I redirected. “Tell me, what does family Christmas with the Edwidge’s look like?”

Water ran as Niles laughed. “Oh, you don’t want to know.”

“I do.”

The water shut off. “All right. Hold on. I’m putting you on speaker so I can dress.”

The sound changed, and Niles explained. “Lots of wine is required to get through the endless discussions about the latest studies in neurology, or to endure my brothers arguing, tossing around opinions, and debating advances in medicine.

“Dad might regale us about an unprecedented surgery his team performed, how the odds were against them, and how their success would be recorded in textbooks and taught in classrooms. It will no doubt be something Andrew assisted with because he’s Dad’s prodigy and given to being lead surgeon on important cases.

“Mason will chime in with a surgical story or two of his own, trying to one-up Andrew, and Mason’s wife, who works in the same field, will augment that Mason’s accomplishments far exceed Andrew’s. Andrew’s wife, Eileen, will join the battle, and Dad will glorify the accomplishments of both his superior sons and tell them it’s not a competition, even though it’s always been a competition.

“Presley might divert to a medical malpractice case she’s fighting, which will encourage Mom to pitch in her two cents or talk about some law bullshit she’s been entrenched in lately.

“It will go on like this for the entire three-course meal, and by the time the pumpkin pie is served, I’ll be half in the bag from having used wine to bandage my feelings of inadequacy because I’ll have been ignored all night.

“At this point, seeing my inebriation, my father will decide it’s time to humiliate me and ask how school is going and are my little munchkins behaving because I’m a glorified babysitter in his eyes with no worthy education to speak of, and I certainly don’t contribute to society in any meaningful way. Perhaps if I taught at the university level, I would be more respected, but golly gee, that won’t happen unless I get a PhD, and have I considered a career change yet, and when am I going back to university?

“In the end, I won’t defend myself because I’ve already spent the past two decades fighting that war and I have nothing left to give, so I’ll pour myself more wine, smile, and tell him everything is great. He won’t hear me because he was never looking for an answer and will have already moved on to another topic.” Niles dramatically sighed. “The end.”

“Sounds harrowing.”

“The only thing that would make it worse is if I brought a date home, and no, I’m not extending a late invitation. I wouldn’t do that to my worst enemy.”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

The tone of the connection changed again, and I assumed I was no longer on speaker. “Same scenario except insert disapproving looks and an abundance of pointed referrals to my siblings’ heterosexual relationships and the lovely grandchildren they have produced naturally as god intended it to be done. Also, the aggravating insistence on referring to my date as a ‘friend’ lest the aforementioned grandchildren ask too many questions. We wouldn’t want to confuse them or have to explain anything untoward.”

“I see.”

“Do you?”

More than he knew.

Niles chuckled. “Hence why I tend to avoid family functions.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“So, what’s your story, August? What’s the root cause of your… repression? Are we still calling it that?”

I laughed when he failed to finish the sentence without a humorous inflection. “It’s a perfectly good word to describe me.”

“It made my night.”

“Good.”

“So? Nothing you want to share?”

“There’s not a whole lot to tell.”

“Come on. Out with it. I want to hear your story. I need to if we’re… exploring this further.”

“Are we… exploring it further?” A hopeful flutter tickled my ribcage.

“You tell me.”

The old man finished shoveling and went inside his shop. Across the street, a woman and two young teens struggled to rope an evergreen to the roof of their car.

I considered how to explain. “By the time I got to Juilliard, I already knew my interests were… versatile. I hadn’t had an opportunity to explore anything before leaving my country, so I was nineteen before I met someone proper.”

“A man. Say it. You met a man.”

“Before I met a man. Happy?”

“Go on.”

I drank the last of my cold cocoa and tossed the cup in a nearby trash can before continuing. “His name was Lincoln, and he was from New Zealand, studying abroad as well. He played trombone with astounding skill. He was formal. Shy. He, too, had never…” I left the words unsaid, and Niles didn’t insist I fill in the blank.

“This is hard for me.”

“You’re doing great. Keep going.”

“It was February of our second year when things got serious. We’d been secretly dating for a while. I invited him to come to Greece with me over summer break. He agreed. His family didn’t know he was gay, and mine had no clue I was bisexual, so we traveled as friends. We stayed with my parents, naively believing we could hide our relationship. I took him sightseeing every day, so we were rarely home, but we always managed to end up in the same bed at night.

“Our secret was quickly discovered. My parents asked Link to leave, and following his departure, I endured the one and only conversation I’ve ever had with my parents on the subject of my sexuality. They listened, and to their credit, they didn’t disown me, but my father pointed out how career-damaging it could be and implied as politely as possible that I should do my best to ignore these irregular feelings toward men. Being as I had sexual feelings toward women as well, he thought it prudent and more socially acceptable that I didn’t risk mine or the family’s reputation on boyhood silliness .”

“His words, I assume.”

“Yes.”

“So you buried it?”

“No. I repressed it.”

A chuckle. “Right.”

“You have to remember, Niles, I spent my entire life being molded and shaped by my father into the man you see today. The act of free will and choice had been figuratively beaten out of me at age three. Maybe earlier. I’m forty-one years old and still fear disappointing my father.”

“Have you ever outright defied his wishes?”

“Yes. Once. When he insisted I marry Chloé after I got her pregnant.”

“How’d that go over.”

“Not well, but since they wanted a relationship with their grandchild, they got over it quickly.”

“Is Lincoln the only time you’ve been with a guy?”

A group of high school students exited the café, two boys and three girls, giggling and jostling one another, eating sticky donuts. They couldn’t have been much older than Constance. This was what I wanted for her. Carefree youth, not endless hours running scales until her fingers ached. Sugar and laughter and innocence.

“No. I’ve… There’ve been a couple of men, but it’s been a long time, Niles.”

“How long?”

“Since Constance was born. News in the music industry caught wind of Chloé’s and my scandalous affair and Constance’s subsequent birth. Chloé was a prima donna, one of Austria’s finest, filling concert halls and recording albums. My career was beginning to flourish. I was making a name for myself. We were important figures in the industry. Having a child out of wedlock might seem normal here, but in some circles in Europe, it’s frowned upon. My face was everywhere. People knew who I was, where I was going, and the messy headlines associated with me. I was in the spotlight more than I wanted back then. I couldn’t risk being disgraced if the public found out my secret. My father’s warning echoed inside my head, louder than the music I used to try to drown it out. So I decided to let that part of me go… until I saw you.”

“Huh.”

A jingle of keys. A door closing. A car starting.

Apart from the tiny interjection, Niles said nothing.

“Niles?”

“I’m trying to decide what that means for us.”

“Oh.”

Could there be an us ? Not long-term. Didn’t he see that? My time here was temporary. I’d never been able to commit to a relationship with a woman, never mind that Niles was a man who’d made it clear he wouldn’t be shoved in a closet.

A car horn blared, startling me from my thoughts. A near fender bender a few dozen feet from where I sat drew people closer. Traffic stopped, but no one had been hurt, so the day quickly returned to normal.

“Are you outside?” Niles asked.

“Yes.”

“I thought you were at home.”

“I never said that. I’m in Peterborough.”

“What are you doing in the city?”

I thought of how I’d yelled at Constance before leaving the house, about the phone call from Chloé, about what should have been a festive day of Christmas shopping with my daughter. “Midlife crisis.”

“Again?”

I chuckled. “Forty-one’s a bitch.”

“Try forty-four. Where’s Constance?”

“At home hating me. She didn’t want to come. We were supposed to get Christmas decorations for the house and do some shopping, but hanging out with her dad is akin to scaphism.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s an ancient Persian torture technique. Truly terrifying. Look it up.”

“I think I’ll pass.” The smile in his tone was evident. “She’s a teenager, Auggie. I’ve told you. You can’t take any of this personally.”

Auggie. I closed my eyes, swept away by a cascading waterfall of singing clarinets. “I’m trying not to.”

“I’d invite you to join me at my parents’, but… Yeah… Please refer to the beginning of this conversation.”

“I’ll pass. You didn’t exactly sell it.”

“No. I wasn’t trying to.” A tension-filled silence engulfed the line. “I’m glad you texted.”

“Me too.” I wanted to see him. I wanted to revisit our moment in the auditorium, only slower.

“I’m going to have to let you go soon,” Niles said. “I’m almost at my destination. Trust me, I’d rather talk for the rest of the day than do this. Pray for me.”

It was my turn to laugh. “You’ll survive. Can I ask a question?”

“Go for it.”

“What does a fourteen-year-old girl want for Christmas?”

“Hmm… What kind of things does she like?”

“Music.”

Niles dramatically sighed. “I know that. Outside of music.”

“Oh. I don’t know. Reading maybe? She might only be doing it for class. I can’t be sure.”

“Does she have her ears pierced?”

“I… umm… I’m not… I’ve never noticed.”

“You’re hopeless.”

We both laughed when I agreed.

“Never mind. There’s an artsy gift shop called Kathleen’s Creations. I can’t remember what street it’s on, but you can ask around or look it up. She sells necklace charms and earrings. All of it’s homemade. She has a selection of musical instruments. Really beautiful. I was shopping for my niece earlier this week, and they caught my eye. I know there was a piano, and I’m sure there was a violin. You could get her a charm bracelet or a necklace.”

I liked the idea. Constance would too. “Thanks, Niles.”

“And as backup, get her a gift card for the movies. There’s a cinema where the teens like to go. She’s made some friends. Matinees are always fun.”

“I’ll do that.”

Getting off the phone proved difficult. We found more things to chat about. Less serious things. But before long, Niles arrived at his parents’, and we said goodbye.

“Good luck,” I said.

“I’ll survive. I always do.”