25. August

Chapter twenty-five

August

S omething was off with Niles. Every phone call and text I sent Sunday went unanswered. In the evening, he messaged an apology, stating he was unwell. It felt like a lie, and in front of the class Monday morning, every student noticed his absent spark, especially Constance.

Niles ran through scales with little enthusiasm and without the added dynamics or variations. He taught history with a dreary edge that triggered more than a few eyelids to droop. Twice, his distraction caused him to miss students’ raised hands.

I couldn’t concentrate. Niles had delegated the task of solo selection to me the previous week, trusting in my unique ability to match certain pieces of music to a student’s skill level. Instead, I spent the entire second period staring at Niles, reviewing everything that had happened recently in a failed effort to determine where I’d gone wrong.

By lunchtime, the first chance I might have had to inquire about his well-being, Dr. McCaine’s secretary summoned me to the office. Before answering the call, I waited for the music room to empty.

“How are you feeling?” I asked when the last student departed.

Niles distractedly shuffled through a stack of music on the conductor’s stand. “I’m fine. It was a tension headache. It’s gone now.” He smiled unconvincingly, resuming the task.

I stilled the anxious fidgeting and turned him to face me. Instead of a pair of luminous autumn sunsets, trouble sat on the horizon, casting deep shadows across his face. Their cause lay with me, of that much I was certain.

“Let’s go out tonight. Have dinner together. My treat. Anywhere you’d like.” I brushed a hand over the short beard covering his jaw, tipping his face so he couldn’t look away as I added, “And it can be somewhere romantic with wine and candles.”

He took longer to agree than usual, but with a strained smile, he nodded. “That sounds lovely.”

I kissed him, something I’d never done in the middle of a school day in the music room. Hovering over his mouth, I whispered, “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Perfect.”

I peered deep into his tormented eyes, but the truth remained hidden.

“I better see what they want with me.”

As I wandered to the administrative offices, I dissected Niles’s mood. Oddly, it reflected Constance’s from the previous day. Sullen and drenched in despair. Hers, I understood since it surrounded her mother and the custody arrangement the judge hadn’t allowed Chloé to fight.

Niles’s distress bewildered me. Things between us had progressed well, or so I’d thought.

“Maestro, please, come in.” Dr. McCaine waved a hand toward her private office, holding the door wide to allow my entrance. She’d been anxiously awaiting my arrival, or so she claimed.

Much of the faculty at Timber Creek held me in high regard, insisting on using the title Maestro no matter how many times I dissuaded them. Dr. McCaine was the worst, never failing to boast about my accomplishments to anyone who listened. It was why I’d had lunch with Niles most days, avoiding common staff areas where colleagues liked to congregate.

I took the proffered seat and touched my tie, hoping it wasn’t crooked or ill-knotted. Constance left the house before me that morning to meet with Cody, so she hadn’t been available to check me over before I’d walked out the door, a ritual I’d grown to appreciate.

Dr. McCaine slipped around the desk and sat, glancing once out the window. “Spring is on the horizon. I feel it, don’t you?”

“Indeed. It’s mild today.” Too early for buds, but the warm southern breeze had stirred the wildlife. Along the path from the cottage that morning, I’d spotted a single, red-breasted robin roosting on a low branch.

“And soon it will be summer.” Dr. McCaine folded her hands on the desk. “I presume you got the letter about the available dorm space for Constantina?”

“I did.”

And I’d stuffed it in a drawer, unsure of the correct course of action. I’d originally been told she would have to wait until the new school year to earn a spot. The early availability had sent my mind spinning.

“Excellent. We’re pleased to have her at Timber Creek.”

“She seems to have adjusted well.” Better than I’d hoped. She’d made friends, including a boyfriend, and had new hobbies that encouraged her to put her instrument down from time to time. It was all I’d wanted—to give her a chance at being a normal teenager.

“I’ve had a lengthy chat with the board of directors.”

“Oh?”

“We fear this dorm opening might accelerate your plans to leave us, and we have immensely enjoyed your presence here at Timber Creek. We consider ourselves truly lucky to have been graced with your presence.”

“Thank you. The honor is mine.”

“You are an exceptional educator, Maestro. Students and parents alike have raved about your masterful skill in the classroom. You bring a new layer to the learning environment they’ve never had before.”

I laughed nervously and touched my necktie. “I’m sorry, Dr. McCaine. Your flattery is misplaced. Mr. Edwidge is the true heart of the music department.”

She waved the comment off with a pff . “Nonsense. You own all the credit, and for that reason, the Timber Creek board of directors has an offer for you.” She plucked a neat package of papers, stapled at the corner, from a file I hadn’t noticed upon my entrance and slid it across the desk with a wide grin.

“What’s this?”

“A contract for a teaching position here at Timber Creek.”

I frowned, picking up the proffered pages and skimming. “Teaching position? I don’t understand. I’m not qualified to teach.”

“You are more than qualified, Maestro, and our music department would be the most prestigious in the country if you agreed to our offer.”

I set the papers down, shaking my head. “But you already have a more than suitable music teacher in Niles.”

“Maestro Castellanos—”

“August, please.”

“Augustus.” She laid a hand on the contract as though cradling a precious commodity. “I understand you’ve formed a friendship with Mr. Edwidge”—emphasizing the mister—“but here at Timber Creek, we aim to provide students with the highest education. Since opening our doors in nineteen seventy-four, we have ensured a level of instruction above and beyond any private institute across the country. We do this by employing the most qualified candidates.”

“And Niles is the most qualified.”

“Until now. Your education and background are far superior. Anyone can see that. You could provide the music department with something incomparable, unrivaled. It would elevate our institute to an even higher level than we already hold.”

“You’re wrong. I’ve never been to teacher’s college. I don’t know the first thing about instructing teenagers. In fact, pardon my language, but I’m rather shit at it. My tolerance level for their… conduct is nonexistent. Trust me. It’s been a constant struggle.”

She laughed as though I’d told a joke. “You’re modest. These things are trivial. It’s your mind we’re after. Your skills. These children don’t need parenting. They need to be educated to the highest degree possible.”

She turned the top few pages of the contract, spun it to face me, and pointed to an area midway down. “We’re offering you a competitive wage. Our finance team did some research, and I think you’ll find it comparable to your current earnings. Think about it, Maestro. Signing on with us, you’ll be nearby for your daughter. I understand you’ve been granted indefinite custody. Congratulations. I also understand Constantina is not quite in remission from her bout of cancer, so her health is fragile, and she needs constant monitoring. Wouldn’t you feel more comfortable being close to her during these difficult times?”

I blinked at the head of Timber Creek Academy, confused how she’d learned so many personal details when I’d kept a majority of them close to my chest. Before I could speak, she tapped the paper, drawing my attention to the offer printed in bold on the contract.

Blood whomped in my ears at the sizable sum.

Niles and I had never openly discussed finances, but I knew for a fact my income far exceeded a teaching salary. According to the contract, Timber Creek planned to not only match my overinflated income but exceed it.

Words escaped me as I took it in.

“Well?” she asked, a proud smile plastered on her face.

“You would so easily dismiss Niles based solely on our educational differences?”

“You have far more to offer our students.”

But I didn’t. If she’d spent five minutes in the classroom observing us, she would not be making this offer. I was meant for the stage, to perform or conduct large orchestras. I was meant to compose creative works of art. Imagining a life where I was in charge of an unruly bunch of ungrateful teenagers about made me want to vomit.

“And what of Niles’s contract?”

Dr. McCaine pressed her lips in a thin line. Based on the expression, I sensed she hadn’t expected resistance. Wasn’t I a thankless bastard, querying about topics that didn’t concern me.

“I can’t discuss the nuances of the agreements signed between the board and staff, but I assure you, Mr. Edwidge’s contract was created with this contingency in mind. There are… loopholes.”

“Loopholes.”

She pushed the contract toward me. “Take it home. Read it over. If you have questions, I’ll happily answer them. If you want to suggest changes or don’t feel the offer is generous enough, I have sway, and I’m sure we can work something out. Keep your daughter in mind, Maestro. This is an incredible opportunity.”

For whom? I wanted to ask but didn’t.

A hundred questions filled my brain, a tangled mess I couldn’t voice. Too caught up in what might happen to Niles, I took the contract and stood.

I didn’t want their job or money… but if I took it, I could stay.

I could live openly in Peterborough, where the world and judgment seemed far away.

Niles and I might have a chance as a proper couple. I could set my heart free. Love him openly and without fear.

Constance and I might develop a better relationship. I could monitor her health. I could be the dad I’d never considered being.

But no.

None of that whimsy would happen if I signed the contract.

If I agreed to their proposal, Niles would never talk to me again. Constance would hate me worse than she already did.

And I’d be stuck in a nothing town, lonelier than I’d ever been in my life.

***

I didn’t return to the music room after my meeting, heading home to the quiet, empty cottage to think. Home? Had the barely adequate cabin in the woods, which I’d vehemently disliked upon my arrival, become such in the past few months?

In a way, it had.

Tossing the contract on the dining room table, I sat at the piano. Music stirred my anxious soul, the same melodies that had kept me company since December. From seed to flower, the symphony had grown and matured. It was more or less complete. Having suffered through several rewrites and alterations, the result amounted to something beyond reckoning. Pride swelled my chest every time I sat down with it.

My agent called it a masterpiece and eagerly demanded we move to production and publication. Like always, I vehemently rejected the idea. My work was not to be published. If any low-scale orchestra could purchase the rights, if it was played on the radio or downloadable on music apps, it would lose what made it unique and special. It would become no different than any other piece of work.

But my agent’s enthusiasm energized my desire to return to the stage. I wanted to nurse my creation to life and plan for its first showing. I wanted to conduct the orchestra and give the world an elite preview of my masterpiece. My agent agreed to this alternative, but when asked for a time frame, I’d put him off, unsure what to tell him.

I leafed through several pages of the symphony, harmonizing certain parts on the piano, thinking of Niles, and reliving every second of the music’s nature. It represented a journey, every nuance attributed to shared moments with Niles. The ups and downs of our relationship denoted the tempo and articulation, crescendos and decrescendos, staccatos and runs. Like a pounding heart, the booming, thunderous basslines grew increasingly more intense. The airy trill of flutes and clarinets, featherlight, drifted effortlessly on a breeze. It was magical. Wonderous.

The symphony was my salvation. Never before had I felt so connected. So complete.

I stopped playing, staring at the notes inside my mind’s eye. It had all come together flawlessly, and the vivid picture it drew displayed something plainly evident. How had I not seen it before?

I had written a love story. Our love story.

The air left my lungs as I absorbed the profundity.

Blindsided yet again. Blindsided since day one.

I was a fool. I had never successfully kept my feelings for Niles at bay. Instead, he had sunk into my bones. He had become the very marrow at the center. To eject him would mean my demise.

But my life was incompatible with love.

Wasn’t it?

I left the piano, the unnerving realization of such strong emotions too unsettling to bear. With Timber Creek’s unrealistic offer on the table and the daunting prospect of permanent parenthood looming over my head, I departed the stuffy cottage and headed out into the cool afternoon to cleanse my thoughts.

Wool coat unbuttoned, hands lodged deep into its pockets, I wandered the mucky, snow-trodden trails of Timber Creek campus, searching the high branches of bare trees for chittering birds and squirrels, wondering how I’d ended up here.

My heart’s staccato rhythm fluttered like a butterfly’s wings against my ribs. Trepidation sent waves of anxiety through my veins, and my teeth chattered despite the coating of sweat dampening my skin.

How could I leave? I was supposed to leave. But at Timber Creek, I’d not only found love for the first time in my life, but I’d gotten to know the daughter I’d never wanted. Despite our complicated relationship, despite how she abhorred me most days, I couldn’t deny the powerful fight within me. To be a father. To protect her. To do right by her. To give her the best possible chance in life. I feared leaving her on her own, at the mercy of boys, cruel students, or, god forbid, further sickness.

But how could I stay? The only career I’d ever known waited patiently on the outskirts for my return. The symphony wanted— needed —to be brought to life, and I could never entrust it to another.

But, more pressingly, in no universe could I take Niles’s job. It would be an unfathomable cruelty.

I ended up lakeside. The calm, glassy surface of the water reflected the sun, blanketing the area in false warmth contrary to the temperature. The world melted into spring, glistening with hope and promise. But for whom?

A dry spot on the shore called to me. I sat on the rocky edge, peering at the scant houses on the other side, noting hints of green grass poking through the patchy snowmelt. In another month, flowers would push through the earth, trees would bud and leaf, and insects would return. It was a breath away. A hiccup. A heartbeat. With its arrival, the magical kingdom where I’d spent the winter would dissolve.

What was the right course of action?

Stay or go.

Torn, heart in a blender, I dug my cell phone from a pocket and stared at it for a long time, contemplating, debating, fearing I would make the wrong choice. But there never was a choice. I’d been set on a path, and my duty was to follow it.

In the end, I made three phone calls:

To my agent.

To the musical director and designate for the Chicago Symphony Orchestra.

And finally, to Dr. McCaine.

I only hoped Niles and Constance would forgive me.