29. Niles

Chapter twenty-nine

Niles

F rom center stage, I peered into the empty auditorium as my fourth-period class arranged the risers and brought the chairs and music stands from the classroom. Koa would assist in moving the piano after school. I didn’t trust fourteen- and fifteen-year-olds to its care and couldn’t do it safely on my own.

Not for the first time, I imagined a more prolific stage in a grander location than a high school. I thought of August, seated in his precious first chair, playing with the Chicago Symphony, oblivious to the destruction he’d left behind.

Then I remembered a time many months ago, after a different concert, when I’d kissed him in the back row of the auditorium. I stared at those same two seats, wondering where it had all gone wrong. Had that kiss been the catalyst of all this pain? Had I gone home that night and not turned around to see August reseating himself, might it all have been different?

“Mr. Edwidge,” Cody interrupted. “We can’t find the dolly for the timpani and drum set.”

I blinked from my daze. “You’ll have to locate a custodian. It will be in the storage room, and you’ll need the keys. Move them carefully, please. They cost nearly as much as your tuition.” Not true but a lie to promote caution didn’t hurt. Cody nodded and ran off.

He and Constance were glued at the hip. I imagined August would have been stressed about their blossoming love, but I wasn’t confident in my assessment of the man anymore. For all I knew, he didn’t care. Besides, young love came and went with the seasons, so Constance and Cody’s relationship likely wouldn’t last. By next year, she might find someone else.

“Mr. Edwidge,” came a shout from overhead in the booth. “Can you help us with the soundboard?”

I glanced up, shielding my eyes against the overhead lights, and found Samantha and Donny peering down from the small window. “Find Matthew. He knows how to hook it up and set the levels.”

“Mr. Edwidge,” this from a puzzled Nadine at the back of the stage, “is this curtain supposed to be opened or closed?”

“Closed. Trinity, you’ll need to bring the chairs closer together, or we won’t all fit. Nice and snug.”

A tug on my sleeve had me turning. Constance.

“What’s up?”

She handed me the sheet music I’d been practicing for an eternity, the same piece she’d been helping me perfect for weeks. It had a long way to go before it would be stage-worthy. My previous ambition had faltered.

“I don’t think I’ll be tackling that one tonight. I’m not ready.”

She nodded and thrust it into my hands, forcing me to take it. I’d been debating not performing at all. A newfound sense of humiliation had me second-guessing myself. For years I’d opened the shows, but how pitiful, how pathetic. It proved nothing. It was the sign of a desperate man seeking approval.

Parents still complained. Dr. McCaine still tried to give my job away.

But the anguished look in Constance’s eyes changed my mind. She’d experienced enough disappointment for one lifetime. I would play if she wanted me to, even if it painted my flaws in red ink. I had enlisted her help and wanted her to know I valued all she’d done to get me this far.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

A faint smile touched her lips. You’ll be amazing , she signed.

The show opened at six. With the dimming of the houselights, a hush settled over the audience. A spotlight appeared center stage with my entrance. I stopped in its aura and peered at what I knew to be a large crowd. The blinding lights shining in my eyes obscured faces. I could make out forms, but nothing more. The farther back from the first row, the less distinct their images.

I spoke, thanking everyone for coming, reminding them of the house rules against food and beverages, the courtesy of not having their phones on, and the law against recording the performance.

As was the custom, I sat at the piano, Gaspard de la Nuit taunting from the rack. Constance came on stage to turn pages and offered a reassuring smile. I smiled back but couldn’t help but imagine Ravel and August sharing a drink and cringing over what was to come.

Choosing the piece was insanity, but the presence of the young girl at my side encouraged me to take the plunge.

Was my playing perfect? No. I fumbled once in a random spot that had never tripped me up, but I continued, covering the error well.

Did I manage the transitions between movements? Miraculously, yes. For the first time ever, I crossed those bridges without making a mistake.

I played the piece to completion. As I bowed and took my place at the conductor’s stand, Constance gave me an approving nod. The students filed in to take their seats as a nugget of pride warmed my chest.

The concert progressed smoothly with duets, solos, and several ensembles. The burst of applause at its conclusion reminded me how much I loved my job despite the constant shadow of inauthenticity hanging over my head.

Any attempt at maintaining professionalism went out the window the second the houselights came up. Students flowed from backstage to greet parents they hadn’t seen in ages. I stood off to the side, observing the commotion, the loving embraces and claps on the back.

Constance joined me, standing close. She wasn’t my daughter, but she belonged to the man I loved, and over the past few months, I drew strength from her and she from me.

“You did great.”

You too , she signed.

I would need to mingle and talk to parents at some point, but I wasn’t ready. Content on the sideline, I listened to the buzz of indistinct conversations, of students’ energetic chatter and parents’ layered praises, when an off-sounding noise caught my ear.

Constance grabbed my arm before I could figure out what I’d heard. But the sound came again, quiet and raspy, its tone flat yet inflected.

“Daddy. It’s Daddy.” Constance pointed at the same moment I realized the noise had come from her mouth, and they were words.

Stunned at hearing her speak for the first time, it took her shaking my arm to understand the meaning behind what she’d said.

“Look.”

I followed where she gestured, and there in the back row, exactly where he’d sat at the Christmas concert, where we’d shared an intimate moment, was August, aiming a nervous smile in our direction.

He waved, and Constance ran. For a moment, I thought she would tackle her father to the ground and beat him black and blue from anger, but she dove into his arms, nearly knocking him down, and wrapped her limbs around him in a tight embrace. Then, she buried her face in his neck and cried.

My shock mirrored August’s. Mine from having discovered his presence, and his, I thought, from the reception he’d received from his daughter. He, too, must have expected abuse, not love.

Suddenly nervous, I made my way toward them, wishing I could find the anger I’d harbored in his absence but discovering nothing but longing and love in my heart. Was he back for good or to officially say goodbye?

By the time I reached the rear of the auditorium, Constance was on her feet again, peering up at her father with such heart-wrenching anguish I wanted to reach out and protect her, which was stupid. He was her father.

Constance touched the scarf covering her neck and spoke, the words rough and toneless, as clear as she could make them, but audible and unmistakable. “Don’t leave. I’ll talk. Please don’t go, Daddy. I want you here.”

It was August who cried then, and it looked like his knees might buckle. Fat tears spilled from his eyes as he looked at his daughter in awe. He cupped her face. “I’m staying, baby girl. I promise. Forever and ever.” Then his gaze shifted to me, and he said it again. “I’m staying.”

Constance fell into his arms and remained there for a long time. August hugged her tight, chin resting on the top of her head. Our time apart no longer mattered. If Constance could forgive and forget, if she could trust in August’s return, how could I do less?

He held out a hand, encouraging me to take it. When I did, he drew me into their embrace, so Constance was snug between us, and the dynamic did not pass me by. We’d become a unit. A shaky family in the making.

August whispered in my ear. “I love you, Niles. I know I hurt you. I know you’re mad. Forgive my extended absence. It wasn’t without purpose. I swear. You’ll know the reason soon enough.” Without reticence, he kissed my temple in front of an auditorium full of parents and students. When I faced him, shocked at the gesture from this once reluctant man, his mouth shamelessly landed on mine.

A heady rush of blood swamped my veins. When we came apart, he said it again as he brushed a thumb over my cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too, you bastard.”

He chuckled. “I deserve that.”

“I expect a full explanation.”

“You’ll get one.”

After an extended period where the three of us simply existed, I pulled free. “I have to mingle.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Take your time.” Before I could back away, he caught my hand. “Your playing was brilliant, by the way. I couldn’t have done better myself.”

“Don’t fluff my feathers, Maestro.”

“I’m not. You shine on stage.”

Constance’s smile seemed to agree.

My talent and August’s were incomparable, but I graciously accepted the compliment.

It took forty minutes to clear the auditorium. Forty minutes to chat with parents and congratulate students on a job well done. I found Constance and August in the music room, the former grinning ear to ear as the latter fumbled through a series of rough sign language gestures.

“I’ve… been… learning.” August slowly made the signs as he spoke. “It’s… harder than it… looks, but I’m… getting there. If you sign slowly… I might understand now.”

Constance pushed his hands down and touched her throat. “I’ll talk.”

He cupped her face. “Only if you’re comfortable. I won’t get mad anymore. I was wrong to insist. How have you been? I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too. I don’t want to perform anymore. I want to be a music teacher like Niles. Is that okay?”

My heart about melted, but I bit my lip, waiting to hear how August would take the news.

“Of course it’s okay. You can be whatever you want to be. I’ll support you regardless, and a teacher is an amazing career choice.”

“Mom will be mad.”

“Mom doesn’t get a say in your future. Only you get a say.”

August noticed me in the doorway, and we shared a smile. “Did you hear that? My daughter is going to be a music teacher someday.”

“I heard.” Constance and I shared a smile. “It’s a rewarding profession, and she’ll excel at it.”

August’s features softened. Maybe he read the hesitation in my body language. “I’m back for good, Niles.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. I’ll be staying at the cottage for now, but I’m house hunting in Peterborough. I sold my condo in Chicago.”

“What about the symphony?” Constance asked.

“I quit.”

Her eyes grew as wide and round as my own.

“You quit?” I stepped into the room and joined them. “What will you do for work? You said—”

“I know. It’s part of the reason I had to leave for a while. I had to… organize an alternative. For now, I won’t work at all, at least for anyone else.” He looked at Constance. “I’m going to take care of my daughter and focus on some unfinished projects. I’ve put a bug in the ear of the music director here in Toronto. I have solid references, so we’ll see what happens. In the meantime, I’ve… been assured a stable income.”

“How? You’re being elusive again.”

A mischievous look came into August’s eyes. “On purpose. Don’t make plans for Saturday evening. The three of us are going to Toronto.”

“For what?” I asked, brow furrowing.

“You’ll see. It’s a surprise. I’ve pulled some strings, and… I can’t say more. I do hope you’ll join me.”

Constance and I shared a puzzled look. Mutually agreeing, Constance said, “We’ll be there.”

***

“We have a lot to discuss,” I said when we were alone later that evening.

We had gone to dinner as a family, and after, August escorted Constance to her dorm room. I hung back, allowing father and daughter a moment to find their feet. His time away had nearly erased the teenage animosity, but I wasn’t foolish enough to think it gone.

Constance clung to her father, checking in regularly as though fearing he might vanish at any moment. Although she was too self-conscious to use her voice at the restaurant, she signed slowly enough to ensure August understood her words. The commendable effort didn’t go unnoticed. Constance glowed with pride and grew misty-eyed when her father understood her silent language. August, in turn, got emotional every time Constance spoke.

Returning to the cottage that evening proved difficult. Without Constance as a buffer, the painful weeks of August’s absence surfaced. He must have sensed it too. Pacing, August made a mess of his tie, constantly moving the knot askew and wedging a finger under the collar until it hung loose and off-center. Eventually depositing himself at the piano, he lifted the fallboard and ran a finger over the ivories.

I remained in the doorway, analyzing the situation, afraid to hope.

“How much damage has my absence caused?” August stared at his hands, emitting waves of discontent.

I considered, glancing distractedly about the room as though the answer might pop out from behind the couch or fall from a high shelf. The stagnant interior of the cottage spoke of dormancy, but memories of our winter together hung like ghostly impressions everywhere I looked.

“Nothing that can’t be fixed.”

August turned to face me. “I’ve made mistakes, Niles. With you. With Constance. I had a lot of time to reflect on those errors.”

“And what did you discover?”

He reached for his tie, thought better of it, tore it off completely and tossed it aside before settling with his elbows on his knees, fingers linked, focusing on the floor. “I discovered that on the big stage, under the spotlights, and in front of audiences numbered in the hundreds, I’m a lonely man. People idolize me, but they don’t know who I am outside my name and status. Heck, until recently, I didn’t know who I was either. I present different versions of myself to the world to fit an expectation, but I was never authentically me, and I didn’t realize how damaging such a thing could be to one’s psyche.

“Creative minds tend to come up with creative scenarios for what they perceive will be the outcome of particular situations. In doing so, I’ve made those outcomes scarier in my head. Reality has proven to be quite anticlimactic.”

“You’ve lost me.”

August glanced up from under a wary brow, meeting my gaze. “I told my musical director I was moving to Peterborough because I’d met someone while seeing to my daughter’s educational needs. Returning to Chicago about tore me in half. I told him that too. When he asked who she was, intrigued at the prospect that his first chair flutist, a man who’d sworn off relationships, was looking to settle down, I told him he was the music teacher at Timber Creek Academy, and I’d fallen in love.”

I absorbed the words, stunned silent for half a beat. “You came out to him?”

A slight nod. “To my entire ensemble. My parents too. Or rather, I confirmed my bisexuality had not gone away by ignoring it. They showed less enthusiasm for the announcement, as I presumed they might, but they know how to find me when it sinks in and they want to chat again. Plus, I’m the sole caregiver of their granddaughter, and they love Constance dearly. They’ll get over it.”

“And you’re moving here?”

“Yes.”

“To Peterborough?”

“When I find a place. Dr. McCaine may not be pleased I declined her offer, but she assured me the cottage was mine until I was ready to move.”

Instinctively, my overly sentimental heart wanted to extend an invitation for August to move in with me, but the impulsivity caught up with me in time, and I held my tongue. “Take your time looking,” I said instead.

“I will.”

“I’m glad you’re back.”

“Me too.”

The air grew thick with longing. It was there in his dark eyes. He wanted me to go to him, and I desperately wanted to step into his arms and forget the past two months.

“Will you stay the night?” His quiet words held hesitance. “I understand if you don’t want to.”

“Tell me you love me.”

August stood and approached. He took my hand. “I love you, Niles. Truly.”

“Tell me you aren’t going to leave again.”

He tipped his forehead against mine. “Never. Do you believe me?”

“Yes.”

“Will you stay?”

“Yes.” His mouth landed on mine, and the night evaporated into a culmination of longing and lust and love.