Chapter 2

Aspen- age 8

"Have you practiced yet?" Mom stuck her head out from the kitchen. "You know your father will be disappointed if you haven't worked on that piece." She wiped her hands on a towel as she moved into the living room. I sighed as I stood from the couch where I'd been reading. It was a rainy day, the perfect kind of day to curl up with a book.

"I will. I just wanted to finish this first." I frowned as I set the book aside and slowly made my way to the piano. I stared at the sheet music that was haphazardly askew on the stand. I'd been trying to learn this piece for the last month. Dad had signed me up for a music camp this summer, and the audition piece was hard.

"If you want to be the best, you've got to give it your all every day." She smiled as I sat down. She knew she'd won this battle. I wanted to be the best. I wanted to play Carnegie Hall one day, and this camp was the first step to getting there.

I slipped onto the bench and stretched. I popped my fingers, something my parents hated, and straightened the music. I positioned my hands over the keys, and slowly began to work my way through the first page. I had the melody down, but there were still chords that I was having trouble with. Part of it was the fact that my hands were child-size and some of these keys were impossible to reach. My pinky just didn't stretch as far as I needed it to, and I wasn't sure there was a way to change that other than waiting to grow a little. Mom grinned from the doorway as she watched me stumble through the piece. "You sound great. Keep working at it." She turned to go back to her baking.

I twisted my lips in frustration as my fingers stumbled over the ending. I'd been trying to nail this for the past three days. "Grrr!" I pounded the keys. "I'm never gonna get this." I tossed my head back, eyes closed, and growled again.

"Not with that attitude." My father's voice sounded from behind me.

My eyes flew open and I turned his way with a guilty look on my face. "Sorry, Dad. This is just…" I pounded the keys again. "Too hard."

"It just takes practice." He smiled. "Keep at it. You'll get it."

It took me a week to finally ‘get it', but I did. It was a warm afternoon when Dad came home that week, and as he stepped into the living room, I filled it with beautiful music. My hands danced over the keys, and the light airy melody floated through the air. Mom was leaning against the doorway listening, and Dad nodded in appreciation for my hard work.

"I did it." I grinned as I fist pumped the air.

"Yes, you did." Dad strode over and stopped right behind me. "I think this audition is going to be only the beginning."

"The beginning?" I furrowed my brow as I looked up at him.

"The beginning of your future. You have a gift Penny, and I intend to make sure you use it." He patted my shoulder before turning to riffle through a folder on the bookcase nearby. It took him a minute, but he produced a piece of paper. "This will be next." He moved closer and handed it to me.

My eyes went wide. "Dad…" I swallowed as I looked at the piece he handed me. The measures were filled with running eighth notes and the key had five sharps.

"Don't tell me you can't. You can, it just requires practice." He handed me the piece.

"But what if I can't?" I stared at it, the notes blurring together, the idea of trying to play it causing me to spin out in my head.

"You're supposed to challenge yourself at camp. When you get in, this will be your recital piece." He said it so matter-of-factly that I knew he meant business. This wasn't a suggestion or a ‘try it and we'll see'. This was a ‘you're going to learn this because I know you can' type look.

"Yes, sir." I took the music and tucked it into my bag. I was auditioning tomorrow, and I needed to have the piece I wanted to master with me for approval.

I stood in the living room, rocking on my toes, music bag in hand. My tummy felt as if it were in my throat, and it must have been a million degrees in the house. School was ending in another week for summer break, and if I got into this camp, I'd be spending a month in New York City.

"Ready?" Dad came down the stairs and paused to look at me.

"If I said no, would I get in trouble?" I half-smiled to cover my nervousness.

"You've got this." He grinned as we walked outside together. My dress shoes clacked on the sidewalk as we made our way over to the garage where my dad stored his car. We didn't use it much, but there were times that he needed to travel for work. Sometimes orchestras needed a fill in and he'd have to drive to meet them.

"Do you think they'll like me?" I stared down at my music bag. It swung between us as we walked.

"They are going to love you," he assured. My plaid skirt swished around my knees, and I tugged at the blouse my mom insisted I wear.

The drive was long, and I fell asleep at one point, but Dad woke me just as we were approaching the city. "We'll celebrate later once they let you in." He patted my knee that was bouncing with nervous excitement.

"Ice cream?" I questioned.

"Ice cream, cake, candy… whatever you want." He smiled. "They have a candy store here that you'd like." He pulled into a garage and took a ticket from the attendant. We drove up several levels looking for a spot before he parked.

"Whatever I want?" I pressed my lips together. "Could we see Carnegie Hall?"

"If there isn't a performance today. We'll try."

I danced with excitement. This was a dream of mine, and even if it never came true, just being in the building was enough.

"This way." He held out his hand and led me down to the street. We walked several blocks until we saw a sign informing us that auditions were being held inside. The giant glass doors on the concrete building made it look like a castle. I stared up in complete awe as Dad opened the door and led us inside. "This way," he repeated as he tugged my hand. I stumbled slightly and watched as other people pointed and whispered.

Dad nodded at some of them and smiled as we stopped in front of a table where three gentlemen were sitting.

"Name?" The one in the middle smiled.

"Yes." Dad nodded at me. "Aspen Vaughn. I'm her father…"

The man held up his hand to cut him off. "We know who you are, Julian." Dad smiled softly and guided me to the side. "You'll wait in there until you're called." He directed us to somewhat of a holding space.

"I'm nervous," I whispered as I looked around. Most of the boys and girls looked much older than me. I heard one girl telling her mom that she didn't think she'd get in because she was only twelve. I swallowed as I bounced my knees. What chance did I have if she thought she wouldn't get in?

"Aspen?" A woman wearing a black dress stood at the door, waiting. She had a kind smile, and it eased my nerves slightly.

"You've got this, Penny," Dad whispered as he squeezed my shoulder gently.

I walked slowly towards the lady, and looked back at my dad as we disappeared through the door. "We're going down the hall and to the left." She pointed. I followed her, and when she opened the door, there was a piano in the middle of the stage. My shoes clicked as I walked over to the bench and took a seat. I placed my music on the stand and took a deep breath. As I held my hands over the keys, I closed my eyes and whispered, "You got this."

The lights made it difficult to see who was watching, but it didn't matter. I knew that this moment was going to define my future. I needed to play like I'd never played before, and hope that it was good enough. I slowly released a breath and lowered my fingers to the keys. They moved as if they remembered every note. The music came with ease, and as I approached the end, I swelled with pride. I'd done it. I was flawless.

As the last note echoed through the auditorium, I stood and took a bow. I clutched the music in my hand and made my way to the front of the stage. I could see the outlines of the gentlemen sitting in the seats. They were whispering among themselves and nodding. I didn't want to interrupt, so I waited for them to notice me.

"You're Julian Vaughn's little girl, right?" one of the men called out.

"Yes, sir." I rocked on my feet.

"Did he teach you to play that? It sounds like his style." I bit my lip as I nodded.

"I have others prepared if you need to hear something else," I offered. I was bracing for them to tell me I was too young, didn't have enough experience, or just needed more practice.

"That was fine." They began whispering again, and I knew that in that moment, I wasn't getting in this year.

"We'll see you in two weeks, Miss Vaughn. Welcome to the Juilliard Conservatory Summer Program."

"I did it?" I squeaked.

"You did it." The one on the right chuckled. "Come back with that much passion. We need more students like you."

"I will." I grinned as I ran off stage and down the hallway. I needed to tell my dad.

I burst into the waiting area and Dad's head snapped up. "I did it." I squealed as I rushed towards him. Just as I reached him, he stood and I jumped into his arms. "I'm in." I grinned as I wrapped my arms around his neck.

"I knew you could do it." He pressed a kiss to my forehead. "Penny Girl, you are going to be a star." He spun us in a circle before placing me on the ground. "Let's go celebrate."

I grabbed my music bag along with the papers we'd be given to finish filling out my information and we walked back out on to the street. It was a beautiful sunny day, and I didn't think anything could make me any happier.

"Thanks for doing this." My dad smiled at a man as we walked through the doors of Carnegie Hall. The lights were turned down, and as we approached a set of doors, they slowly became brighter.

"No problem, Mr. Vaughn." He winked as he disappeared.

"Follow me." Dad motioned at me as he stepped through a side door. We meandered down a long hallway, and then he held open another door and let me go ahead of him. It was that moment that made this day the best in life thus far. My feet slowly shuffled forward, and I stared at the massive orchestra hall in front of me. I was on stage. The stage. The one place I promised myself I would be when I made it.

"Close your eyes." Dad stood behind me. "Can you hear them?"

Silence surrounded us.

"Hear what?" I whispered.

"The great musicians who have played here. Every time you leave a stage, you leave part of yourself behind. Bits and pieces of who you were, who you are, are left in the air. Can you hear them now?" He leaned down beside my ear.

I nodded. "Yes." I stood there for quite some time in the silence, just letting the weight of the moment surround me. It was something I'd learn to appreciate more as I got older, but it was these times that bonded my dad and me. We shared something special that you couldn't really put into words, but music… music defined us; music explained us; it made us.

Chapter 3

Aspen- age 13

My life began to revolve around practice schedules. It was normal, and I really didn't notice that other kids my age were different. I'd always lived this way, so I didn't ask for things like school dances, or ballet lessons, or riding my bike with friends. My days consisted of going to school, coming home to practice, and going to bed. I had time to unwind, but music occupied my every thought. If I wasn't playing, I was looking for the next piece I wanted to learn. I'd sit under the tree in our back yard and spend hours searching through my father's music books. I wanted a challenge, and the bigger the challenge the bigger the thrill. I was past the simple melodies and working toward complex chords and tempos that rivaled professionals. My dad told me at one point that he would need to hire someone to teach me because I'd soon surpass him. I knew that would never happen. He was my dad, and I knew he was the best. To say I was better would be a lie.

"Aspen?" my mom called from the kitchen window. "Dinner will be ready soon." She yawned and dropped her chin.

"I'll be in in a minute," I replied as I scanned the page I was on. This piece looked promising, and I couldn't wait to show my dad.

I stacked the books and carried the pile inside. Mom was in front of the stove, stirring something. She seemed tired. She'd been really tired lately, but I hadn't asked why. "Do you need any help?" I placed the stack of books on the piano bench.

"I'm ok. Just go get cleaned up." She motioned to the stairs that led to the bedrooms. I smiled before rushing upstairs. As I rounded the corner, Dad came in the front door.

"I picked out something for the summer recital." I grinned as I barreled up the stairs.

"Can't wait to see what it is." He laughed as I disappeared. I could hear muffled voices as he talked to Mom, but I didn't know what they were saying.

I happily washed my hands before skipping down the steps and making my way to the kitchen table. "What's for dinner?" I glanced around. It smelled really good.

"Have a seat." Dad motioned to my chair. He brought the pot from the stove over and set it in the middle of the table. After helping Mom sit down, he began serving us.

"What's wrong?" Genuine concern filled my voice. Mom sighed and Dad rubbed her shoulder. "I'm not eating until you tell me." I crossed my arms over my chest. I may be mature for my age, but I'm still a teenager.

"Your mom went to the doctor last week because of how tired she's been, and they ran some tests." He glanced at Mom and placed his hand on hers, squeezing it in the process. "She has a problem with her heart."

"But they can fix it, right?" I sat up straighter.

Mom and Dad looked at each other. "Yes, but it's more complicated than that."

"How so?" Panic set in. I started sweating, bouncing in my seat, trying anything to make this a dream. I needed to wake up.

"Your mom was sick a lot as a little girl. One of those illnesses weakened her heart. We didn't know this until now. Turns out, it has been working hard, too hard, all these years, and now it just can't anymore."

"What does that mean?" I started to cry. I could feel the hot tears leaking from my eyes. I swiped them away as my lip quivered.

"It means she needs a new one." I stood, shoving my chair back, and rushed over to fall into my mother's arms.

"This isn't real." I sobbed.

"The doctor gave me medicine to help, but I need to rest a lot." Mom ran her fingers through my hair. "I'm going to be ok," she reassured. Part of me wanted to believe her, but another part of me knew that her chances were slim.

I spent most of the summer at home that year. I skipped music camp, which upset my music teacher, but I think Dad understood. I wanted to soak up every moment. Every day was a gift, and I didn't want to take any of them for granted. Mom passed away the week before Thanksgiving. The end was rough. She began sleeping most of the day, and the times she was awake, were brief. She said her favorite moments were when she was sitting on the couch in the living room listening to me play. I worked hard that summer. I learned several of her favorites, and Dad and I played several duets. I let music speak for me. The melancholy melodies helped me express what words couldn't. Some days, I'd play until my hands cramped and then curl up beside her and we'd cry together. On her last day, she requested a piece that Dad had always played for her. It was a waltz, and she always said she could see them dancing in her mind. I'd never tried to play it, but I knew I needed to do this. I sat at the piano, placed the music in front of me, and took a deep breath. My fingers moved painlessly across the keys. The tune was light and brought a smile to my face. I, too, could see my parents moving about a ballroom waltzing to the music. When I finished, I sighed with pride before turning to get my mom's approval. When I looked over, she was slumped on the couch, her eyes closed, and a slight smile on her lips. I knew that was it. She wanted to dance into the afterlife and be happy.

Dad and I spent most of the night reminiscing as we cried together. It was the first time I'd seen my dad cry. He's always been the rock, but as we picked music for Mom's service and whispered memories of her through our grief, I knew I'd be ok. It would take time, but we'd help each other. As cruel as it was, we'd had a warning. We were able to prepare and accept what had happened.

The day of the funeral was a beautiful fall day. The sun was shining and there was a crisp breeze in the air. The leaves danced, a complete contradiction to the way I felt. Our house had been quiet for days. Dust was beginning to settle on the piano, something that was unheard of in our home. Dad hadn't wanted to play, and I didn't out of respect. He was playing at the funeral, and I could tell by the look on his face that it was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do.

When I came downstairs in my black dress, Dad was standing in front of the window, staring out at the street. He looked lost. His dark suit fit him perfectly, and his hair was combed neat as always, but I could see the turmoil in his eyes. There was a storm brewing, and I wasn't sure how to help him through it. "I'm ready when you are," I murmured as I touched his arm. He nodded and we slipped into our coats and began the three block walk down the street to the church.

When we arrived, people were already seated and quietly whispering to each other. White lilies, Mom's favorite, covered the wooden casket placed at the front of the church. I squeezed Dad's hand in support as we stepped through the door. We made our way to the front and took a seat. The minister came in, nodded to us, and then took his spot at the pulpit.

As the minister began reading scripture, I kinda zoned out. I wanted to be anywhere else at the moment, and I still hadn't really accepted that this was happening. Dad stood at one point and strode over to the piano. As he sat, I saw his shoulders drop. He placed music on the stand and held his hands over the keys. His eyes closed; he was playing Mom's favorites. His fingers began to move, slowly at first. A lone tear slowly made its way down his cheek. I watched in complete awe as he pushed away his grief and played for her. His fingers moved faster, dancing over the keys. The tune light, almost happy. When he finished, his shoulders shook with silent sobs. His chin dropped and his hands covered his face. He made his way back to me and sat before leaning over and releasing the tears. I've seen my dad angry, happy, and frustrated, but never this sad. It was like a piece of him died with her, and he couldn't figure out how to be without her.

I leaned into his side and wrapped my arm around him. "I love you, Daddy," I whispered. He turned and kissed the top of my head.

When all was said and done for the day, we made our way home. I changed, but Dad stayed in his suit. He sat at the piano in our living room for the first time since the day she died and played. He played for hours, lost in the music. Some songs I recognized from my childhood, others I didn't. There were happy songs, and sad songs. The music filled our house until the late hours of the night. When he finally stopped, he looked exhausted. He closed the piano and turned sideways on the bench. He looked around the room, and then broke down into tears. I stayed silent, just letting him grieve. There were no words to make it better. It just was, and I knew in time we'd be ok.

I watched this strong man stand, and stumble up to bed. When the house got quiet, I made my way to my room. Music would heal us. It was what made us who we were, and I knew we'd be ok.

Chapter 4

Aspen- age 17

The day that Mom died changed everything. Music became my life. It had always been who I was, but things were different now. There was nothing else. School, lessons, and practice. I played every day, and every day I became better. My father was almost obsessed with my success. He was constantly pushing me to be better. Just one more piece, one more hour of practice, one more day closer to a career in music. I didn't know any different, and I wasn't sure if I'd know what to do if I was given the chance for a different path. I loved it but seeing my father light up when I'd master something, was what drove me for perfection. I knew I could always be better, and I knew that if I played more I'd be closer to it.

"How was that?" I sat back and took a deep breath. "Do you think it was enough?" I blinked up at my father. My eyes were beginning to cross from staring at the music. We'd been working on this piece for days.

"I think you need a faster tempo. I think other than that, it was flawless." He nodded as he paced our living room.

"Faster?" I half gasped half whined. "I don't think my fingers will go any faster."

"You can always improve." He sighed. "Faster is an improvement."

"Anything else?" I placed my hands over the keys and tapped with my foot, setting a beat. My fingers soared over the keys, tapping as my eyes blurred looking at the pages. I glanced up once to see what his reaction was, and I stumbled. My right hand hit a wrong note, and it snowballed from there. I stopped, angrily banging my fists on the keys.

"It's late." Dad sat down beside me and patted my shoulder. "Get some sleep. We'll work more tomorrow."

"Do you think I'm ready?" I wearily looked over at him. I could feel tears from the exhaustion pooling in my eyes.

"I think you're ready. I think you need to think you're ready." He smiled. "Where is that confidence I used to see?"

"She hid when Bobby Childers scored higher than her last year." I sighed as my shoulders sank.

"You're just as good. Berklee will be happy to have you." He hugged me.

I've been dreaming of going to Berklee since I was six. If I wanted a career in music, that's where I needed to study. I've spent every summer since I was eight at Juilliard, with the exception of the year my mom died. Their summer consortium has welcomed me with open arms, but it's time to take the next step, college, and as great as Juilliard is, I need to experience other instructors.

"Get some sleep." Dad yawned as he stood. "I'll go over it with you again in the morning."

"Night." I smiled softly as he made his way upstairs. Just as he reached the top, I turned and took my position again. Holding my hands over the keys, I tapped my foot and started again. I've played this piece so many times I have it memorized. I closed my eyes and let my fingers dance. I heard my dad chuckle as I moved faster and faster. When I finished, I let the sound ring through the house and blanket me. I sat there remembering why I do this. My lips pulled into a soft smile as my eyes fluttered open. I'd made it through the whole piece flawlessly. "Just like that," I whispered. I rubbed my eyes as I closed the piano and stood from the bench. I turned off the light and made my way upstairs. They had to let me in. They'd be crazy not to.

"You ready?" Dad held open the front door as I stood in the middle of the room, clutching my music bag. This was it. Today would determine the rest of my life.

"Is it bad if I say no?" I grimaced.

"No." He laughed lightly. "I would think something was wrong if you weren't a little nervous. You've got this." He motioned for me to go ahead of him. "Come on. We don't want to be late."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced my feet to move. We took a cab to the other side of the city, and when we stopped by the campus, my nerves grew exponentially. "I don't think I can do this," I muttered.

"What's going on?" Dad turned to face me. "You've played on stages with huge audiences. I watched you lull those admissions people at Juilliard. You're never like this."

"It's just. This is it." I bit my lip. "This is what we planned for. What Mom planned for," I whispered. "What if I don't make it?"

"You will," he insisted.

"But what if I don't?" I dropped my eyes and stared at my feet. I was perfectly dressed in my concert black.

"Then we go somewhere else, you practice more, and we try next year." He paused before continuing. "That's not going to happen, though."

"You're always so sure about me." I rolled my eyes.

"You're my daughter. I know you. I knew the day you were born, and I looked at those long fingers that we'd be here one day. Lift that chin and show that panel who's boss."

"You're right." I rolled my shoulders back and lifted my chin with confidence. I tucked my music bag under my arm and strode over to the steps that led into the admissions hall. We were greeted and directed to a room much like I'd waited in every year when I went to summer music camp. This time, my father seemed more human and less like this untouchable hero I'd always seen. He smiled proudly when they called me in, and I gave one final wave as I disappeared into the concert hall.

"Good morning, Miss Vaughn." A dark-haired gentleman sitting about halfway up in the seats greeted me.

"Hello," I replied as I stopped in the middle of the stage. The stage lights were almost blinding, making it hard to see how many people were watching.

"I see you've studied at Juilliard for the past ten summers. That's impressive." He flipped over a paper in front of him. I'm guessing it was my application for admission.

"Yes, sir. My dad always pushed me to study with the best." I clasped and unclasped my hands. My nerves were coming back, and I couldn't tell if this guy liked what he'd heard or not.

"You know, we produce the best here. Are you ready to work for that goal?" He seemed amused.

"Yes, sir." I nodded.

"Let's hear what ya got." He motioned to the piano behind me.

"Thank you." I turned and walked over to the piano and took a seat. I made sure that everything was adjusted to my liking before placing my music in front of me. I took several deep breaths, rolled my shoulders, and straightened my back. As I placed my hands over the keys, I murmured a little prayer to myself. I tapped my toes to set a tempo and then let muscle memory take over. My fingers danced as if I'd been playing this piece all my life. I got lost in the music. Part of me could picture my father standing there critiquing my posture, my speed, my accuracy. I smiled to myself as I reached the end, and then I let the notes echo in the hall until they died.

There was no sound at first, just deafening silence, and then I heard what my father always told me about. Their voices. All those who came before me on this stage. I could hear them whispering their congratulations. I could hear the laughter and excitement. I could hear the applause, and I knew that no matter what, I'd done my best.

I stood and gathered my music, walking slowly back to the center of the stage, waiting to hear what they'd say. I left a piece of myself there that day. "Who do you take lessons from?" The dark-haired gentleman began making notes on the paper in front of him.

"My dad taught me to play." I rocked on my heels.

"Who's your dad?" He removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Julian Vaughn." I pressed my lips together. Everyone in Boston knew who my father was. It was no secret, but I never name dropped. I wanted to make it on my own.

"From the Boston Orchestra?" He sat up straighter.

"Yes, sir." I waited to see what he'd do.

"He taught you well." He wrote something on the paper. "We'll be making our decision by the end of the week, and then we'll send you notification in the mail."

"Thank you, sir. "I scurried off stage and rushed back to where my dad was waiting.

"Well?" He smiled when I burst through the door.

"I don't know." I shrugged. "It went well, really well, but they said they'd let me know." I grinned. The pressure release from being done was unimaginable. I felt so light and happy. "Can we get ice cream before heading home? I feel like I need it." I laughed.

"Some things never change." Dad chuckled as we made our way outside.

"Maybe we should wander around campus while we're here. This way, you'll know a little about what's here before you come this fall." He winked as he turned toward another building.

"But what if I don't?" I frowned slightly.

"You will." He wrapped his arm around my shoulder as we meandered through what I hoped would be my home for the next four years.

We spent the morning, and most of the afternoon, wandering around campus. There were so many ivy covered brick buildings that I wondered how I'd learn my way around. I was sure to get lost… more than once. We passed by one of the concert halls just as a rehearsal was ending. Several men and women carrying instrument cases came rushing down the stairs chatting excitedly with one another. I smiled thinking that it could be me one day. I started to believe that this place would soon be my home. I'd be the one practicing into the wee hours of the morning. The one who would speak in a language only other musicians would understand. I'd hear the voices of those who came before me, and I'd leave my mark on the many stages I'd grace over the next four years. The idea was growing so rapidly in my head that I thought I might burst with excitement. The possibilities were endless, and the longer Dad and I stood there just taking it all in, the more I believed that this was where I was supposed to be.

"It's ok to dream about it. Be happy." He hugged me as we walked down the sidewalk in search of an ice cream shop.

"I know. I just wish Mom were here." I leaned into his side. He seemed to pause for a moment before he added, "Me too."

His voice was sad, a little melancholy even. We never really talked about it, but I knew he missed her. How could he not? He seemed to push away the sadness though as we reached a sweets shop, and the conversation turned back to me and the future. I never realized until then how much of a part he played in my life. It just seemed natural, but the idea of moving on, and leaving him all alone in the house scared me a bit. What if he needed me? What if I surpassed him in skill? What if I wasn't good enough? Those questions plagued me every day but seeing him smile when he talked of my future made me push away the doubt. I'd make him proud. I could do this.