In the Rain (5 page)

"So,
you come in here a lot?"

"All
the time—not just to
play either. The table there?" He pointed to it, and I couldn’t help
noticing the lights hanging above it. "I write most of my music in here,
and most times, it’s in the middle of the night. I can’t get to sleep until I
get the notes out."

"Sounds
like what
I go through with writing."

His
eyebrows jumped. "You write?"

I
dropped my gaze and caressed the scroll of the violin, smiling at how smooth it
was beneath my fingertips. "A little.
I haven’t really shown anyone though. Poetry mostly."

"I’ll
be damned. Any chance they could get turned into lyrics?"

I
looked at him and laughed. "Can they be turned into lyrics? Really, you’re
going with that?"

He
held up his hands. "Okay, okay. I get your point. Dumb question. So, are
you going to play, or what?"

I
licked my lips and looked at the violin I had coveted for so long. It was in my
hands, and I was inside Thayre’s soundproofed room. No one who didn’t want to
hear the music would, which meant there was no chance of my sour,
out-of-practice notes getting back to Bret.

Taking
a breath, I positioned the fingers of my left hand on the strings and started
to play. One thing I had always loved about Thayre’s music was how easy it was
to follow. That isn’t to say it was simple. In fact, it was the exact opposite,
but after playing for more than twenty years, the notes came easier for me.

The
melody was soft. At one point, I was tempted to close my eyes, but doing so
would’ve left me blind to the notes I had yet to read. I'm not sure when it
happened, but I'd been swaying to the music.

And
no matter how late it was, playing his music was instinctual, as though it took
no effort on my part at all.
Muscle memory.
It had gotten me far back in
school, and here it was, happening again.

Once
my nerves had settled, the music carried me—reminded me—how to play.
I never
should've stopped.
I may have been in love with Bret at one time, but he
never compared to my passion for music. A passion I nearly snuffed out because
he'd asked me to.

I
hit a sour note and cringed, quickly pulling the bow away from the strings.

"Don't
stop now," Thayre said. "You're coming back. Keep playing."

I
threw a glance over my shoulder, but the smile on his face wasn't there to mock
me. "Back? Back from where?"

He
shrugged. "You started out tense, and even though
you say you haven't played in a while, your shoulders are relaxed. One bad note
shouldn't change that."

I
drew in a deep breath and exhaled through my nose. "It's embarrassing though.
Completely threw me out of the zone."

Thayre
moved in front of me, casually leaning against the glass wall. "So get
back in. I'm not going to let you leave until you've finished."

I
cocked my head. "Holding me captive now?"

"Oh,
come on! It isn't like you
wouldn't do the same to me if I was working my way out of a funk."

"A
funk?"
Is that what
this is?

Hell,
these days I couldn't be sure. I'd always had a violin. Once I had a hold on my
gross motor skills, I started to play. And while it had almost killed me when I
stopped because Bret had asked me to, what I felt now...I wasn't in a rut, was
I?

"Stop
over thinking things," Thayre's voice forced its way into my subconscious.
"You're getting tense again. You need to relax."

He
walked behind me again and, very gently, set one hand on my shoulder and the
other at the middle of my spine, correcting my bad posture in the process. I started
to arch my back in search of the warmth from his hands, but corrected myself
before he could notice.

Crossing
his arms over his chest, he leaned against the glass wall again. "And
please, for the love of Angie, don't think. Do."

I
smirked at him. "Angie?"

"You're
holding her." Then, with a little more
laughter in his voice, he added, "What? I had to name her. It didn't feel
right calling her any violin."

I
shook my head. "No, I mean, did you replace your old violin?"

His
smile softened. "Old gal couldn't keep up with my demands."

"So,
Angie is your second?"

"Third."

It
may have seemed odd to someone who didn't play as much as Thayre did, but
naming his violin didn't surprise me. As often as he played, and given what
he'd said earlier about coming down to compose new music in the middle of the
night, Angie was his pet dog—a faithful companion.
Not to mention an outlet
for every emotion imaginable.

I
winced at the thought of the sour note I played earlier. Not all emotions were
created equal, especially when it came to music.

Thayre
didn't say anything after that,
and while he was still somewhere off to my left, he kept outside my peripheral
vision.

Closing
my eyes, I set the bow on the strings again, took a breath, then studied the
sheet music. Thayre's melody was as easy to play the second time around, and
soon I found myself in the same trance as before. But this time, my thoughts
didn't wander. Aside from the beauty of his music, I didn't think of anything
else.

There
were no nerves. No tension, and as the notes danced around the room, whatever
crap was left from the last two months simply melted off my shoulders. I hit
the last note, but didn't pull the bow from the stings. I sat there until the
sound stopped completely.

Thayre
clapped and came around to face me. "Sometime, I want to hear you play for
me."

I
stood and returned the violin to its case. "I just did."

"No,
you read my music—and followed it perfectly, might I add. But what I really want
to hear is how
you
play one of
your
songs."

I
reached behind me for the stool and sat. I hadn’t touched my music in so long,
I wasn’t  sure
I knew where it was anymore.
It’s a good thing you have it all in your head.
But I was still out of practice, so I honestly didn’t trust myself to go by
memory alone.

"No
pressure, right?" I said. "I actually don't have any with me."
Of
course you don't, dummy.
It wasn't like I
walked around with sheet music tucked into my pockets, only now,
I wish I did.

"Next
time then?" he asked.

Next
time?
Oh my God, he wanted to see me again. Here or at my apartment,
but I was going to see him again.
Easy, Moyra. He's just asking
for your music.
I sighed. My music. My voice, but was it
enough for him to want
me
?

I
shook my head.
Too soon, Moyra.
As much as I would've loved to have
fallen into bed with him right then and there, I still had my own shit to deal
with. A relationship was completely out of the question. Hell, a friendship was
pushing it.

Thayre
must've been talking the whole time, but the next thing I heard him say was, "So,
I'll pick you up Friday around six?"

I
blinked. Had I been nodding? What did I agree to?

"I'm
sorry, I'm a little frazzled."
I chewed at the inside of my cheek. "What's Friday?"

He
gave me a pointed look that was
more playful than anything else. "There you go, off in your own world
again. I shouldn't expect any less."

"I'm
sorry, I didn't mean—"

"You
didn't offend me. In fact, I think it's cute."

"Cute,
as in brownie points cute, or just cute?"

"It's
you. Just, you." He held out his hand and helped me up before throwing his
arms around me and kissing me on the cheek. "I should probably get you
home. Though I must admit,  I wish this had happened sooner."

I
couldn't help my twinge of disappointment when he released me from his embrace.
"What part? Me getting stuck in the rain so you can
rescue
me, or
me playing music for you?"

"Why
not both? Granted, seeing you soaked while it's still winter wouldn't have been
my preference, but I have to admit, I've wanted your hands on my instruments
for years."

Oh.
My. GOD.
I burst out laughing, and fortunately, the humor was
purely intentional as Thayre was doing the same.

And
before I could stop myself, I said, "You should totally use that as
a pickup line." 

"Good,
huh?" His cheeks darkened and he broke eye-contact. Briefly.

"Are
you kidding me? Coming from personal experience, it's the best line I've heard
yet."

"And
to think, I wasn't even trying
to get you in my case."

I
coughed and sputtered until I could finally breathe again. "Probably
would've been better if I'd said it, but it was still funny."

"Jesus."
Thayre checked his watch. "I really need to get you home, don't I?"

I
nodded, but I had to admit, asking him if I could stay had crossed my mind. A
few times actually. But he didn't offer, so I figured it was best not to ask.
While it had stopped pouring outside and my clothes were dry, I accepted his
invitation for a ride home. I had until Friday to get my head on straight
before he kicked my world off its axis again.

"W
here
is it?" I groaned, going through my closet for what must've been the ninth
time since Thayre dropped me off at my apartment last night.

I
still had four days to find my music, pick out a song and relearn it before I
saw him again. Even though I usually needed a day or two, this wasn't high
school, and I was terribly out of practice no matter how good I may have
sounded in Thayre's studio.

Unless
I wanted to clean out my entire walk-in closet and risk bringing up some rather
unpleasant memories, no thanks to Bret, I had to wade through the crap in hopes
of finding something at least half decent.

I
sighed and sat in the middle of my closet, looking from one side to the other.
I must have put my violin and sheet music somewhere I knew Bret wouldn't find
it, but the question was where. I'd already checked the top shelves, along with
the compartment behind the rear wall, but I couldn't find any of my old work.

I
could've always written something new.

And
play it with what?

Without
a violin to play, I was pretty much screwed.

Bret
must've found it and tossed it somewhere.

He
may have been an ass, but he wasn't that bad,
was he? I considered pulling out my cell and leaving him a quick text, but it would've
made matters worse. We hadn't spoken since I asked him to leave, and I wanted
to keep it that way.

I
went through a handful of boxes again, most of which were too small to hold a
violin, and finally found some sheet music along with old photographs. I set
the photos aside and took out the music, releasing another sigh when I realized
it wasn't worth playing.

Any
of the music I found now wouldn't match my mood, and it was then I remembered what
Thayre had said the night before.
Any emotion will do.
All I needed was
a pencil and some paper.

Once
I was back in my room, I rummaged through some drawers until I found the
necessary tools, then returned to the kitchen table moments later. Good thing I
still knew where to put the notes and how chord progression worked, otherwise
writing a new composition would've been more problematic. That's not to say it
was easy, but certainly a little more
forgiving than if I were doing it for the first time.

So
many mistakes.
I recalled one of the first melodies I
wrote. The notes had been all over the place, and half the time, they didn't work
together.
Let's hope this one's better.

It
was, but unless I wanted to play a cheery song that was
much too happy for me, I had to start over.

I
set the notes to the side, then went to work on a new piece. Humming to myself,
I tried to place the notes in my head on the blank sheet in front of me.
This
would be a lot easier if I had some actual sheet paper.
Not to mention a
ruler to draw straight lines with. At the moment, my notes were floating on a
piece of computer paper. I could add the lines later, but while I still had a
grasp on the song itself, I decided it was best to keep going.

Lines
upon lines of notes soon spilled over from one page to two, then three. On and
on I worked, and by the time I reached an acceptable stopping point, it was one
in the morning. The keys probably needed some work, but at least for now, the
notes were on the paper instead of lost somewhere inside my head.

Without
looking at my newest piece to keep from obsessing over it too much, I added it
to the first pile of notes, turned off the kitchen light, then headed to bed. The
lingering melody would keep me awake well after my head hit the pillow, but if
I didn't stop now, I wouldn't be able to sleep at all.

*
* * * *

"Y
ou
sound happy," Lisa said as she walked into the back room to get a bag of
hamburger buns. "You've been humming most of the day. What song is that?"

I
glanced up from putting some produce in the refrigerator, completely oblivious
to the fact I'd been replaying last night's melody loud enough for someone else
to hear. "Just something I'm working on."

She
set the buns on the counter and then rested her hands on her hips. "You
write music?"

As
long as I'd been working as a waitress at Kimber's, I rarely talked about my
personal life. Choice in music and the fine arts, sure, but aside from
complaining to one another about low tips from customers, or some other
nonsense, there wasn't much to discuss.

"I
try to," I finally said, pulling a handful of avocados out of a box before
adding them to one of the crispers.