Offerings (28 page)

Sarah’s first movement had been a scherzo, but the music became softer, as if her cello were singing to a sleepy child. It also became more familiar, especially when Michael and Mack began singing.

So many stars above, so many cities at the bottom.

Stars are giving signs to cities that children must go to sleep.

Kate put a tissue to her eyes before she joined the others.

Hush... hush. There were two little cats. Hush. They both were grey.

Oh sleep, little one, because the moon just yawned and will fall asleep in a moment.

Her grandmother’s lullaby had found a new and even more beautiful home on this ragged mountain.

There was a moment of almost reverential silence before the third movement began. It was a spirited rondo. Sarah leaned against the cello. She smiled broadly, as if she enjoyed hearing the music as much as she loved sharing it.

As the piece neared its conclusion, the man with the guitar and the violinist began to improvise and the cellist took a harmonica out of his pocket. Without missing a note, Sarah joined them in what quickly became a rapturous mixture of classical and Latin music, salted with pure joy. Kate laid her head against Michael’s shoulder and whispered her thanks.

“Wait. There’s more.” Michael bellowed as he said, “I am full of surprises.” He took Kate’s hand. They walked to the table where Eric’s computer sat. The screen was facing the stage. He spun it around. Peter was on the screen. Michael had invited him to the concert on Skype. Kate was no longer surprised by the man’s ingenuity.

“That was magnificent, Kate. Just remarkable. Mr. Hirsch, I can’t thank you enough.” Peter too looked as though he’d been crying. “How are you, Kate? You look great. Sarah was gorgeous. How’s Mack?”

Kate’s emptiness at that moment surprised her a bit, for they’d settled into the routine of a long-distance partnership. Neither referred to it as a romance.

Mack and Sarah rushed to the table. Peter put his hand on his computer screen. They high-fived, said how much they couldn’t wait to meet in Shanghai once school was over. They really did want Peter in their lives.

“Let me take a picture,” Michael said, fiddling with the lens on his Nikon. “I used some of that money we made on the painting to become a photography buff. Look at this. A D7000.”

Kate and the kids knelt so their faces would be close to the computer.

“What would your friend Mr. Courbet say about this, Kate? He would have posed you in his studio for weeks and I’m about to capture the digital Brewsters,” Michael said, laughing at his own joke. “We’ve all become pixels, haven’t we?”

“Wait,” Peter said, apologizing for the interruption. He put his arms out to encircle Kate and the children, the way he’d done in the picture on Kate’s desk the day they brought Mack home from the hospital. He hadn’t forgotten what that felt like. “We’re a flesh-and-blood family. And we’ll all stop being just images on a screen soon enough. I’m expecting to meet you in person next year in Montserrat.”

“And then you’ll meet Abby too,” Mack said. He picked up the dog and showed her to Peter.

“I’ll see you in three weeks, big guy. I can’t wait. I really miss all of you,” Peter said. And then he told Sarah again how he’d never forget the piece she’d written.

Kate put her arms around her children. “Soon enough, Kate. We’ll be through this soon enough. I promise. And then we’ll start over.”

They both put their index fingers to their lips and then touched the screen. Her finger felt warm. They said their goodbyes.

Or were they really saying hello?

Michael swept his hands toward the canopy and asked the musicians to start up again. The cellist took back his seat and within a minute, Kate and Sarah and everyone else in the café and the small crowd bunched around the sides began clapping in unison or slapping the tables to the rhythm of the music. Couples on the edge of the café danced where they could find room. Yolanda got out of her chair, grabbed her grandsons’ and Mack’s hands, and began spinning them in a
sardana
of silly steps and giggles.

And Abby ran around their feet in a happy circle.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Offerings
is fiction inspired by my reading of
The Rape of Europa,
by Lynn H. Nicolas, which I recommend to those readers interested in learning more about the efforts to repatriate art stolen by the Nazis.

Occasionally, a reference is made to actual entities or living people to lend an air of authenticity to the story. Otherwise, characters and incidents in this novel are fictional, and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

So many friends deserve thanks for their help in bringing my dream of writing a novel to reality that it’s hard to know where to begin.

Jerry Gross believed in me as a writer long before anyone else. The confidence he instilled and the guidance he gave in shaping the outline of the story is immeasurable. Min Jin Lee, my old friends Jon Weisgall, Alan Wolf and Jesse Viner, my sons Michael and David, my brother Jimmy and my sister Carole read early drafts and encouraged me to keep going.

Lacking formal training in fiction, I learned so much from Tom Jenks and Carol Edgarian, not only in the seminars I took but in watching them build and foster Narrative Magazine with an unbridled passion for the highest possible creative standards across every genre. As I edited my story I kept raising my game as near to their level of excellence as I could.

Most of all, though, I am so grateful I met Elizabeth England in one of Tom’s advanced fiction seminars. We became friends; Elizabeth became my mentor, my drill sergeant and my muse. A former teacher at The Writers Studio, Elizabeth forced me to put aside my “agenda” of being published and to focus instead on the craft of fiction. I wasn’t allowed to touch the manuscript for over a year while I built and then honed my skills under Elizabeth’s tutelage.

Alan Wolf showed a copy of the manuscript to Jordan and Anita Miller of Academy Chicago Publishers and voila, a contract, a book, and a deep respect for the publishing house they’ve nurtured over the years sprung to life. And Min Jin, Scott Turow, David Corbett and Andrew Gross read and commented on my story with such kind words.

And this book, of course, is for my wife Nancy Alessi. I don’t deserve her kindness and grace, but she surrounds me with it. And everyone who loves and respects Nancy like I do will agree that when I needed a model for a female protagonist who is focused, fearless and devoted to both her family and to the community at large, I didn’t need to look very far for my inspiration.