Porcelain Keys (16 page)

“What about friends?” Thomas asked. “You’re pretty close to Vivian, aren’t you?”

I considered a moment. “She would probably let me stay with her, but . . . I don’t know. It’s too close to my dad, and it would be awkward living with someone who has the hots for him.”

Thomas’s eyebrows rose a second before they went back to being furrowed. He pulled his smart phone from his back pocket and began tapping at the screen.

“What are you doing?”

“Maybe we can find someone who’s looking for a roommate, or renting a single room so the rent is inexpensive.”

We spent the next thirty minutes searching in vain for an apartment or room that would fit in my meager budget, while Nathaniel’s student serenaded us with parlor music.

Finally the music stopped, and I heard the student leave. Nathaniel returned to the kitchen, mumbling something
like “painful.” After acknowledging us with a brief smile, he began pacing the travertine floor.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said after a long silence, steepling his hands to his chin. “You need somewhere safe to stay. And if you’re going to get into Juilliard, you need somewhere you have access to a piano, where you can practice as much as you need. And somewhere free, so you don’t have to pick up more hours at work.”

“I’m open to suggestions,” I said.

He came and joined us at the table, sitting kitty-corner to me. “Does your dad know you’re here?” Nathaniel asked.

“No,” I said. “But he found out I’m taking lessons from you.”

His eyebrows slanted into a frown. “Well, hopefully he won’t come around here looking for you. But just to be safe, it’s probably best if no one, other than Thomas here, knows where you are.” He drummed his fingers on the mahogany surface, then leveled an intense gaze at me. “I guess what I’m saying is, what if you moved here? I mean, I know you’ve only known me for a couple months, and I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or anything, but it seems like the best solution.”

I glanced at Thomas, and he gave me an encouraging nod.

“You can take some time to think about it, of course.” Nathaniel said. “And you’re welcome to stay here until you make a decision.”

I thought for a moment and realized that I couldn’t have imagined a better solution. I slowly nodded, and tears seemed to spring out of nowhere. I was so relieved, so grateful for his kindness, I didn’t know what to say.

Nathaniel patted my hand and smiled. “All right, then.” He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his jaw
thoughtfully. “I don’t have an extra bed, but we could go pick one up today. We can put it in my office, since I do most of my work at the piano anyway. But we’ll need to move some furniture around. Thomas, do you think you can help with that?”

Thomas nodded, and from his relieved expression I could tell he was as grateful as I was for Nathaniel’s generosity.

“Thank you, Nathaniel,” I said as I swiped at my tears. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

“It’s the least I can do for my best student.” He smiled, and his face softened into a rueful expression. “And for her mother.”

W
e fell into
a new routine over the next couple weeks. Thomas woke up extra early to pick me up for school each day. Some days he’d bring me back to Nathaniel’s after school, and other days I came home with him. We’d do our homework and have dinner with his parents, then I’d practice on the upright in his basement while he painted. On clear nights, we’d bundle up and climb to the tree house and talk for hours under a blanket of stars.

Nathaniel convinced me to quit my job at Pikes, reasoning that I needed as much practice time as I could get if I was going to get into Juilliard. It was a change I gladly welcomed.

After an intense week going through a stack of sheet music that was almost taller than me, Nathaniel and I finally selected six pieces to perform at my Juilliard audition. Then the real work began. My music came with me wherever I went. On the stage during lunch hour, in Thomas’s basement, in Nathaniel’s living room, I practiced
the pieces again and again. Days were filled with music, a string of notes tied together in one monumental loop. The notes became a part of me. My fingers moved in my sleep and trilled on my desk at school, and the melodies hummed in my soul. I dreamed of Bach’s
The Well-Tempered Clavier
, sweet and flowing like a lullaby. I saw Beethoven’s
Appassionata
as I scribbled out math equations, and I heard Schubert’s
4 Impromptus
whenever Thomas laced his fingers through mine.

Nathaniel taught me how to add layers of nuance and to use my own intuition to phrase and shape the music. He drilled me on articulation, pace, and rhythm. He taught me how to move my hands effortlessly across the keys, regardless of tempo. “Your arms should be a pendulum,” he said, demonstrating with his hands. “Swing fast, swing slow, but swing.”

But it was time that swung like a pendulum, rhythmically, effortlessly, swinging from morning to night and back again. Constant movement, never time to stop and look at the calendar.

With fingers crossed, we sent my prescreening video to Juilliard. And when we celebrated my audition invitation with a piano-shaped cake, I realized my life had become something new. There were moments when I felt like a different person, like I was living someone else’s life. But each morning, the mirror testified that
I
was the one with a safe home, a musical mentor, and a stunningly handsome boy by my side.

There were moments of great fear and anxiety as well. Whenever I exited the school, my eyes scanned the parking lot for Dad’s truck. I sunk low into my seat every time we passed Dad’s house to go to Thomas’s. And with each
knock at Thomas’s or Nathaniel’s door, my heart thudded with dread, wondering if it was Dad at the door. But as the weeks passed without any sign of him, the tension in my nerves eased, and I accepted that maybe I was finally free of him.

On Christmas Eve, Nathaniel was out of town visiting his parents. He’d offered to take me with him, but I stayed behind to spend Christmas with Thomas. Around six o’clock, Thomas showed up at my door, his cheeks adorably flushed from the cold. “My heater’s on strike,” he said with his hands balled in the pockets of his peacoat. My pulse stuttered as I took in the sight of him, and I wondered if I’d ever get used to the effect he had on me.

After bundling up, I climbed into his Bronco and we got on the road. The skies were clear, and snow-covered pines sparkled under the moon as we drove from Colorado Springs to Woodland Park.

“Sorry I was late picking you up,” he said. “I’ve been working on your present.”

I smiled, wondering what it could be, and looked down at the wrapped gift in my own hands. I’d bought him an encaustics stylus with twelve different tips for making different textures. I was sure he’d love it. I’d also knitted him a herringbone scarf, dark gray with blue specks to match his eyes. I still needed to bind and weave in the ends, so I’d left it in my room, intending to finish it later that night.

When we arrived at his house, we got out of the Bronco to see Vivian stepping off the front porch. She waved excitedly and rushed over to greet us. “Aria!” She threw her arms around me. “Where have you been, darlin’?”

“I moved in with a friend,” I explained, pulling back.

“Why?” She grabbed my arm. “What’s going on?”

I gave a little shrug. “I’m just happier this way.”

“Why, sweetheart? Your daddy not treatin’ you nice?”

“Let’s just say we’re better off without each other.”

She shook her head. “I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you say somethin’? You know you’re welcome at my place anytime.”

“I know, Vivian. Thanks.”

“You know, I brought some cherry mash bars over to your daddy last week, and he didn’t say anything about it. I asked where you were, and he just said that you’d been real busy.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want anyone to know. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m sure he’s glad I’m gone.”

“I don’t know about that, honey. He seems real down. I always see him moping around the yard and sitting on the front porch staring at nothin’. Maybe he misses you.”

“I doubt it,” I muttered.

“Well, maybe you should wish him a merry Christmas all the same.”

“Vivian,” Thomas said, “would you like to have dinner at our house tonight?”

She waved a hand, brushing away his suggestion like it was a pesky fly. “Your mom already asked me, but I’ll be fine on my own. I’m so full of cookie dough right now, I probably couldn’t fit dinner in me anyway. Besides, I still have a dozen plates of treats to deliver.” She wished us merry Christmas and walked away humming.

The familiar scent of pine greeted us as we stepped into Thomas’s house. In his newly renovated living room, glittering wreaths and garlands adorned the walls and fireplace. Gold ribbons, beads, and twinkling lights trimmed
the tree, which sat cozily in a nest of wrapped gifts. There were poinsettias and snow globes and all the warm glitz of Christmas.

As we sat around the dinner table spread with an abundance of food, my thoughts turned to Dad. I watched the loving way Hal talked to Thomas and felt a sense of loss as I recalled what a good father Dad had been before Mom died. I tried to imagine what he was doing tonight. Maybe he was at a bar, drowning his miserable holiday in brandy. Maybe he was gutting a reindeer in the barn. Or maybe he was sitting alone on the couch, staring at the wall where we used to put the Christmas tree, wishing he still had a family.

After dinner, we gathered around the crackling fireplace and I did my best to participate in their conversation about the possible effects of antimatter in black holes. Although I felt immensely happy spending Christmas Eve with Thomas’s family, a sad feeling kept poking at me. No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t ignore the empty place inside me where my own family had once resided.

I reflected on what Christmas was like in my younger years, when Dad twirled me in front of the Christmas tree and Mom filled the house with sparkling lights, beautiful music, and ribboned boxes under the tree. Those gifts meant nothing to me now. I would give them up in a heartbeat if I could exchange them for my family—the way it was before Mom died.

I glanced at Thomas, the lines of his face glowing in the light of the fire, the curve of his lashes creating soft shadows in his blue eyes. I focused on the sensation caused by his thumb stroking the top of my hand. Soothing, reassuring. This Christmas, he was my gift.

A knock at the door pulled me from my meditation, and as Elsie rose to answer it, I wondered if Vivian had changed her mind about spending Christmas Eve alone. But when the door swung open and Elsie released an uncharacteristic squeal of excitement, I knew it had to be someone else.

Into the living room stepped a young man, pulling a suitcase in one hand and catching his mother’s embrace with the other. “Richard!” she said with laughter in her voice. “Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?”

We all rose from the sofa to greet Thomas’s older brother. He was shorter than Thomas, but his bright eyes and chiseled facial features affirmed they were brothers. He looked to be in his early twenties, and his jet-black hair was messily spiked all over his head. A small silver ring pierced his eyebrow, and the head of a snake tattoo slithered from the shadow of his coat collar.

Thomas’s hand grasped mine, and I glanced up at him, just now noticing how tense he appeared. His hand was stiff, and as he locked eyes with Richard, his stance straightened defensively as though bracing for a fight.

With her arm still around Richard’s waist, Elsie looked lovingly into his face and murmured, “It’s so good to have you home.” She turned and introduced me, and Richard nodded a greeting but didn’t smile. His expression was menacing as he gave me the once-over. I felt self-conscious under his gaze, and I turned into Thomas, who put his arm around me protectively.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Elsie said, “because we have plenty of leftovers.” She left the living room to go heat up a plate for Richard, and Hal went upstairs to prepare a bed for him. For a long moment after their parents had left the
room, Thomas and Richard locked eyes as though some unseen challenge were occurring between them.

“So,” Richard finally said, eyeing me again, “this must be the consolation prize.”

The words surprised me, and not knowing how to take them, I looked up at Thomas for an explanation. But he didn’t explain. And the tense look on his face told me that Richard’s words weren’t meant as lighthearted banter.

“Shut up, Richard,” Thomas growled. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Actually, I do.” He winked at me.

“You must be home because your sentence was up,” Thomas said. “Because they never would have let you out of the slammer for good behavior.”

Richard smiled. “You never were very good at comebacks.”

Hal came down the stairs and went to Richard’s side, patting him on the back. “Hey, Rich, I’ve got a bed made up for you upstairs. Why don’t we take your suitcase up there?”

Richard tore his eyes away from Thomas and followed his dad upstairs, dragging his suitcase behind him. Thomas looked after Richard with an indignant expression I hadn’t seen since the night Dad had hurt me. After a long moment, his shoulders lowered and his expression relaxed. He turned to me. “Sorry,” he said. “Richard and I don’t exactly get along.”

I was still stinging from Richard’s “consolation prize” comment. “Why not?” I asked, hoping his answer would explain Richard’s words.

He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed
it, as though something he saw in my face made him change his mind. “Just one too many rifts.”

“Rifts about what?”

He sighed hard and pushed a hand through his hair, then tilted his head toward the sofa. “Let’s sit down.” We sat, my mouth turning dry from the fear of what he might tell me.

“Aria . . . I . . .” His eyes were pained, almost terrified, and he leaned in and rested his forehead against my temple. I could feel his warm breaths on my cheek, their shallowness betraying his anxiety.