Porcelain Keys (25 page)

I went out with Devin a couple times that week, once to a little cafe on Broadway, and once to a student performance at Alice Tully Hall. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed his company once I gave him a chance. He was easy to talk to, always full of interesting things to say, and not expecting much from me in return.

The following week I walked into Margo’s studio, prepared to show her the progress I’d made. She air kissed me, then put her hands on my arms. “So. How did it go?”

“I did what you asked.”

“Wonderful.” She put her hand on my back and gestured to the piano. “Show me.”

I played the same Liszt piece I’d played the week before, and when I finished and turned to see mascara running down her cheeks, I knew I’d succeeded in fulfilling her expectations. She came to me, put her arms around me, and planted a kiss on my cheek. “You will be great,
ma chérie
.
Tu as un bon fond
.”

Later that night, Devin took me to dinner, and after that, we became inseparable. At first, dating someone besides Thomas was a little jarring, like stepping into a cold lake. It was shocking and uncomfortable, and I constantly debated whether to turn around and go back to shore. But Devin took me by the hand and, constantly reassuring me, lured me in with his sunny personality and unending patience. Once I was fully submerged, it became comfortable enough that I could breathe again.

I accepted that there would always be questions in my heart about Thomas, where he was and what had happened to him, but I wouldn’t let those questions keep me from being happy or from loving someone else. My heart was forever changed because of him, but it was free and open.

Devin and I studied together, ate together, and played together. I kept waiting for him to get tired of me, to move on to the next girl, but every evening he would show up at my door, and we’d spend the night studying or going out to do something fun. I really saw New York for the first time since I moved there. We went to Broadway shows and walked through Central Park, kissed at the top of the Empire State Building and went skating at the Rockefeller
Center. We cheered each other on at competitions and enjoyed each other’s performances at concerts.

In the summer, we toured Europe with the Juilliard Orchestra. Our days were spent sightseeing, our afternoons rehearsing, and our evenings performing. We took the stages of grand historical halls, basking in the exquisite acoustics and the applause of appreciative audiences. Every time the audience rose to their feet to fill the hall with thunderous acclamation, a thrill went through me, and I understood the lure of the concert career that Nathaniel had chosen.

With Devin by my side, I saw the ornate domes of the Berlin Cathedral and wandered through the dense forests of Grunewald. We saw Buckingham Palace and Tower Bridge, explored the shops at Covent Garden and toured the art of masters at the British Museum. We picnicked on rye sandwiches and fresh raspberries in Sibelius Park in Helsinki, Finland, and rode the Ferris wheel at the Linnanmäki Amusement Park.

With Devin’s fingers laced through mine, we meandered down the cobbled streets of Lucerne’s Old Quarter in Switzerland, and we watched through windows the breathtaking scenery as our train climbed to the summit of Mount Pilatus.

Day by day, touch by touch, and kiss by kiss, the memories of Thomas became quieter, like they were finally resigned to take their place on a shelf and only be called forth when I wanted them. And in little moments, in amused laughter over a plate of beetroot lasagna at a seaside cafe, or in an encouraging glance before I took the stage, my feelings for Devin grew stronger. One day, when I stood on the Chapel Bridge in Switzerland, Devin’s arms
around me and his lips in my hair, I realized that I loved him. It felt different than the love I had for Thomas in that it was a calmer, more subdued kind of love, but without a doubt, I loved him.

“Thank goodness you’re back,” Nakira exclaimed from the couch as I walked into our apartment with suitcases in tow. She turned to face me, her expression annoyed. “This lady has been calling you nonstop for the last three weeks.”

“What lady?”

“Some lady named Vivian. I kept telling her that you wouldn’t be back until this week, but she kept calling anyway. I finally just stopped answering her calls.”

I wondered what Vivian was so anxious to talk to me about, but only one possibility came to mind. Maybe she knew something about Thomas. I left my suitcases in the living room and picked up the phone in the kitchen, searching the call history for Vivian’s number. I found it and hit
Send.

“Aria?” she answered excitedly.

“Hey, Vivian.”

“I’m so glad you’re back! I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for weeks!”

“I know. I’ve been in Europe. So what’s going on?”

“Oh, you’ll never guess.”

“What is it?” I asked anxiously.

She took a deep breath. “I got married,” she squealed.

“You got married?” I hoped my voice didn’t sound too disappointed. It was great news, just not the news I was hoping for. “That’s wonderful! Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Okay. Now this is where you need to brace yourself.”

“Why do I need to brace myself?”

“Are you ready? Are you braced?”

“I’m braced.”

“All right. I married . . . your daddy.”

“What! You married my dad? When? How? Why?” I felt like I’d just come home to a scene from the
Twilight Zone
.

Vivian laughed. “Well, I invited him over for dinner one night and made this delicious Brunswick stew. He must have been real impressed, because the next week he invited me to a movie. All this time, I thought I’d win him over with sweets, and the real secret to his heart was stew. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Uh . . . I didn’t know. I’ve never made stew.”

“Well, anyways, it doesn’t matter because a couple months ago, we were sitting in his kitchen, and I was asking him all these questions about taxidermy, like how he keeps the skin on the mannequins, and how he makes ’em look so real, and he just looked at me and said, ‘Vivian, would you ever consider getting married again?’ and I said, ‘Well, sure, if it was the right guy.’ And he smiled and said, ‘Do you think I’m the right guy?’ And the next thing I knew, we were down at the courthouse, gettin’ married. I’m selling my house, and we’re moving all my things into his house as we speak.”

I was stunned into silence, and I stood there trying to figure out how to respond. I was happy for Vivian because she seemed so happy. But I couldn’t make sense of it. I couldn’t imagine Dad sitting across the kitchen table from Vivian, smiling at her and asking her to marry him. I couldn’t imagine Dad in a tux, Vivian’s arm looped through his as they exchanged wedding vows. It seemed
so unreal, like some impossible scenario I could have only conjured up in a dream.

“Aria? You there?” Vivian asked.

“Yes. I’m here. I’m . . . really happy for you. For both of you. Is he being good to you?”

“Oh, honey. He is wonderful. You know him—he’s never been a talker, but he is so sweet and thoughtful. He’s even been letting me decorate the house the way I want.”

“Good,” I said cautiously. “Vivian, I really am happy for you, but . . . I have to warn you. When he drinks . . .”

“Oh, I know all about that, sweetheart. I figured it out a couple weeks after we started dating. I found him in his barn one night, drunker than Cooter Brown. I sat him down the next day and I told him that I couldn’t be with a drunk, that I’ve been in too many of those kinds of relationships. So he started cryin’. And I mean
cryin
’. I haven’t seen waterworks like that since I accidentally axed my water line in oh-nine.”

Before I could ask her what she meant by “axing her water line,” she said, “Anyway, he opened up to me, sayin’ how he didn’t want to be that person anymore, that he wanted to be happy and free, so we went and found some of those AA meetings to go to. He’s had a couple setbacks, but he’s doing real good. Hasn’t had a drink in six months.”

“But why, Vivian? Why do you want to be with him?”

“Because he’s a good man, and I love him. He’s been through some tough things, like we all have, and he deserves a chance to be happy.” She sighed. “Listen, I know you and your daddy aren’t on the best of terms, but I know he really misses you. He always gets real sad when I talk about you. I think he wants to see you, to know how you
are, but he’s too afraid to call you or come visit. He thinks you don’t want anything to do with him.”

“It’s not that, Vivian. I wish things could be the way they were when I was younger. But so many painful things have happened between us that I don’t even know where to begin to repair our relationship.”

“Well, I think the first step would be coming to visit. How about you come home and visit us for the holidays?”

“I don’t know . . .”

“Come on, darlin’. I’ll even pay your fare. Listen, I wasn’t supposed to say anything, but your daddy has a surprise for you. He’ll be so disappointed if you don’t come. And I’m redoin’ your room and everything. Please say you’ll come.”

“I’ll try,” I said, but apparently my answer wasn’t good enough because Vivian proceeded to beg and plead until I finally caved. “All right,” I said. “I’ll come home for Christmas.”

A
t the last
minute, Devin decided to come to Woodland Park to spend Christmas with me instead of his family, and on December twentieth we flew into Colorado Springs. After picking up a rental car, we stopped at Nathaniel’s to have lunch. It was the first time he’d met Devin, and for some reason, Nathaniel seemed uneasy. As we went to leave, he stopped me in the doorway and put his hands on my shoulders, looking me in the eye.

“Brace yourself,” he said.

“I’ll be fine,” I assured him.

“I know you will. But just . . .” His expression became guarded and his eyes flashed to Devin, like there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t in Devin’s presence. “Come see me again before you go back to New York,” he settled for. “Call me if you need anything, or if you decide you want to come stay here instead.”

“Okay, I will,” I said suspiciously, making a mental note to call him later to find out what he’d really wanted to say.

As we drove along the highway toward Woodland Park,
I tried to prepare myself for a reunion with Dad. It had been a year and a half since I’d seen him, and until Vivian called a few months earlier, I’d avoided thinking of him. But since she called, he’d been in my thoughts almost constantly. Vivian had said that he’d changed, and maybe it was true. Maybe things could be different between us. I’d spent the last few weeks trying to wash away the painful memories of adolescence with the pleasant memories of childhood. The more I did so, the greater my desire became to repair my relationship with him.

“Are you nervous?” Devin asked.

I considered his question, and the thought of facing Dad again caused a tremor in my stomach that left me weak. I didn’t want to discuss the past with him. I didn’t want him to remind me of the times he’d hurt me and held me back. I didn’t want him to say he was sorry, even if he was. That period of my life had already been laid to rest like dust after a windstorm. Why disturb it now? I just wanted to show up and have him take me in his arms, tell me he loved me and missed me, as though the last time I had seen him was when I was seven, not seventeen. So I wouldn’t bring up the past. And I hoped he wouldn’t either.

“It will be strange to see my dad married to someone else,” I said, not feeling comfortable expressing all my thoughts to Devin. “I can’t seem to picture it.”

Devin squeezed my hand. “If it’s too strange or uncomfortable, we can go stay somewhere else.”

“We’ll see,” I said. “Vivian said he’s changed for the better, and I’d like to give him a chance. He is my father, after all.”

“Do you wish you could have gone to his wedding?”

“No.” I shrugged. “We were in Europe anyway.”

He was quiet for a moment, his expression contemplative. “You know, I’ve been thinking.”

“About what?”

He glanced at me, cautious excitement in his eyes. “What if . . . ?”

“What if what?”

“What if you and I got married?”

“You . . . want to marry me?” He couldn’t be serious. How could he be when we were so young?

“Yes.” He smiled and squeezed my knee.

“Aren’t you supposed to get down on one knee and offer me a ring or something?” I was trying to make a joke of it, but he didn’t seem to see it that way.

“I can still do that if you want. Sorry, I wasn’t planning on bringing it up. It just kind of came out.”

My heart was suddenly pounding in my chest, but I couldn’t tell if it was from excitement or anxiety. “Devin, I . . . I don’t know. To be honest, the thought of marriage hasn’t ever even crossed my mind. I mean, I haven’t even had time to consider the idea.”

“But what do you need to consider? You know me.” He gazed at me with his puppy eyes. “We’ve dated for almost a year.”

“Ten months,” I corrected.

“That’s what I said. Almost a year. And I don’t think spending more time together will change the way we feel about each other.” He sighed. “Remember the time we sat in the cafeteria, when you still hated me”—he smiled and gave me a sidelong glance—“and you described to me what love felt like?”

“I remember.”

“Well, that’s exactly how you make me feel. And I can’t
imagine anyone else who would make me feel that way.” He lifted my hand and pressed it to his lips. “You and I are perfect for each other. I can see us traveling the world together, just like we did last summer. We share the same passions. We understand one another. So what do you say? Let’s get married.” His eyes were alight with such fiery enthusiasm that I had to look away before I said yes without thinking.

He was right. We were perfect for each other. I wanted to say yes, but somehow, I couldn’t make my mouth form the word. Maybe I just needed more time to get used to the idea.

“Do you love me?” he asked.

I stroked his cheek with my finger and gazed into his waiting copper eyes. “Yes.”