The Christmas Violin (5 page)

She’s sixteen and mad that she doesn’t have a car of her own and mad that he rarely allows her to drive her mother’s or his. He tells her it’s not that he doesn’t trust her; it’s that he doesn’t trust other drivers. He wants to keep her safe.

She’s eighteen and he’s moving her into her dorm room. She’s not expecting her heart to hurt, but it does. It hurts like it does now.

The Old Woman

The old woman stirred. The morning sun poured in through the dirty shed window. Usually when she slept in the shed, she covered the window with a piece of cardboard to block the morning sun. But she was so tired when she had finally managed to get inside the shed the night before that she hadn’t bothered.

For a few seconds, she had forgotten about being robbed, but then she remembered. Her cart was gone. Her favorite fuzzy blanket was gone. And the lucky quarter she had found in the coin return of the soda vending machine in the city parking garage was gone.

The old woman had made it a habit to check the coin returns of every vending machine she passed. Over the years, the money she found had bought her a warm meal or two. But this quarter, the first she ever found, was special. It reminded her that sometimes life returns unexpected goodness.

She inched out of the sleeping bag. She rubbed her wrinkled hands together. She spotted a peanut on the concrete floor. She must have dropped it the night before. She bent over and picked it up, pinching the morsel between her thumb and index finger. She rolled the peanut in her mouth, using her tongue to tumble it. She sucked the salt out of it before chewing and swallowing. She looked around to see if there were any more crumbs, but found only dirt.

She grunted, reaching for the walking stick the caretaker had made for her. Using the stick to steady herself, she stood. She swiped her slimy teeth with her tired tongue and winced. Normally, she’d brush her teeth in a public restroom where she’d also fill the sink with water and, using paper towels and soap from the wall dispenser, clean herself as best she could. But her toothbrush was in her cart. She’d have to find a new one.

She made a mental note to check the trash on nearby Maple Street. Tomorrow was trash pickup and everyone put their trash bags out the night before. The old woman learned over the years on what streets she was most likely to find what she was looking for. She learned, for instance, that people who lived in big, fancy houses threw out a lot of good food. She found the best leftovers in their trash. They also tended to be the people who seemed to discard items that still had a lot of life left in them – like toothbrushes. Once, she even found a toothbrush that hadn’t been opened. She didn’t understand how they could throw something away when it could have been given to someone who really needed it. Like her.

Of all the treasures she’s found in others’ trash, her greatest find she kept in a shoebox in the back corner of the shed. She smiled just thinking about it. She pictured the small Christmas tree on the boy’s grave. She wanted to do something special for the boy’s mother, and the black night she found the trash bag full of treasures she knew just what she’d do. She had waited all year to be able to give the boy’s mother her gifts, and she figured that she’d see the tree sometime around Thanksgiving. She had a few more weeks to wait and she felt as anxious as a child waiting for Santa.

She never cared for anyone the way she cared about the young woman with the violin – and the dead boy. Why, she didn’t know. But there was something about the music, something about the woman and the boy that made her heart dance.

The old woman wobbled to the shed door and opened it. The sun was bright and she squinted, unsure if she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. Sitting outside the door was a new metal cart and inside of it was a new fuzzy brown blanket.

Peter

Peter checked out of the hotel and headed to the Tampa airport. He had expected to stay another day, but there was no need to now. Luckily, he was able to reschedule his flight.

He felt badly about the interview, about wasting Ron’s time. Peter had left on good terms, though. Ron made it clear that if Peter changed his mind, they could talk some more. But Peter knew that he wasn’t going to change his mind. He had been searching for answers and the answers were there all along. He just hadn’t opened his eyes.

It probably wasn’t the best time to venture out on his own, but thinking about it made him happy. And he figured that had to count for something.

He grabbed a black coffee after getting through airport security and headed to the gate. He turned on his iPad, figuring he had about an hour.

He pulled up the e-edition of his hometown newspaper. Ever since Camilla’s death, he checked the obituaries every day. It had become habit. Once, he saw an obituary for an older couple. The husband and wife had died of natural deaths hours apart. Their daughter found them sitting in their living room. One was in the chair; the other on the sofa. And the TV was on. It was so unusual that the paper even did a little write-up about it. The news story was along the lines of them always being together, even in death.

Peter always took notice of the people’s ages. If they had died young, like sixteen or seventeen, and there was no indication of the cause, he wondered if they had committed suicide. And if they did, why? He couldn’t understand why some people wanted to die while others who had died, like Camilla, would have given anything to live.

Peter finished his coffee and walked over to throw his cup in the trash. The passengers from the incoming flight were walking up the ramp. When Peter turned to go back to his seat, he spotted the woman from the cemetery. She was headed right toward him.

His heart skipped a few beats. What the hell was she doing here? And what were the chances he’d see her in the Tampa airport? Maybe it wasn’t her, he thought. Maybe it was her twin. She wore a tan dress and Peter couldn’t help but notice her shapely legs, which seemed to go on forever. A black bag hung on her shoulder and she carried a tan blazer that matched her dress.

He held his breath. Would she see him? Would she recognize him? No, of course not. They hadn’t even talked in the cemetery. It was a brief moment, the kind so fleeting that if you don’t coddle it you lose it.

He watched as she looked at her wristwatch and then straight ahead – into his eyes.

Willow

Willow’s heart danced when she saw him. It was the guy from the cemetery, the one who watched as she played for Luke. What was he doing here? She didn’t even know his name. It would be rude not to acknowledge him, she thought. Rude not to say hi. Maybe she should at least introduce herself.

When she first realized he had been watching her in the cemetery, she was a bit resentful. Her daily cemetery playing was for Luke – no one else. And when she saw him standing there, next to a gray granite grave, she almost felt like he was intruding. Of course, the cemetery was a public place. He wasn’t any more an intruder than she was.

She stopped in front of Peter and smiled. “I saw you. Yesterday. At the cemetery.”

Peter nodded and held out his right hand. “Yes. I’m Peter. Peter St John.”

Willow shook his hand. “Hi, Peter. I’m Willow Channing.”

Peter smiled. “I enjoyed your music. You play well.”

“Thank you,” said Willow, realizing he had no idea who she was. “You’re heading back?”

“Yes,” Peter said. “I was here on business. You?”

“Visiting my parents,” said Willow, checking her watch. “I should go. It was nice meeting you.”

Peter nodded. “Nice meeting you, too.”

Willow headed for the restroom and then to get her bags and the car she had rented. By the time she got on the road, she was famished and went through a drive-thru for a burger and fries. She never ate fast food, but she didn’t want to take the time to get something healthier. Besides, the burger and fries reminded her of when she was little and her dad would take her on daddy/daughter date nights. They’d always get a burger and fries at McDonald’s and then they’d go to the movies or the park or wherever Willow wanted to go. Willow smiled. She had loved their date nights. And she especially loved the way her dad made her feel like she was the most important person in the world.

Willow headed down Interstate 75 toward Fort Myers. She turned on the radio and found a classic rock station. Stevie Nicks blared from the radio, singing “Landslide,” one of Willow’s favorite Nicks songs.

Willow bit her lip, trying to barricade the tears. She felt like she was caught in her own landslide, that everything around her was crashing down. And, like Nicks, she wondered if she could handle the seasons of her life. She wasn’t sure.

The Old Woman

The old woman’s eyes were the size of half dollars when she saw the shiny metal cart and the fuzzy brown blanket. She turned in a circle, checking to see if anyone was watching. She figured they were from the caretaker. He was the only one who knew the shed was her home. And, the only person who seemed to know what she needed most. More than once she thought he might be Jesus. And, if he was Jesus, she hoped he wouldn’t hold her accountable for what the voices inside her head said. They were bad voices. She hated them.

Her cracked lips trembled. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had done something so nice that it made her cry. A tear escaped from the corner of her left eye and slid down her wrinkled cheek. She wiped her baggy eye with her tattered knit glove. Why was the man so kind? She wondered. She had nothing to give him. She didn’t even know his name.

She tried to think of what she could do for the caretaker, but she couldn’t think of one thing. Maybe she’d keep an eye out when she went trashing, find something that she could give him. Like a tie or some discarded screws that still had some life in them.

She grabbed the handle on the cart and stuffed her walking stick inside. She pushed it over the lumpy cemetery ground to the crumbling stone steps she had crawled up the night before. She had spent many hours on those stone steps, watching the world whiz by, going fifty in a twenty-five miles per hour zone. People were always in a hurry to go nowhere, she thought. And they all ended up here, in the cemetery, eventually. What good was life if you were going too fast to live it?

She pushed her new cart down the street, shuffling her feet. She tried to think of the last time she had something new. She couldn’t. And she had gotten two new things in one day – the cart and the blanket. She thought she was the luckiest person around.

A bus loaded with school kids was stopped at the traffic light. She could hear them laughing. When she looked up at the bus, she realized they were laughing at her. They were pointing fingers and pretty soon a few laughing and pointing turned into the whole side of the bus laughing and pointing. All the goodness she felt from being given the cart and fuzzy blanket drained from her saggy face. She hated kids, except the boy buried in the cemetery. To hell with the rest of them, she thought. They brought her nothing but trouble. She liked it better when they were dead. They couldn’t make fun of her then.

By the time she got to the soup kitchen, cheerful Charlie Shue was waiting outside. He smiled when she got closer.

“About time you get here,” he said. “You had me worried.”

The old woman stopped and sucked in deep breaths.

“You seem like you got to work mighty hard to breathe,” Charlie said. “Maybe you ought to see a doctor.”

The old woman shook her head. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with me,” she muttered, “but having to deal with people.”

She pushed her cart past Charlie and made her way into the soup kitchen. Big Feet was already in line for the second time. He turned around and saw her. A big smile erupted on his face. “Ain’t no more bacon,” he said. “But I saved ya a piece.” And he winked and flashed his big teeth smile.

He pulled a napkin out of his coat pocket and held it out. The old woman stared into his black eyes.

Big Feet nodded. “Go ahead. Take it. It’s yours. I got it for you. I ain’t gonna take it back.”

The old woman snatched the napkin and stuffed it into her pocket and Big Feet smiled and nodded.

“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” he said. “That’ll be good eatin’ for ya later.”

For the second time in one morning, the old woman found herself smiling. And she wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that. Other people smiled. Not her.

Peter

All Peter could think about on the flight home was Willow. What a beautiful name, he thought. Wispy and swaying, like the tree – like her.

He wasn’t a classical music guy. Rock was more his thing. And when it came to the violin, he preferred listening to Irish fiddle players.

Camilla loved classical music and she had explained to him the difference between a fiddle player and a violinist. He couldn’t remember how it exactly went, but he was pretty sure a fiddle player learned by ear and the violinist learned to read sheet music. Camilla had told him that there were fiddle snobs and violin snobs; each thought they were better than the other.

Odd, he thought, that they could play an identical instrument yet create totally different music. It seemed to him that life was like that. Two people might be dealt the same hand, but it’s how they played the hand that determined the outcome. He thought that perhaps it was time to fold his hand and start anew.

He wondered when Willow would return from visiting her parents. He wanted to see her again. Maybe he’d see her at the cemetery. He sort of felt like a dirt bag, hoping he’d run into her at the cemetery. But the cemetery was the only place he knew she went.

Thinking about her as much as he was spooked him a bit. That’s when he realized there was a shift, a change that he hadn’t seen coming. It snuck up on him like a birthday; it came whether he wanted it to or not.

It used to be that the only woman he could think about was Camilla. When he closed his eyes it was her that he saw. But now, he saw Willow. And it scared him and made him feel guilty. And yet he couldn’t help himself, couldn’t help feeling what he was feeling.