He looked to Barry. “Are you prepared to step in?”
“I haven’t—I don’t know the solo,” a very pale Barry stuttered out.
Devlin’s eyes narrowed. “That’s disappointing.” He looked to the rest of the cellos.
We shrugged and looked from one to the other. The murmurs grew louder around us as I sunk lower into the seat and slowly tried to make myself disappear. Of all the nights. Of all the solos. I refused to look at Erin. If I could fold myself up and slip into my F-hole I would. And that was not a euphemism.
“Maestro,” a voice called out. “Christine Day can do it,” Erin continued over the rising murmurs of shock. My eyes went wide and my face flamed.
“Christine? The fourth chair?” somebody to the left of me said. Mumbled speculation surrounded me, but I was too focused on not moving even an inch. If I didn’t move at all, maybe I’d disappear. I had reverted to toddler logic. Someone nudged my arm. I stared unseeing forward. This could not be happening.
“Ms. Day?” Devlin asked, his rich voice flat. I couldn’t tell if he was disgusted or amused at the suggestion.
“She’s played the solo before,” Erin said, and the world spun around me in a blur. “She’s been well taught.”
“I’ve heard her play it too,” Barry jumped in.
How convenient for you, Barry.
They were right. I was a classically trained musician. I had been accepted to Juilliard. I was not some meek wallflower with no talent. But this? I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want the solo. Where was Carla, of all the days? I couldn’t look at anybody else in the room. Devlin studied me with an unreadable expression.
“Is that true?” he asked.
If this were a cartoon, there’d be an audible “gulp” sound from me right about now. I took a deep steadying breath. “Yes. A long time ago. I haven’t played it since—”
“She was practicing it last night,” Erin interrupted, sending her straight to the top of my dead-to-me list.
I tilted my head to more accurately to send my death stare her way. Okay, so I had been practicing it late at night after everybody left. The third movement of Brahm’sPiano Concerto No. 2contained a beautiful solo that was sentimental to me. That didn’t exempt Erin from my wrath though. Oh no, she was so not getting a banana cake from Donner Bakery this birthday. She’d be lucky if I made her a card. Store bought cards from here on out.
“Let’s play through. I want to hear if you’re qualified,” Devlin said.
“Yes, Maestro.”
Around me, the symphony moved into the ready position. Devlin didn’t pick up his baton.
“You’ll need to move,” he said coolly, as his gaze flicked to the empty first chair.
Amazingly, my legs supported me despite how badly my knees tingled. The neck of my cello was tightly gripped in my fist like it was the only thing keeping me from spinning off the earth.
“We will start from the Andante movement,” he called out as I got situated.
Next to me Barry gave me a brief nod of encouragement. I managed a small smile back. Playing alone at night was a heck of a lot different than feeling an entire symphony watch you. I wiped my palms on my dress pants before straightening my spine.
My nerves were shredded. I did this for a living and yet I couldn’t get my bow to stop wobbling where it hovered just above the strings. My heart sputtered and cranked to a manic tempo. Carla should be here. What if something happened to her? The world began to tune out around me. Tears pricked behind my eyes. How ridiculous was that? I played with these people every day, but if I tried to speak or breathe or move, I’d start to cry.
“Hey.” Devlin’s voice was so soft I hardly noticed it at first. His biker boots appeared in front of my blurring vision. “Christine?”
I lifted my chin to find him standing in front of me with a furrowed brow. “Is she okay?” The question just slipped out, but I needed to know.
He dropped into a crouch to better hear me, causing me to pick up soft hints of cologne, fabric softener, and motorcycle exhaust. “What?”
I asked again a little louder but likely only Barry would be able to hear, if that.
His face was impassive like he was processing what I said. “Who? Carla?”
I nodded stiffly.
“Family emergency. She’ll be back on Monday,” he spoke softly.
