“So you have facility with the music but no language for it.”
“I guess?”
“Have you played this piece before?”
“No.”
Wolfe cocked his head. “You weren’t reading the notes, you were watching your hands.”
“I took a photo of the page.” I tapped my temple. “Up here.”
The professor’s eyes widened slightly. “I see.” He dragged a chair beside my bench and sat, crossing one leg over the other. “Change of tactic. Tell me about yourself.”
“You want my life story?” I laughed shortly. “Don’t see how that’s relevant—”
“As pertains to piano. When did you know you had a gift?”
“I don’t know,” I lied. “I could always play.”
Wolfe narrowed his eyes. “For this to work, we’ll need to be honest with each other. But since being emotionally vulnerable is new for you, we can quid pro quo, Clarice. I’ll tell you something terribly personal about me, and you do the same.”
“Is that appropriate,Professor?”
“God, no, but that’s never stopped me before. But again, only piano-related. Fair?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No. But if I overstep, feel free to report me to the proper authorities. Get me sacked. Put me out of my misery.”
I chuckled. I was growing to like Wolfe, entirely against my will.
“Once upon a time,” he began. “there was a boy with such genius that he was overwhelmed by it at a young age. Too many people told him how great he was until the pressure tobe greatwas too much. Sex, drugs, and alcohol relieved the pressure. He became a devil, believing they’d leave him alone. But it backfired. Thedramaof it all only made them want him more while draining his bank account. So now I’m forced to pop my head out of whatever den of iniquity I hole awayin, play a few concerts, teach at institutions that are far too proud of themselves, collect a few quid and disappear again. But in all the years I’ve never come across ayou. Which is to say, ame.”
“I’m nothing like you,” I said.
“True. You’re probably better, but it’s all locked away for some strange reason that mystifies me. So I ask again, when did you know you had a gift? The truth this time, if you please.”
I opened my mouth to joke, to deflect, to tell this bloke he was off his bloody rocker. But what was I here for if not to get somewhere?
“Around the time I started to learn to read,” I said. “So, almost two?”
His brows shot up. “That’s early.”
“I guess. But I remember it well because I didn’t struggle with music the way I struggled with reading.”
“Why is that?”
“I have ADHD,” I said. “My brain doesn’t like sticking with words, and words are… It’s hard to explain. But musical notes make patterns. I’m good with patterns and with listening. Then I just…memorize.”
“You memorize entire pages of music at once.”
“Something like that,” I said. “And I can memorize chapters in books, if they’re read aloud to me. I can read them myself, but it takes longer.”
“You’re an auditory and spatial learner,” Wolfe said, nodding. “I had a stutter as a child. A speech therapist taught me the different modes of learning,” he said, answering my questioning look. “And did you hide your struggles?”
“We hide every struggle in my family,” I said, shocked how easily that popped out.
“I had a feeling. Repressed emotional household. I had one of those too. To this day, my mother believes my boyfriends are justvery affectionate friends.”
