Page 12 of The Sound of Harmony

ChapterFour

Thursday morning, Kendrick tipped his head back and closed his eyes against the brightness of the sun. The swoops and turns of the road were less nauseating this way, and he could ignore the whooshing of the wind in his good ear.

His friend Ben insisted on driving his Mini Cooper convertible with the top down, even on the highway. Kendrick had grown tired of shouting over the road noise, so they rode in silence for most of the trip. He didn’t have any right to complain, so he didn’t.

Kendrick had given up his driver’s license shortly after his diagnosis. Not only was Meniere’s disease making him half deaf, but the inner ear issues also caused vertigo that came and went without warning. Driving while dizzy would put himself and others in danger and he couldn’t take the risk. And flying was out of the question, since the pressure changes caused intolerable pain.

But he still needed to go to the Midwest Strings and Band Symposium in Indianapolis. They were debuting one of his pieces there and he couldn’t miss it. Luckily, Ben was already booked for the conference, loved any excuse to drive, and was willing to make a stop in Cannondale along the way.

“I was thinking,” Ben said. Now that they were off the highway and driving through town, conversation had once again become possible.

“Don’t do that,” Kendrick said. “You’re supposed to be driving.”

“I can drive and think at the same time,” Ben said. He lapsed into German. “Die Strasse beruhigt die Gedanken.”

“The road calms the mind?” Kendrick asked. “Did you just make that up or is that one of the idioms we were supposed to memorize in Frau Heller’s class?”

“I made it up.” Ben added something in French, which Kendrick didn’t get. It wasn’t one of their shared languages.

Kendrick had met Ben Oberfield in fifth grade, when they’d both attended the same ex-pat academy in Germany. Their parents worked for the State Department, which sounded glamorous, but it meant a new post every two years, often with bounce-back years in Washington, DC in between. The parents would network and jockey for better assignments while their kids tried to make friends as soon as possible and wondered what language they’d have to learn next.

Kendrick and Ben had bonded over their shared love of music, and stayed in touch through many moves. Their paths had intersected off and on—a few months in middle school when their parents were posted in Munich, freshman year in London. And they both got to graduate from the same high school in DC.

Their parents kept moving. Kendrick and Ben both stayed in the US, both making their careers in music. While Kendrick played professionally, Ben taught high school band in Bethesda.

“You’re meeting this house organizer,” Ben said. “This clutter whisperer.”

“Emma Gibson.”

“Uh-huh. And she doesn’t know you, so we can have some fun. I think we should be British.”

Kendrick put on a posh accent. “Should we now?”

“Everybody loves a Brit,” Ben said with a bit of Manchester. “A bloke with nothing going for him but geography can get chicks by the lorryload. Even with that mangy face, she’ll dig you.”

“What if I don’t want her to dig me?” Kendrick was suddenly American again, with the flat accent of a television newscaster.

“Is she old?” Ben asked.

“No. Late twenties, I’d guess.”

“And you said she was hot?”

“Did I?” Kendrick had seen Emma’s picture on her website. He’d spent an embarrassingly long time looking through every page, admiring the before and after pictures of her various projects, imagining her voice while reading the descriptions, marveling at the low prices she charged.

When he’d called to arrange a meeting, their conversation had flowed with ease. He kept trying to think of more questions to ask her, just to listen to the sound of her voice. Emma didn’t have that Midwest nasal thing that you heard in upper Ohio and Michigan, and was so strong in Chicago that they parodied it on TV. Her accent was slightly southern-tinted. But it was more than that. It was the way she spoke so softly, yet so earnestly. Even when she was talking about storage options or closet space, it was as if she were talking about philosophy or poetry. He wanted to hear more.

“Here’s an even better idea,” Ben said. “You put on your best German accent and I’ll speak French and we’ll be Swiss.”

Kendrick swiveled in his seat to glare at his friend. “This isn’t DC. This is Ohio. You put on an accent and you’ll be told to go back where you came from.”

Ben gestured at the ivy-covered buildings around them. They were making their way through campus, about to cross the river into Cannondale’s little downtown. “I thought this was a college town.”

“In that case, if you have an accent, you’ll be condescended to in a very loud voice.”

“That’s true.”

“Besides, I already talked to her on the phone, so she knows—watch out, watch out!”