Page 49 of The Sound of Harmony

ChapterThirteen

Kendrick woke up to a high-pitched whine that sounded like a dentist’s drill. At first, he thought the sound was coming from inside his head. Was this another symptom of Meniere’s? But a moment later he realized it was a power saw running in the basement of Mitch’s house. His cousin lived in a one-story fixer-upper and was apparently fixing and upping at six-thirty on a Saturday morning.

Kendrick sat up, but the swaying of the room knocked him down again. Yesterday’s bus ride had taken a lot out of him, and an attack of vertigo in Columbus had left him heaving over a bus station toilet. A night at Mitch’s house hadn’t done his body any favors either. He should have booked a hotel instead of sleeping in Mitch’s spare room, where the mattress was lumpy, the carpet smelled moldy, and the wind whistled through a large crack in the window.

And now Mitch was sawing. The sound started an entire percussion section thundering in Kendrick’s head. He waited for the sawing to pause, then yelled down the stairs, “Mitch, could you stop for one second?”

Silence for a moment. That was something anyway. Footsteps pounded on the basement stairs and Mitch appeared in his doorway, brushing sawdust off his arms. “Did I wake you?”

“I was having a wonderful dream,” Kendrick said. “I dreamed of your death.”

“Nice.”

“It’s funnier in German,” Kendrick said. “They say it all in one word.”

“That’s not true.”

“It could be. You don’t know.”

“Hey, man, I told you I was going to be working on the house this morning. Unlike some people, I don’t have a lot of free time. I got to do what I can, when I can, am I right? And you need to get up anyway.”

Kendrick put the pillow over his head. The vertigo was better, but only a little. “Why did you buy such a dump? I assumed realtors had their pick of houses.”

“It’s an investment,” Mitch said. “Always buy the worst house in the best neighborhood. Fix it, flip it, do it again. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got quarter round to install.”

“Fine.” Kendrick sat up and took some experimental breaths. The dizzy spell was passing. “I’m a better person after I’ve had coffee.”

“We’re out,” Mitch said.

Kendrick flopped back down on the bed. “Now I’m dreaming of my own death.”

“What’s the German word for that?” Mitch asked.

“I’m too sad to make one up.”

“Do you mind if I saw while you shower? Or will that disturb your delicate sensibilities?”

“Go, go. I’ll be over here plotting revenge.” Kendrick grabbed his phone and shuffled across the hall to the bathroom.

This day was starting out shitty, but it would only get better from here. He was finally in the same town as Emma, and he’d get to spend the day with her.

He texted Good morning. No answer.

He tried sunshine. No answer to that either. Maybe she was busy.

While Kendrick showered, he hummed the trumpet part of the piece he was currently working on. The middle section wasn’t quite coming together, but running water seemed to help his creativity.

He wondered sometimes if he was born with songs, since he couldn’t remember a time that he hadn’t heard music in his head. Growing up, he assumed everyone else did too, and was shocked to learn that they didn’t. How could they stand the emptiness? He hummed through the rest of his composition while rinsing and drying.

Back in the guest room, he put on dress pants and a button shirt, trying to make himself halfway presentable. There was nothing he could do about his sunken eyes and pale skin. He looked worn out and the day had barely begun, but he was going to get through today on sheer willpower. He’d pay for it tomorrow, but that was a problem for future Kendrick.

His phone buzzed. Text from Emma.

Sorry I missed you. Busy with last-minute prep.

There’s always something, he texted back.

I want it to go well.