Page 6 of The Sound of Harmony

“You’ll need someone to fill in while I’m gone,” Kendrick said. “But shouldn’t Raine be moving up?”

Vescovo finally looked at him, tilting his chin to do so. “Did she ask you to speak to me?”

“No, sir. She’d kill me if she knew.” But dammit, she deserves that seat.

“A second-chair flute is not a principal flute.”

“What does that even mean?” Kendrick asked. “Is it because she’s a woman?”

Vescovo turned away, his eyes darting down. “No.”

“Because if that’s your problem, the union is going to—”

“It’s because she can’t play.”

“She can’t…” For once in his life, Kendrick was at a loss for words. Every musician on that stage had beaten out hundreds of people to be here and every one of them was at the top of their game. What bullshit was this?

“A moment ago she came in late,” Vescovo said.

“Late? When?”

“On measure thirty-five.”

“So what?” Kendrick asked. “If we never messed up, we’d never need to rehearse.”

Vescovo rocked back on his heels and lifted a finger. “Wrong. You practice the notes on your own time. You come to rehearsal to learn to play them the way I tell you to.”

“Anyway,” Kendrick scrambled. “That was me who was late on thirty-five. I missed the cue.”

Vescovo flicked a finger at him. “I know which flute. I have two working ears.”

Dick. But Kendrick refused to get defensive. That wouldn’t help Raine. He took a step back and looked down his nose at Vescovo. “We both know what my problem is. I’m losing my hearing in one ear. But Raine has both of hers and she listens to you. Why hold auditions for a temporary seat?”

Vescovo’s glare drilled into him. “All seats are temporary.”

Kendrick’s phone vibrated in his pocket.

The conductor’s eyebrows slammed downward. “You brought a phone into my rehearsal?”

“I’m sorry, sir. If I could—”

“Get out,” Vescovo snarled. “No phones in the building.”

“I’ll take it outside,” Kendrick said, already heading for the exit. He looked at the screen. FaceTime call from his cousin. Mitch only used FaceTime when it was urgent.

“You’ve got eight minutes,” Vescovo called to his back.

“This will take seven.”

Kendrick hurried around the corner to the back door and cracked it open, then quickly shut it again. The rain was dripping and spitting, and he wasn’t going to stand in it, no matter how pissed Vescovo got. He stood against the wall and connected the call.

Mitch’s face bloomed into his vision, holding his phone at arm’s length, a deep crease in his forehead as he frowned into the screen. Kendrick and his cousin looked a lot alike, with the same lean build and the same full lips and the same brown hair, cut short. They were the same age, although Mitch always acted as if Kendrick was a wayward little brother who had to be set straight.

“I’ve got seven minutes,” Kendrick said. “Go.”

Mitch winced. “I’ve got bad news.”

“I’m afraid I’m not taking any bad news at this time,” Kendrick said. “I’m full up. There is simply no occupancy in the bad news portion of my brain. Nice talking to you. See you later.”