Page 60 of The Sound of Harmony

ChapterFifteen

Monday afternoon, Emma met the movers, who came in a bright orange moving van. It was one of the half-sized ones because Kendrick barely had any furniture.

She got everything placed, reassembled the bed and couch, then started opening boxes. She was looking for an easy win, something she could unpack quickly and put in the exact right place. She could put away all the silverware, perhaps. Or alphabetize the CDs. Or put the sheet music next to his piano.

The first box was full of soft items like clothes, gloves, and a throw blanket. The blanket smelled like Kendrick—cool, peppery, with an undertone of bark and musk and deep woods. She inhaled deeply as thoughts of him spun through her mind.

She couldn’t believe that she’d once considered Kendrick a distant crush—as if he wasn’t a real person, but rather a celebrity whose life would never intersect with hers, and was therefore safe to fantasize about. She also couldn’t believe that she’d denied her feelings by pretending she was too professional to be with him. Or any of the other lies she’d told herself—too busy, not interested, she wasn’t his type. They were all convenient covers for the truth. She was scared. She didn’t trust herself to be that vulnerable, and she was unable to face the terrifying possibility that Kendrick might actually like her back.

But something had changed last night. He got her in ways no one else did. He didn’t demand that she explain herself. She didn’t have to put on a performance, trotting out all the pain of the past for him to dissect and pick apart, looking for places to assign blame. How much of it was her own fault? How much was Jonah’s? Kendrick didn’t do any of those stupid calculations. Whatever she told him, he accepted. He accepted her. Completely. They’d talked for hours last night and when she finally went to bed, she dreamed of him all night.

Everything about Kendrick was unexpected. She hadn’t gone looking for someone like him. He was the opposite of what she thought she wanted, but somehow, he was right for her.

She opened box after box. Kendrick hadn’t sorted anything by category. Kitchen items were packed with bookends, towels were in boxes with office supplies. He had hundreds of CDs, reams of sheet music and scores, and three different folding music stands. She found his metronome in a box with pencils and socks.

One box made her think for a moment that Kendrick had accidentally packed up his recycling bin. But no. He’d saved concert programs spanning his entire professional career. Some were glossy, some were cheaply printed, and they were in several languages. Emma had been an organizer long enough to recognize that some people held on to memories by holding onto things. If Kendrick had enjoyed the concerts then this box was worth keeping.

She finally found what she was looking for—sheets that were wrinkled but clean, two brand-new pillows, and a navy blue blanket bursting with the clean scent of Tide laundry detergent. She mocked up some blinds with a beach towel. It would do until he got something better.

She wanted Kendrick to come home to a freshly made bed and plenty of condoms in the bedside drawer. She wanted tonight to be special.

She wanted him.

The one thing that had gone right for Kendrick today was the fact that his Lyft driver was the silent type. He had his radio tuned to NPR and a smooth voice read the news, absolving them from conversation on the drive from Columbus to Cannondale.

Silva Specialty Moving had delivered his new piano that morning, coming in late, making the tuner wait and costing him extra fees. He’d tiptoed around his empty house, not wanting to rush the tuner, but also needing her to get done and get out before he had to leave. “I’ll have to basically tune this piano twice,” she’d said. “It’s been that long since it’s been played.” They agreed that she’d get it decent for now, and come back in a week to tune it again.

But Kendrick’s frustrating morning was nothing compared to his agonizing afternoon. Forms. Tests. Questions. More tests. More questions.

And no answers. He hadn’t expected any, but some reassurance would be nice. He supposed that would come later, when he was in treatment. But the entire thing underscored that there would be treatment.

Starting down the road to better medical care should have made him feel better. Instead, it made him feel worse, because now it was real. He’d been running from reality, telling himself that he was only taking a temporary leave of absence from his orchestras. He’d been acting as if this was just a rest, just a pause, and that he’d soon launch into the grand second movement of the symphony of his life.

He’d started over many times in his life. Uprooted himself from one place and landed in another, but always with his skills and reputation intact. Today, he was staring at the cold, silent truth. His career as a flautist was over.

He had composing to fall back on—thank God—but could he make a living at it? Write, publish, repeat? Meet the right people, make sure the funding happened, network enough to get his pieces performed? This wasn’t like playing in an orchestra with a steady paycheck. He was on his own, with an iffy ear already putting him at a disadvantage. And if he failed as a composer, he didn’t know what he would do.

He looked out the window at the cars roaring past in the other direction. People reinvented themselves all the time. Emma had done it, bravely, under the worse circumstances. He had a softer landing, and had no reason to feel sorry for himself.

But right now, that was no comfort at all.

Emma had just finished adding supplies to the bedside drawer in Kendrick’s bedroom when she heard a car in the driveway. She looked out the front window to see Kendrick getting out of a sedan with the purple Lyft logo glowing in the window. The trip from Columbus must have been expensive, but without a driver’s license, what choice did he have?

She put her elbows on the windowsill and admired him for a moment. She liked the way Kendrick always stood so straight with his chin up, as if he was looking out over an audience. And when he moved, it was as if his steps were set to music.

But today’s music was a funeral march, because he thumped onto the porch with his head bowed.

Emma came downstairs to meet him. She was ready to run into his arms, but his whole body was stiff, from the set of his shoulders to his hands at his sides. His breath gusted out of him in short, rhythmic puffs.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi.” Kendrick left the front door open, allowing the screen door to swing shut behind him. He strode into the room, wandering through the path between boxes, not giving them a second glance.

Emma hesitated on the top step. This quiet, brooding Kendrick wasn’t at all what she’d expected. She’d thought they’d be all over each other the moment he entered the house. She glanced at the screen door and then back at Kendrick. She found her voice, instantly going into professional mode.

“Everything is here,” she said. “You don’t have a lot of furniture, and some of it is undersized for the house, but we’ll go shopping. The first thing you’ll need is some kind of dining set. I see your piano is in the sitting room. It looks great there. Perfect for the space. We’ll set up bookshelves in the front parlor.”

“Yeah, okay.” Kendrick sank onto the couch. He ran his hands over the cushions, as if reassuring himself that part of his old life had survived the trip.