Page 79 of The Sound of Harmony

Kendrick’s mind raced ahead, already picturing the concert. The orchestra in their tuxedos and black gowns, audience members in colorful evening dress, cashmere wraps and early-season furs draped over seatbacks, expensive perfume wafting through the air. The bubble of voices hushing as the house lights dimmed. The concertmaster tuning everyone. Umaru taking his bow and ascending the podium. A profound pause, a held-breath silence as the conductor lifted his baton. The first notes sounding through the hall, curling over the audience’s heads, drifting around their ankles like a slow-rolling fog, inviting them to open their hearts, lower their inhibitions, and let the music transport them.

And the most important thing of all—Emma would be at his side. They’d be together in the front row, feet lined up and nearly touching, shoulders an inch apart, their arms together on the armrest, his fingers brushing hers. He’d watch her out of the corner of his eye, waiting for her reaction. The slight smile, the tapping of her fingers, the sly glance that said she was impressed. And in that moment, he’d know for sure that he was where he should be, with the most important person in his life, doing what he was meant to do.

Kendrick winced when the violins got off tempo, falling a quarter beat behind, but Umaru got them back on track and they finished the movement before taking a break.

The conductor noticed him in the audience and came down to say hello. “I didn’t expect to see you today,” he said.

Kendrick gladly returned his handshake. He’d always respected Umaru, but in these past few weeks they’d developed a genuine friendship. “I’m in town to record Classical Discoveries. Thanks for setting that up, by the way. I have to go in a minute.”

He was actually in town for more than recording a podcast. But Umaru didn’t need to know that he was killing time between a doctor’s appointment and the interview.

Today, he’d had a long and disappointing talk with his doctors about tradeoffs. They were trying to be minimally invasive, to prevent further hearing loss, but that meant continued vertigo. Physical therapy was helping, as Kendrick re-learned how to stabilize his gait and new ways to move his head. But mostly, he relied on motion sickness drugs to feel better while the doctors used pressure therapy and antibiotics to slow progression of the disease.

Kendrick gripped the back of the seat in front of him as he moved into the auditorium’s aisle, careful not to turn his head too suddenly.

Umaru twisted his baton in his fingers. “While I have you here, can I ask you about that trumpet section in the first movement? Was it better today?”

“Much.” Kendrick had suggested they let it flow rather than playing staccato notes.

“I’m asking because that’s how you wrote it, but… never mind. If that’s how you want it played.”

“I do.” Kendrick had tried to tell him why that section had to be legato, almost slurred, in order to set up the contrast with the trombones in the following section. But it was too difficult to explain his creative process from the inside out. He was just happy that Umaru trusted his vision.

He said his goodbyes and made his way to the street. He looked back at the ornate façade of Orchestra Hall and held up his phone. Why not? He got his selfie lined up so that the cream-colored brick building loomed over his shoulder.

He texted the photo to Emma. Thinking of you.

Rawr! she texted back. You look so hot. But why are you dressed up for a podcast?

Kendrick smoothed the subdued gray tie he was wearing. It complemented his navy suit and white shirt. It makes me feel better.

Will it make you sound better too? She followed it up with a winking emoji.

I can’t explain it.

You don’t have to.

He texted back a single heart, glad he didn’t have to explain. So much of their communication was without words, because Emma already understood him on the deepest levels.

One of their favorite activities was walking along the Scobal River. Sometimes they’d finish each other’s sentences, talking over each other while commenting on every single thing they saw and heard on the trail, from the corgi twins tangling their leashes around their owner to the capsized canoe on the river. Other times, one or the other of them would be feeling contemplative, and they’d stroll hand in hand in silence as the autumn leaves drifted down around them. And yet, they said just as much on their quiet walks as their chatty ones.

Kendrick got a Lyft. In the back of the car, he fiddled with his phone and decided to tweet the selfie he’d just taken. He listed the date of the upcoming concert and also tagged Classical Discoveries. It felt cheap, but he needed to do more promo and social media was an easy way to start.

He watched the city go by, tilting his head to take in the Columbus skyline, but all he could think about was Washington, DC. He wasn’t homesick for the city itself. Who cared about the traffic, the politics, the crowding, the class divide? But he was homesick for his old life—the one where his job was playing flute and he worked with his best friends. The one where he had respect and money and travel.

Not that he didn’t like Cannondale. Most of the time, he enjoyed the slower pace of life there. He liked reading out loud to Emma in the park, having barbecues with her friends, and watching Netflix at home. They’d make a comfortable nest of pillows and curl around each other, scrolling through the foreign movie section on his laptop. Some nights they’d laugh so hard at trailer after trailer, they’d never settle on a movie.

He’d met other neighbors, and although they didn’t seem to watch him as closely as Maude Zelinski did, he was getting used to everyone on Cricket Lane knowing when he went for a walk or picked up his mail.

Some people would say that he had the best of both worlds—a cute college town with a big city close by. But what if he wanted more than that?

He needed this concert to be perfect. It was only the first step, but it was the most important step in reclaiming part of the life he’d left behind.

Emma had long since given up asking Kendrick if he’d like her to drive him to his doctor’s appointments. They did a lot of talking around the subject, but he always deflected when she tried to address it head-on. Nor did he let her accompany him to Columbus to visit the Philharmonic. He’d been extremely secretive about the whole thing. He’d talk about it all day, but she’d barely heard any of the work itself.

“Nobody wants to see the sausage being made,” Kendrick insisted.

“I’ve lived with a musician before,” Emma said. “I know the drill.”