Page 88 of The Sound of Harmony

ChapterTwenty-Three

The night of the concert, Emma spent way too much time on her hair and makeup. Manicures never lasted on her hardworking hands, but she’d splurged on a nail salon visit anyway, getting soft purple polish to match her dress. She only owned one nice purse, a Coach clutch she’d found on sale at an outlet store. The white leather folded over itself in an envelope style and was held by a tiny strap. She also owned a single pair of Jimmy Choo heels that a wealthy client had discarded, despite never wearing them. The shoes were silver and sparkly and made her feel like a princess. She added drop earrings and a simple necklace, then admired herself in the mirror for a moment. When was the last time she’d dressed up like this? She couldn’t remember.

No, that wasn’t true. She could remember, but it wasn’t important anymore.

She’d once owned hundreds of dresses and dozens of pairs of shoes, not to mention coats and purses and jewelry. Money could buy you nice things like that. Money could also buy some not-nice things. Money could buy you baubles that acted as chains. Money could buy numbness and forgetfulness. Money could buy other people’s silence.

But now, in her little apartment in Ohio, wearing hand-me-down shoes and carrying a clearance-rack purse, she felt as if she were wearing royal robes. She smiled at her reflection, thinking how proud her therapist would be at the way she chose to look forward, not back. And more important than Jen feeling proud of her, Emma was proud of herself.

When Gwendolyn, Brooke, and Theo came to pick her up, Gwendolyn asked her to do a twirl and then expressed her approval. Considering that Gwendolyn wouldn’t even go to the grocery store without lipstick and mascara, that meant a lot.

It also meant a lot to Emma that her friends wanted to come to Kendrick’s concert. There was a time in her life when she hadn’t had that kind of support. In her shame, she’d cut herself off from any kind of help, and that shame only buried her deeper into the cycle of abuse. Now she had her own business, a safe place to live, a wonderful boyfriend, and the best friends anyone could ask for.

Brooke gave her a hug. “Does Kendrick know how lucky he is?” she asked.

“I think I’m the lucky one.” Emma shrugged into her light jacket and reached for her purse. “Wait until you see him in his tuxedo.”

They took Theo’s car, since he drove a Chevy Impala that was big enough for all four of them. Theo drove a bit above the speed limit, their route was efficient, and they’d left themselves plenty of time. What they hadn’t counted on was the Ohio State football game snarling traffic. By the time they got to Orchestra Hall, they only had a few minutes to find their seats.

Emma was surprised to see Kendrick in the lobby, nervously scanning the doors, with Mitch standing beside him. Mitch was handsome in his navy suit, but he looked like a schoolboy standing next to Kendrick. Kendrick looked even better than he had last night, and now that she had the head-to-toe picture, she was starting to regret not taking him up on his offer of naked time on the phone. His eyes lit up, and he smiled that sexy smile just for her.

“I thought you’d already be in your seat,” she said.

“I’m hiding from my groupies.”

“You expect me to believe you have groupies?”

“Those middle-aged women in furs?” Kendrick whispered. “They’re dangerous.”

Emma gave him a kiss, then wiped lipstick off his mouth with her thumb.

“Let’s go in,” Kendrick said. “I got you a seat next to mine. We’re in the front row.”

Emma thought she’d be sitting with her friends. They’d all bought modest tickets in the middle of the mezzanine. She turned to include them. “But what about—”

“Go, go, we’ll be fine.” Gwendolyn was at Emma’s elbow, shoving a program into her hand. Emma put it in her purse without looking at it. Who needed a program? She was here to listen, not to read. She wanted to take in the music in a pure way, without being influenced by words.

She took Kendrick’s arm and walked into the auditorium, her head high. She couldn’t stop smiling, even after they took their seats and applauded for the concertmaster and the conductor.

“I can’t wait to hear this,” she whispered to Kendrick.

The music started off slow and sweet, almost like something Eric Whitacre would write. Emma was surprised. She thought Kendrick would start off with a bang, but perhaps he needed to ease into it. After the first minute, she glanced over at him, but he stared straight ahead, rapt. Emma cut her eyes left and right, trying to gauge the reception. So far, the audience seemed to be enjoying it. She relaxed and let the music wash over her.

She listened hard for the flute. Composers always gave the best parts to their favorite instrument, but the flutes stayed mostly in the background for the first movement.

And then, smack in the middle of the second movement, a flute solo.

Not just any solo.

Her solo.

The melody was the same—note for note—as that stupid song she’d made up the first night she’d spent at Kendrick’s house.

Everything in Emma’s body tightened. Her hands were fists, her shoulders squeezed together, and it felt like her skull was shrinking. Her heart seemed to slow, unable to beat in a constricted chest. Her toes curled in her shoes.

Her jaw clenched and she slowly swiveled her head to stare at Kendrick. He looked back with lively eyes and an expectant smile on his face. This wasn’t accidental. He knew what he’d done. He’d deliberately taken her song, planted it in the middle of his work, and now he was giving her a cocky grin like he expected her to be proud of him.

“You asshole,” she mouthed.