Page 94 of The Sound of Harmony

He realized that this short analysis wasn’t definitive. He was taking a big leap, but what was a hunch other than knowing something without being told? This is what Emma meant tonight when she’d said he was like Jonah Dalton. Emma’s ex had taken her music, either by agreement or by force, becoming famous along the way and leaving her with nothing but a broken jaw and forced silence.

And now Kendrick had done the same thing—or close enough to it. He’d shared the credit, but he’d still taken without asking. He never gave Emma any choice in the matter. He was scum, like Jonah, and he didn’t deserve someone like Emma in his life.

If Saturday night was bad, brunch with Ben and Raine on Sunday was worse. They met at a casual restaurant near campus that was popular with both students and townsfolk. Ben and Raine took over most of the conversation, telling him the gossip about their mutual friends, what was new in DC, and what concerts they’d seen. Kendrick didn’t have to do much but smile and nod. But he still had to sit there and watch them be in love, sharing bites of eggs benedict and telling each other inside jokes in French.

But the day didn’t reach bottom until brunch was almost over and Kendrick was on his third cup of coffee, which wasn’t waking him up at all. The older man sitting in the next booth left his newspaper behind. He’d been reading The Columbus Dispatch, and it was all Kendrick could do not to ask him for the entertainment section. He’d heard that there was a reviewer in the audience last night. He wanted to see if the concert was written up.

Ben stood at the same time he did and blocked him from picking up the paper from the adjacent table. “Excuse me,” Kendrick said. “I just want to—”

“No, you don’t.” Ben moved right when Kendrick did, pivoted left when Kendrick did the same.

“I want to see—”

“Nope.” Ben reached behind him, grabbed the newspaper and sat down again, handing it to Raine, who shoved it behind her back.

“Nice,” Kendrick told her as he took his seat again. “You’re on his side now.”

“Darling.” Raine reached for his hand, but Kendrick pulled it away. “They gave us free papers in the hotel this morning. We’ve read the review.”

Kendrick barely heard her. He was already on his phone, pulling up the online version of the newspaper. No, he didn’t want to subscribe. No, he didn’t want the app. He didn’t want notifications. He wanted the damn story.

But before he could get there, Ben snatched the phone out of his hands. “Don’t.”

Kendrick looked up at him, inhaling sharply. “Is it that bad?”

“Critics are idiots,” Ben said.

“Most of them are failed musicians,” Raine added. “They’re just jealous.”

Kendrick held out his hand and Ben gave him the phone back. Kendrick put it in his pocket without looking at it. He scrubbed a hand across his unshaven beard and then over his ear. “I’m done.”

“I’ll get the check.” Ben signaled for the waitress.

“No, I mean, I’m done. With this career. With this town. With this life. I don’t know who I thought I was fooling. Whatever that review said? The next one will be worse. The one after that will be savage. And those critics will be right. How can I write music if I can’t hear properly?”

“I heard of a deaf composer once,” Raine said. “I can’t be sure, but I think his name was Ludwig something?”

“Ha.” Kendrick gave her a dead-eyed stare. “Never heard that one before.”

“Screw that critic,” Ben said. “Simplify the violin part and give it to the clarinets. My band kids will play your music.”

“Great,” Kendrick said, as if Ben’s request was reasonable. “I’ll get right on that.”

“If I’m hungry for this, so are other schools. Community orchestras too.” Ben pushed his empty coffee cup to one side and leaned across the table. “There’s a need for quality student pieces but guys like you won’t touch it, even though your music would be played regularly, to the most appreciative audiences in the world.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Raine told him.

“Write music for kids to play for their grandmothers?”

Raine replaced her tea cup into its saucer so gently it didn’t make a sound. Ben gave him a long, silent stare.

The waitress dropped off the check. Kendrick put some bills on the tray.

Ben continued to glare. “You selfish little twit.”

“What?” Kendrick said. “I grabbed the check, didn’t I?”

“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it,” Ben said. “Some of us would kill to have one tenth of your talent, content to write any music at all, for any venue. But you think if you’re not playing flute in Carnegie Hall or Berlin Konzerthaus, you might as well not play. And if your music isn’t being performed by the finest orchestras, then why compose?”