Page 95 of The Sound of Harmony

“I’m aware of other options,” Kendrick said. He’d been working through those options ever since his diagnosis. Jesus, what did Ben want from him?

“No, you’re not.” Ben’s voice was hard and brittle, a moment away from snapping. “The day I got my first teaching job, I asked you to write music for my students. And I’ve asked you every year since. And if I’m lucky—very lucky—I get stuff that’s been filtered through a big publisher and most of the time, it’s either too hard for my kids or my school district can’t afford the royalties.”

Kendrick frowned across the table. “I have to keep a roof over my head.”

“This has nothing to do with your living and everything to do with your ego.”

Raine covered Ben’s hand with hers as if to stop him, but he snatched it away. His face reminded Kendrick of Mr. Vescovo just before he threw his baton. “What I do is important,” Ben said. “I’m proud of my work, no matter how much you look down on it.”

Kendrick’s jaw dropped and his stomach landed in his shoes. Is that what Ben really thought? “I could never do what you do,” he said. “You’re a brilliant teacher.”

“Uh-huh. We should go.” Ben scooted to the edge of the booth.

“I mean it,” Kendrick said. Years of conversations unwound in his head. Jokes that Ben maybe hadn’t taken as jokes. Jabs that had hurt, even though that was never Kendrick’s intent. He wrung his hands under the table. I’m such an asshole. “You’re damned good at your job.”

“Okay, thanks,” Ben stood. “Long drive ahead. Ready, Raine?”

Kendrick caught his friend’s arm. He couldn’t leave it like this. Ben needed to hear the truth. “You want to know why I don’t write music for students? The real reason?” He tilted his head up to look Ben in the eye. “Because I’m not good enough.”

“What?” Raine yelped. “Yes, you are.”

“I’m not.” Kendrick’s chest felt like it was caving in. He studied Ben’s expression. “You know I’m not.”

Ben turned to Raine. “Il est fou.”

“He’s not crazy,” Raine said. “He’s trying to tell you something.”

Ben looked toward the door, then at Raine, who hadn’t moved. The sound of the restaurant burbled around them. Conversation. Laughter. The clatter of dishes in the busboy’s tray. Ben lowered himself back into his seat.

Kendrick’s friends had spent the whole meal focused on each other. Now, their attention was completely on him. He had them as surely as if they were in one of the front-row seats at Berlin Konzerthaus. If there was ever a time for honesty, it was now.

He leaned in. “When I compose for professionals, I think about what I want to hear and I put those notes on the page. The only consideration is my own sense of the music. But students need so much more than that. I have to take into account their skill level, their range, and what the piece can teach them. It’s hard as hell.”

“I know it is,” Ben said.

“And I see you with your kids,” Kendrick went on. “I see what miracles you work every day. San-jae will probably never pick up his flute after graduation, but he’ll be a better person because he took your class. He’ll be more responsible. A team player. Even spoiled little Chloe is going to remember the time that she was told no, when she learned that life won’t be handed to her on a platter. Next time, she’ll work harder. You did that. You’re not just teaching those kids music. You’re teaching math and auditory skills and poise and confidence and probably twenty other things.”

Ben sat up straighter. “And I’ve been telling you this for how many years now?”

“I don’t hear well,” Kendrick said.

The waitress returned for the check but Ben snatched the tray away before she could pick it up.

“Hey!” Kendrick said. The waitress saw a fight brewing and left them alone.

“You need to shut up and listen to me,” Ben said. “You are good enough. More than good enough. The problem is, you can’t get out of your own way. Stop thinking about yourself and start thinking about the kids. Give them something they can learn. Something they can be proud of. And something to play for their grandmothers. Jesus, man, if you’re not playing music for your grandma, what are you even doing with your life?”

“Right now?” Kendrick asked, making a fruitless lunge across the table. “What I’m doing with my life is fighting my best friend for the breakfast check.”

Raine was a step ahead of them, catching the eye of the waitress and reaching around Ben to hand over her credit card. “Men,” she grumbled.

Kendrick and Ben both stared at her. “What?” they chorused.

Ben cuffed Kendrick’s shoulder on the way out the door. “Come on, buddy. I’ll drive you home.”

“I appreciate it,” Kendrick said. “But I should walk. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

They paused at Ben’s Mini Cooper. Ben nodded at him. “Think about what I said. Don’t make me hate you more.”