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“And here I thought you were just Keith’s latest, but no…”
That one caught my attention. “His latest…?”
But then Keith was there, sweeping me into his arms and spinning me around. “Have we got a superstar, or what?” He laughed and kissed me and then put his mouth near my ear. “I think I love you, Charlotte.”
Tears sprang to my eyes. Now I was sure my heart couldn’t hold another drop of happiness. I kissed him back with everything I had. “I love you, too.”
One week until opening night.
I was hanging out in my dorm room at the residence hall with Melanie Parker. She’d won the Strings’ coveted cello seat, and we’d become best friends before the end of the first rehearsal a month ago. Her pragmatism—and her dark, pageboy haircut—reminded me of Velma from the oldScooby-Dooreruns Chris and I used to watch as kids. Now, Melanie and I were talking and laughing as I read dumb jokes off the internet.
“Okay, wait, here’s a good one. What’s the difference between a pianist and God?”
“Seriously, Char…”
“God doesn’t think he’s a pianist.” I wagged my eyebrows at her. “Get it?”
“Yes, I get it. How someone can be as talented as you are and yet such a ginormous dork is beyond me.”
I shrugged, laughing. “Why should musicians be stuffy and serious all the time?”
“Is this another joke?”
“I guess notallmusicians,” I mused. “Mozart used to write letters to his mother describing particularly satisfying shits he’d taken.”
“Only you would find that admirable.” Melanie glanced at her watch through her cat’s eye glasses. “Damn. We’re late.”
We packed up our stuff and headed out when my cell phone, still on my desk, rang.
At the door, Melanie hoisted her cello case. “Ticktock.”
“I know, but just let me…” I hurried back to the desk and peered at the display. “It’s a Montana number. Someone calling from home.” Not my parents or Chris, or it would have ID’d them.
“You know how I feel about tardiness,” Melanie said, tapping her foot.
I wish I had listened to her. I wish I had left the phone alone and gone to rehearsal. I would have had a few more hours of ignorant bliss before the knife came down like a guillotine, forever dividing my life into Then and Now. Then had been so full of light and love and music. Now was dark and cold and quiet.
“Hello?”
“Charlotte?” A man’s voice. Watery. Tremulous. A voice choked with tears.
“Uncle Stan?”
“Hi, honey.” A heaved breath laced with a sob. “I have some bad news. You might need to sit down.”
My chest tightened, and my heart skipped a beat and then jogged to catch up. But I didn’t move. I felt frozen. “What is it?”
“It’s Chris, honey. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”
Uncle Stan told me what happened, but I remembered it in bits and pieces, and in the end, only one piece mattered. Chris was gone.
My brother was gone.
Then and Now. Just like that.
“You’re going to miss opening night?” Keith’s eyes, which I had always thought were blue like a cloudless summer day, were icy. “Charlotte, we’re a week out.”
I lifted my own shadowed, swollen, blood-shot eyes to meet his incredulously, though I hadn’t the strength to do more than mutter, “The funeral is in four days…”
