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I’ll call Lucien tomorrow. I’ll show this to him. When was Noah’s birthday? Too far away. November 1st. A Scorpio. I scoffed with a smile. That explains a lot.
These thoughts raced through my head until a text from Melanie chimed on my phone.
Well? How did it go???
I frowned in perplexity and nearly texted her back:How did what go?
And then it hit me. The Philharmonic. The audition. I’d missed the audition. I’d forgotten all about it.
My skin felt cold all over as Chris’s voice echoed in my mind. “First Juilliard, then the Phil!”
Oh my God, how did I forget that audition? How did I let that kind of opportunity slip through my fingers?
My hands shook as I shut my laptop. I shut off my phone too, without answering Melanie’s text, and climbed into bed. I pulled the covers up over my head and squeezed my eyes shut, as if I could block out the shame that washed over me.
Noah was right. I was squandering my time. I was meant to be singing with my violin, and if I didn’t at least try to find that voice, I might lose it forever. I had to rage against the dying of my own light or else put my violin in a closet and never touch it again.
I vowed to tell him I needed to start looking seriously for a seat somewhere. Maybe I could still work here part time and they could charge me rent.
Or you could get serious and resign.
I bit my lip, and burrowed deeper under the covers. I hated the thought, but didn’t Lucien say the best thing to do was rarely the easiest? But did I have to choose?
I fell into a fitful sleep in which I dreamed I was playing on stage, alone, and the only person in the audience was Noah.
The following morning, I was on the third floor, dusting and airing out the unused guest rooms and the office/gym. On the desk was the typewriter I’d heard last night. Noah must have dug it out of some closet since I’d never seen it before. It was a classic, sleek and black with the wordCoronaetched in elegant gold along the front.
There was paper still tucked inside. With writing on it.
Don’t do it, I thought even as my feet brought me closer. The desk needed dusting, I reasoned. My eyes darted to the paper once, twice, and then I sat down in the chair, drawn in by the words, typewritten perfectly despite Noah’s blindness. He must have been an excellent typist in hisPlanet Xdays, not a ‘dumb jock’ at all, and here was the proof.
Chapter ?
Once, when I was in Peru, I hiked up to Machu Picchu like everyone does. Only I didn’t trek up Huayna Picchu with four hundred other tourists. I got a special permit and hiked Cerro Machu Picchu, alone, before dawn. Not the highest peak I’d ever climbed; not even close. Mt. Everest Base Camp has that distinction. But the Picchu wasn’t the easiest trek anyway: winding, steep paths, and a dense, sweltering cloud forest. It was summertime. December. December 25thto be precise. I arrived at the pinnacle alone, around three in the morning, and waited for the sun to rise. A Christmas present to myself.
I was on assignment forPlanet Xand had my digitalSLRat the ready. But when the first rays broke the eastern horizon, that $6000 camera nearly slipped out of my hands.
The light emerged first like a molten glow through a thick mist. I imagined a lost god, wandering the earth and holding aloft his lantern, searching, like I was, for something he would never find and not caring, because it was the journey that mattered. Always the journey. The thrill of discovery, of boundaries and edges, of new horizons.
The light grew brighter, spilled into the cracks and ravines of the surrounding mountains, and stained the sky in hues of violet, orange, and gold.
I watched the light grow stronger until it seemed all of Peru—all of the world—lay at my feet. The mountains, swathed in green, surrounded me on all sides, challenging me to climb up and over and see what lay beyond. The Urubamba River coiled through the greenery below like an albino snake, and the famous ruins were mere scratches against the mountain from my high vantage.
The beauty of it stole my breath and made my heart ache in a way I couldn’t explain. I got my wits about me enough to snap a few photos, but I didn’t want to see this unfold through a lens. I wanted to see it with my own eyes. Savor it. It wasn’t just a new day, it was the epitome of all new days, as if the world hadn’t existed until that light touched it, and then it was all mine.
Only mine.
That was three years ago, and in that time, I’d experienced dozens of death-defying rushes—adrenaline pushes that left me weak and laughing and high with triumph. None compared to that moment, sitting alone on that mountain.
After the accident I thought I’d never know the kind of pure, unadulterated bliss I’d felt in Peru ever again. It was lost to me when the rocks stole my sight. That euphoria of endless possibility was gone forever.
And then I met Charlotte.
I sucked in a breath and bolted out of the chair as if it had shocked me. I spun around, sure I’d see Noah behind me, snarling with rage for snooping. But the door and hallway beyond were empty.
Slowly, I sank back down into the chair and read the last paragraph over and over, trying to decipher its meaning. Noah meant I was helping him get out of the house more, that’s all. As his assistant. Right?
“Euphoria of endless possibility,” I murmured, and a smile spread over my cheeks along with the warm glow that bloomed in my heart.
