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Charlotte clucked her tongue. “Here, boy. C’mere. Oh, you’re a gorgeous fellow, aren’t you?” Her voice grew slightly louder; I guessed she turned to me. “A Husky, and he’s a beauty, too. Icy blue eyes, white underbelly, gray and black on top. He looks like a wolf but the way his tongue’s lolling around, he’s about as ferocious as a puppy. Want to say hi?”
I did not, but I also didn’t want to hurt Charlotte. The dog had its own ideas, anyway. I heard it scrabble in front of me and then heavy paws fell into my lap.
I flinched back with a curse, but the dog stayed put, maybe hoping for a treat. I started to push away and sank my fingers into its fur instead. I stroked the dog’s head, its silky ears, the scruff around its neck. It panted its stinky breath on me, whined, and laid its muzzle on my hand, and I understood at once why Charlotte brought me here. To spark my senses that were dulling under the monotony of takeout and audiobooks.
God, this girl.
My heart clenched painfully, and I wished I could be something good and whole for her.
I heard huffing and jogged steps on gravel. “Sorry about that,” said a man’s voice. “We’re trying to teach Kona to stop jumping on people. Come on, Kona. Let’s go.”
The dog moved off, and I felt Charlotte’s hand on my arm instead.
“That was nice, right?”
“Yeah,” I said, but I was still caught in the low swing of my roller-coaster moods. I tried to do what they told me in PT: focus on something positive. “It feels open here.”
“It is. Lots of wide spaces. I thought you might like the change.”
“A change, yeah. What about you? You must be tired of doing the same boring shit with me, day after day.”
“I’m not bored,” she said quickly. “Plus, it’s my job. I’m supposed to be helping you—”
“Yeah, okay, but if you could go anywhere in the world right now, where would you go? Somewhere out of the city.” I waved my hand at the black nothing in front of me. “Anywhere but here.”
“I’d go to Vienna, Austria. Or maybe Salzburg. Or both.”
“Why?”
“That’s where Mozart lived and worked. I’d love to see his birthplace and walk the same streets that he did.”
“He’s your favorite composer?”
“To put it mildly. I’m sort of obsessed.”
She laughed lightly but it sounded strained. My shitty mood was wearing on her; I could feel it.
“Is that what you practice with every day? His music?”
“No, no, that’s Mendelssohn. Do you remember that first time I played for you? When I forgot my violin and came back for it? I played Mozart.” Her voice softened. “For you.”
I clenched my jaw so tightly I thought my back teeth would shatter.
No, Charlotte. You should be playing in front of sold-out audiences every night. Not me. Don’t waste your time or talent on me.
“Are you okay?” she asked when I didn’t respond. “Bad day?”
I didn’t answer that. “You’d probably have seen all of Europe by now if you’d pursued your music sooner,” I said tightly. “You’d have seen all of Vienna ten times over.”
“Maybe. I didn’t want to leave Montana. I wasn’t ready, I guess. I don’t think I’d have done so well far away from home. Even coming to Juilliard seemed like the other side of the world. I was a homebody, kind of a dork in school.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” I said, mustering enough lightness to let her know I was teasing.
“Shocking, I know,” she laughed in return. “I love performing. There is no better feeling than being submerged in the music and creating an experience for the audience. But I was happy at home too.”
“You don’t regret it? Even now?”
“No. I got to spend more time with Chris. I wouldn’t trade those memories for anything.”
