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Mila gave me a confused look. "But your mom is alive."
"She is," I said, not wanting to confuse the girl. "She taught me to play the violin, and I would love to play the duet with you, if you'd let me. I know my mother would want you to take the stage. What song were you going to play?"
"Autumn fromThe Four Seasons."
"One of my favorite pieces by Vivaldi. I think we'd make a great team, Mila."
"Are you…good?" Mila asked hesitantly.
I smiled. "I'm pretty good."
"Okay, I guess."
That was one problem solved, but I realized I had another. "I need a violin."
"The one your mom was going to use is in the music room. I'll get it."
As Mila left, I peeked through the curtains and saw the first group taking the stage, a trio of saxophone players. As the brassy music lit up the auditorium, I realized how talented they were. This high school for the arts was filled with gifted kids. Mila was one of them. I didn't want to let her down. And I wouldn't, I told myself firmly. I knew the piece she was going to play very well. It was going to be beautiful.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, after warming up backstage, Mila and I waited to be introduced. When I looked over at Mila and saw the panic in her eyes, I quickly reassured her. "You'll be fine, Mila."
"There are so many people out there."
"You're not playing for them; you're playing for you. That's all you have to think about."
"That's what your mom always says."
My gut clenched at that remark. Maybe my mom and I were still alike in ways that mattered. "My mother taught you well. You're ready."
"I hope so," she muttered.
We walked out to enthusiastic applause and took our places on the stage. We looked at each other and locked into the moment. Then we began to play.
Mila's first few notes were shaky, but as I accompanied her, she got stronger, gained confidence and trusted herself and me. I loved watching her blossom right in front of me, and I wanted to do everything I could to make this moment special, to help her take her music to the highest point it could go. My energy inspired hers, and our playing was filled with passion, the melody flowing through our minds, our bodies, and our fingers.
Our performance ended with a crescendo and then abrupt silence.
We smiled at each other and then the applause came, with people jumping to their feet and clapping as hard as they could.
I urged Mila to take a step forward, and she shyly did that, basking in the glow of her achievement. Then we walked off the stage together.
As soon as we put our instruments down, she threw her arms around me and gave me a tight hug. "Thank you," she said. "That was the best I've ever played."
"Me, too. You were terrific, Mila. My mother will be so proud of you when she hears about this."
"And proud of you, too."
Her words put a knot in my throat. I'd often thought about my mother when I played, thinking she was up in heaven watching me make music and feeling proud of me. But she hadn't been in heaven; she hadn't been watching over me at all. She'd been focused on other kids when she'd had two daughters who had been left with huge holes in their hearts.
Mila turned away as her dad came backstage to congratulate her. I let out a breath, relieved that it had all gone well. The concert had three more acts, and I could go out front and watch them, but I felt emotionally drained after the performance, so I headed for the nearby stage door and stepped outside.
There were two girls in the quad, practicing a song.
I moved a few feet away and leaned against the wall. The fog had broken over this part of the city, and a few stars were peeking through. It was cold, but I didn't feel it. I was still coming off the heated high of the performance. It had all been for Mila, but I had to admit it had felt good being on the stage.
While I'd played in local, community concerts off and on for most of my life, it had been more than a year since I'd performed, and I'd loved every second of it tonight. Which reminded me that my future was going to contain a lot more nights like these. I had one more day before I needed to get back to Ray with my decision. Twenty-four hours to resolve all the problems in my life seemed overly optimistic, but I would like to have a few more questions answered before I committed to the job. Not that I could possibly turn it down. I had to say yes. This was the life I needed to have. But to really move on, I also wanted my mom to wake up, to talk to me, to stop lingering in the world between life and death.
