“It’s no secret that your mom wanted her old life back. She missed performing in front of crowds and traveling all over the world. She said she felt meaningless and small when she couldn’t share her gift with the world. She wanted a different life for both of you, and when she realized it was impossible, she gave up.”
An all too familiar ache burrowed under my breastbone, and my shoulders drooped from the weight of his words. They weren’t new. I heard them straight from her mouth on more than one occasion, and I’d spent more than a couple of nights turning them over in my head. Even half a decade later, I couldn’t come to terms with them or what happened later. I never accepted that my mom willingly chose death over a life of being my mom. That was one of the extensive list of the reasons I suspected my dad pushed her in that direction or bullied her into it.
“I know. I heard what she said.”
He tugged on the hem of his suit jacket and dropped his gaze to the dark stained hardwood floors. “Know that she’s proud of you. So proud. When you play the piano,” he cleared his throat, “it takes my breath away. Just like her.”
“Thanks.” At a loss for words, I avoided his weighty surveillance.
He patted me on the shoulder. “Anyway, I talked to your piano teacher and she said you have a performance this weekend. I’ve cleared my schedule so I can be there for you.”
I looked up. “You’re coming?”
My heart beat double time. My dad hadn’t come to a single performance since my mom died. Apparently, he had my teacher tape them, and he listened to them at his leisure.
“I will.” He shifted his weight. “By the way, what do you think of Sal?”
I blinked not understanding his question. “Salvatore D’Amico? What about him?”
“Are you comfortable around him?”
I tilted my jaw to the side, trying to read between the lines. “Yes.”
“More so than Tony?”
“He’s closer to my age, so I feel like I’m hanging out with a friend and not being chaperoned.”
“And that’s all it is, friendship?”
My stomach squeezed. He’d kill Sal if he knew he kissed me. “Yes. Sal treats me like a sister. That’s it. He doesn’t see me as anything more. I’m not sure he even likes me much.”
My dad’s steely gaze pinned me in place, and my heart rate kicked up a few notches. “Okay. Good. You’d tell me if there was anything going on, right?”
I willed away the heat inching up my neck. “Yeah, of course. Why?”
“Tony’s busy with some other project so Sal will be filling in for him from now on. I think you two will be good for each other. He lost his dad a while ago so you have some stuff in common.”
“Oh, all right.” I ducked my chin to hide my smile. “Whatever you think. I trust you.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I smoothed the wispy layers of my pale pink dress, wishing I picked something less conspicuous. I couldn’t recall the last time I dressed in any color other than black. Rather than being confident and feeling pretty in my new dress, I felt like a warped version of Tinkerbell.
Closing my eyes, I concentrated on the announcer giving a brief history of my training and mentioning my mom. I wished they wouldn’t link the two of us together before a performance. It only increased the already overwhelming pressure to live up to her legacy.
Polite clapping reached my ears, signaling it was time for my entrance. With unsteady legs, I crossed the hardwood floor, my low heels tapping with each step. Next to the bench, I dipped in a semblance of a curtsy and settled onto the bench in front of the gleaming black lacquered piano.
My eyes scanned the front row, seeking the seat where I expected to find my dad, only I didn’t. Instead, my gaze met Sal’s. His lips pulled up at the corners, and he nodded. The gesture of encouragement was wasted on me. The smile slipped from my face almost immediately. My dad had broken his promise. He didn’t come. My lips wobbled, and I flattened a hand against my stomach, willing away the sensation of being kicked in the gut. I knew better than to count on him.
Shake it off. You’ll be gone soon anyway.
I took a deep breath, my bodice stretching tight over my ribcage, lowered my hands to the keys, and closed my eyes. My feet found the pedals, and I tapped them three times for good luck then began. The ivory keys gave way under the light pressure of my fingertips. Soft music filled my ears, and with it the ball in my stomach unknotted, succumbing to the meditative tone of the beginning of “Moonlight” by Beethoven.
I moved through each part of the piano sonata, the music building, and the contemplative nature gradually exploding into something promising, then stormy. Passionate. Alive. The strongly accented notes at the end bordered on lyrical, drawing a notable contrast to the first part. My fingers moved faster and faster until I struck the last notes, bowing in reverence for the piece. Sweat beaded near my hairline, my hands vibrated with adrenaline, and the applause rippled like a drug through my body.