“We’re a musical tribe,” he said. “All but me. But what I lack in ability, I make up for in appreciation.” He smiled at Becca and there it was again, that shared confidence, a natural sort of intimacy. Her hands trembled as she placed the soda and cookies on the table. “Mmm, chocolate chip,” he said, “my favorite.” She thought her heart would stop at the look in his eye.
“Are we going to play or not?” Grandma groused.
He left several hours later, leaving the cookie plate clean and Grandma Dorothy almost mollified. Grandma liked to win, and Davis played with surprisingly casual interest. Becca never won at these things; she always felt compelled to go out of her way to spare her opponents. But Davis seemed equally determined that she should receive her fair share of small triumphs. Meanwhile, Grandma took advantage of them both. Becca was used to it, but he didn’t seem to mind, either. More often than not, when Grandma crowed over some new acquisition or clever play, he shared an indulgent look with Becca. It left her feeling breathless and pathetic at the same time.
She didn’t know what to think when he stopped at the door as they were seeing him out and said, “What a fine evening. Next Friday?”
Becca opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water. He promptly turned his attention to Dorothy.
“You don’t mind, do you, ma’am?”
Grandma, of course, had to say that next Friday would be fine, though how he could miss the dryness of her tone, Becca didn’t know. Miss it he did, however.
Beaming he exclaimed, “Excellent!” He winked at Becca then, and she felt a thrill all the way to the soles of her feet.
How desperate was she to feel such excitement over so mundane and meaningless a gesture? She did not need her grandmother to point out sourly that he was too young and good-looking for her.
“Don’t go getting ideas about that one, girl,” Dorothy counseled.
“I won’t,” Becca mumbled automatically.
“Thinks he’s clever, but he’s not too bright if he thinks a silly game will get me into his church.”
Becca cleared her mind with a deep breath. “Right now,” she said briskly, “we have to get you out of that chair and into bed.”
Dorothy sighed. “Whatever would I do without you, child?”
And that, thought Becca, was the problem.
* * *
The midweek service that first week went much more easily than Becca expected, but the congregation seemed to grow every Sunday afterward. By mid-March the building sanctuary seemed almost full. As usual, Becca focused on Davis before she began the offertory. In truth, she played it just for him, and then sat silently asking for forgiveness during the sermon. An offertory hymn should be played for God alone, not a man whose personal interest in her was limited to her musical talents and the challenge of getting her grandmother into church, as Grandma insisted. Yet, he had been paying Becca a great deal of attention. They’d spent every Friday night together, and a good deal of other time, as well.
After the service, a number of folks came by to express their appreciation, which she accepted with as much grace as flaming cheeks would allow. She was closing the piano when Davis strode back from shaking hands at the door to present her with a handwritten copy of next week’s bulletin. They discussed the song selections, and then Davis smiled down at her.
“You did well today, Becca. Impressed our guests. We had three new families visit.”
“That’s good.”
“About this Friday,” he said. “I’ve taken the liberty of buying two tickets to the symphony.”
“Symphony? What symphony?”
“The Dallas Symphony Orchestra. They’re playing Stravinsky’s ‘Firebird Suite,’ one of my favorites. We’ll need to leave by four. Can you get away from the school that early?”
Dumbfounded, Becca could only gape at him. “I—I can’t—”
“Don’t worry about your grandmother,” he interrupted. “My sisters will stay with her.”
“But I—”
“The green dress you wore for the concert will do nicely, I think, and I happen to own an understated tuxedo. Weddings, you know.”
She finally got a sentence out. “You want me to go to the Dallas symphony with you?”
“Who else would appreciate the music as I do?”
“But it’s a three hour drive!”
“Yes, exactly. I’ll speak to Ryan. We really must be away by four, and don’t worry about getting back late. I have no trouble driving at night, and my sisters are a pair of night owls.”