Chapter Sixteen
O’ER THE la-aand of the freee . . .
Callum held out a hand to indicate the fermata, and a chilly breeze buffeted his cheeks. Okay, good. They’re not closing the E vowel. They’re keeping it open, just like I told them.
Then Zara, their top soprano, popped up to the high B-flat, and Callum resisted an urge to pump a fist. Yes.
She nailed it. And she even dropped her jaw on that high note.
Again, just like he’d instructed. This a cappella performance hadn’t been perfect.
But the kids were listening. They were paying attention.
And by the gleams in their eyes, they knew it was paying off.
And the home of the braaaaaaave.
The crowd started cheering before Callum cut off the final chord, but even the packed stands at the homecoming football game couldn’t drown out the excellent “vuh” on the end of the word “brave.” A textbook shadow vowel.
Those kids really had been paying attention.
Joy and exhilaration surged through him.
He couldn’t have fought off his smile even if he’d wanted to.
Granted, the national anthem at a high school football game was a far cry from the Rutter Requiem at a cathedral in Cambridge—the last time he’d directed a choir—but it brought the same post-performance high.
No . . . actually, this was a different level of satisfaction.
Letter jacket– clad teenagers looked at each other, the wow evident on every face.
They hadn’t known what they were capable of until now.
Some had just tasted the magic of music for the first time.
And he’d facilitated it. He’d guided them through.
He’d taught them things. His professionals in Boston hadn’t needed to learn much.
They’d merely needed a director. These kids needed a teacher.
And he had the privilege of being that teacher.
Only for the rest of the year, though. Then he’d be back in Boston, and someone else would be teaching the kids.
Was Boston really what he wanted anymore?
As the choir moved off the track and he reached for the microphone stand to pull it out of the way, his heart twinged at the idea of leaving them.
Those kids who’d greeted him with such suspicion in August were starting to like him.
To buy into his way of doing things. To believe they were capable of more than they thought possible.
They were just six weeks in. What magic could the rest of the year hold?
How would they react next year when they had to start over—yet again—with someone new?
Would this new person challenge them to meet their capabilities?
Would the kids continue to work hard? Or would they slide back into apathy and reluctance?
And then there was Blair. Sitting in the stands.
Not that he’d been looking for her, of course.
But that red hair was hard to hide, even when she’d tucked half of it into an adorable knit beret.
She clapped gloved hands together, and her smile was like nothing he’d ever seen.
The woman was utterly beaming, and when their eyes met, he smiled back.
Blair knew better than anyone the chaos these kids had been through, and if that performance had made her happy?
Well, that was even more reason for him to be.
“Sounding good, Mr. Knight.”
Callum turned at the deep voice to his right, and there stood Vic Nelson in the flesh. He extended a hand, which Callum shook.
“Vic. What a pleasant surprise.”
Vic’s free hand found Callum’s shoulder and pulled him into a bro hug. “I’m always here for the homecoming game. Of course, I’ve been retired long enough now that I don’t know the students as well anymore, but I still wouldn’t miss it.”
“Well, it’s nice to see you. Big shoes to fill, though.”
“Bah.” Vic waved a hand. “So many people have come through those doors since I left, I don’t think anyone even knows where to find my shoes anymore. But you’re doing a fantastic job.”
Callum blinked at the praise. “Thank you, sir. That means a lot coming from you.”
Vic’s dimple deepened. “Wouldn’t have sung your praises to administration if I didn’t believe you could do it.”
“And if you weren’t totally desperate.”
Vic chuckled. “Well, desperation did have something to do with it. But even at the eleventh hour, I’m not leaving my choirs in the hands of someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing. And you, my friend, know exactly what you’re doing.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” Callum crouched to corral the extension cord. “There’s a big difference between professionals in Boston and teenagers in Peterson.”
“That may be, but choir is choir. And that choir sounds significantly better than it did this time last year.”
Callum straightened. “Really?”
“C’mon. You know I wouldn’t lie to you.”
Callum’s smile froze on his face. A couple of weeks ago, this comment would’ve passed without notice. But now? Now that an eyewitness had claimed something happened that Vic had claimed didn’t happen? Now, he wasn’t so sure.
Callum lowered his voice. “Vic, can I ask you something?”
“Sure. Anything.”
“Are you sure you didn’t know Iris Wallingford?”
Vic blinked. “Come again?”
“Iris Wallingford. The two of you were in the same grade. You were in choir together. In band. There’s . . . there’s even a picture of the two of you together on the band page in the 1970 yearbook.”
“Is there?” Vic pursed his lips. “Huh. Well, I’ll be. I never saw that picture. My parents never bought yearbooks. Couldn’t afford it. But I’ll take your word for it.”
“And that’s not all. A former school librarian told us she saw the two of you in the library together. Working on music. She thinks the two of you were an item.”
“An item.” An odd expression crossed Vic’s face.
“I suppose you could call it that. Iris and I went on a couple dates. Nothing serious, though. I wasn’t her type.
Not good enough for her. Or her parents.
” His gaze shifted to something behind Callum, and he smiled and waved.
“Sorry, Callum, I just spied some alumni I haven’t seen in a decade.
If you’ll excuse me?” Without waiting for a reply, he clapped Callum on the back and strode away.
Callum watched him leave, the stadium lights reflecting off his satiny Peterson Patriots jacket. It was entirely plausible. The librarian could have interpreted events one way, while Vic’s version could be the real story.
But why would Vic have first claimed not to know Iris at all?
Why not just come out with the truth? They’d dated briefly and ended things.
That happened often enough in high school.
And maybe Iris meant so little to him, maybe the relationship had been so brief, that Vic truly hadn’t remembered it. Not until something jogged his memory.
But what didn’t happen every day was someone’s high school significant other passing away while still in high school. Surely that would’ve been worth at least a little bit of brain space.
Blair was still up in the stands, clutching a Styrofoam cup of something and leaning over to talk to Joy.
Her puffy coat and her adorable hat were the same shade of Peterson blue, and her fingertips were peeking out of a cute little pair of white gloves, and why did the words cute and adorable continually spring to mind when he saw her outside of work?
It was bad enough Wednesday with the T-shirt and jeans, and now, with her all bundled up like a snow princess despite the fifty-degree temperature . . .
At least he didn’t find her cute at work yet. That would make things wicked awkward.
Well, cute or not, he needed to talk to her. Tell her what Vic said and get her read on it. She knew Vic far better than he did. And he wanted to believe Vic.
But right now, he wasn’t quite sure he did.
“Blair!” Joy grabbed Blair’s left arm, practically vibrating with excitement. “They sound fantastic!”
“Don’t they?” Blair returned the embrace as best she could with a right hand that clutched a mostly empty cup of hot cocoa. “I’m so proud of them.”
“You should be. I’ve never heard the national anthem sound that good.”
“I have.” Her senior year at Peterson had been filled with core memories: an ambitious combined work with orchestra, a performance at the regional choral directors’ convention, even a trip to New York.
Vic had pulled out all the stops that year, and the results had been nothing short of amazing.
She remembered exchanging glances with her fellow sopranos.
Did we really do that? Yes. We really did.
And now she saw those same expressions on the faces of her students.
These kids for whom she’d do anything, these kids who’d had nothing but instability and chaos in choir, were now experiencing the true magic of making music together.
Tears pricked the back of her eyes, and she turned her attention to her hot chocolate. “But it’s been a long time.”
She had to hand it to Callum. He knew his stuff.
His methods were still sometimes questionable, but they were paying off, and the kids had noticed.
Zara walked by Callum on her way up to the student section of bleachers.
Smiling, he leaned in to say something to her.
She beamed, said something back, and practically skipped toward the stands.
Oh, crap. They were connecting with Callum. They were starting to like him. They were getting attached.
And he was leaving after this year. They didn’t know that, but Blair did. And now she hated the temporary nature of Callum’s presence in Peterson even more. Because his departure wouldn’t just hurt the choir from a musical standpoint. It would be a personal loss for the kids.
Her warm, fuzzy feelings gone as quickly as they’d come, she stood and drained the last of her lukewarm cocoa. “I’m going for more hot chocolate. Want anything?”
“I’m good.” Joy turned her attention back to the football game. “Thank you, though.”
Blair descended the stadium steps, rounded the corner, and almost ran straight into Callum.
“Whoa.” He reached out to steady her, his hands lightly grasping her elbows, then met her eyes. “Blair. Hi.”
“Hi.” His eyes were extra green tonight. Maybe it was the deep emerald of his jacket. Or the stadium lights. “They, uh—the choir—they sounded amazing. Best I’ve heard them sound in a long time.”
Callum smiled and his eyes gleamed. “Thank you. Couldn’t have done it without you.”
Standard conductor throwing the pianist a bone. She waved a hand.
“No, Blair, I mean it.” He sought her gaze. “I truly could not have done this without you. And I’m not just talking about your collaborative piano skills.”
Her eyes widened at his use of her preferred term for her job.
“These kids haven’t had much they can count on the last few years,” he said. “But they’ve had you. Thank you for being there for them.”
The compliment struck her with almost physical force, landing exactly where she needed it most. “You’re welcome.
” Wow, those eyes were green. They could see through to the depths of her, to the insecurities she tried so hard to hide, to the fear that everyone she loved would eventually get sick of her, that she was both too much and not enough.
In a single moment, his expression provided the reassurance that—in his mind, anyway—she was the exact right amount.
“Hey,” he said. “I was about to head to concessions. Want to come with me? I had something I wanted to ask you about.”
“Sure.” She yanked her head out of the clouds and shook off the stardust. “I need some more hot chocolate anyway.”
They started walking, Callum to her right, their feet crunching across the gravel between the football field and the concession stand.
“I just talked with Vic,” he said. “Asked him about Iris again. He said the two of them dated briefly but weren’t serious.”
Blair raised an eyebrow. “That’s a little bit different than ‘I didn’t know her at all.’”
“That’s what I thought.”
She tossed her empty cup in a nearby trash can. “Do you think Vic’s lying?”
“That’s what I wanted to ask you.”
“I don’t know why he would. Unless Iris is just too painful for him to talk about.”
“It’s still difficult for me to talk about Rayne sometimes.” The hint of a shadow passed over his features. “I certainly wouldn’t deny knowing her, though. She’s a big part of who I am.”
“But you and Rayne were together for quite a while, weren’t you?” And why did she find the idea of Callum looking at anyone else the way he’d just looked at her so bothersome?
Callum nodded. “Three years.”
“So maybe Vic truly did only have a couple of dates with Iris. Maybe he really didn’t know her all that well.”
“But don’t you remember the guys you had even one or two dates with?” Callum pressed. “Especially in a town like Peterson, where you probably knew them at least a little bit beforehand?”
“There weren’t that many. Especially not in high school.” She glanced up at Callum. “Do you?”
“Remember the girls I only had a couple dates with? Yeah. I do.”
There was that bothersome feeling again.
“Maybe Vic was a player,” she suggested.
Callum burst out laughing, his face radiating surprise and joy. He had a wonderful laugh. And she didn’t really think of herself as a particularly witty person. She didn’t make people laugh often. But for her to have made him laugh like that? She felt like she’d won something.
His laughter was contagious, and she joined in, ignoring the curious stares of the people in line in front of them.
When they reached the front, Callum turned to her. “My treat.”
Blair frowned. “Are you sure? What about your master plan to save up and get back to Boston as soon as possible?” She kept her voice light, but the question weighed on her heart.
An indecipherable expression crossed his face. “I don’t think a two-dollar hot chocolate will make much difference.”
“Well. Thank you.”
He was leaving. She had to keep reminding herself of that. Otherwise she just might find herself starting to fall for him.