Chapter Twenty-Three
THE AUDITORIUM was dark and empty when Callum arrived for the concert an hour and a half before curtain. Good. He’d come early enough, because the auditorium was the way he wanted it. Devoid of any human presence but his own.
Aided by his phone flashlight, he found and activated a series of buttons on the back wall, flooding the house with golden light.
The wicked noisy stage lights he’d save for later.
Those things made such an unholy racket that he didn’t want to deal with them any longer than he had to.
If he were going to be here long-term, he’d march into the next school board meeting and demand they do something about the lighting situation.
As it stood now, he’d just grit his teeth and put up with it until May.
Standing here, at the back of an empty hall on concert night, brought a wave of nostalgia and an unexpected lump to his throat.
He’d always shown up early and alone before concerts in the past, practically giddy as he walked the aisles, praying over the patrons, the podium, and the piano.
Concerts were the culmination of weeks and months of hard work.
He’d trusted the choir and they’d trusted him, and that combined with years of experience on everyone’s part had resulted in performances that were as close to heaven as anything he’d ever encountered.
Back then his heart was bursting with joy and hope and the dazzling possibilities his future presented. Rayne was alive and well. His creative cup was full to overflowing. The world was his oyster.
Then those news reports surfaced—some weird new virus in China—and it all came crashing down. Faster than he could’ve ever imagined.
Now here he stood, alone at the back of a hall, wearing a tux, preparing for a concert. Green tendrils were shooting up from the blackened, ashy soil of his former life. He had a choir again. He had inspiration again.
But those tendrils were still a far cry from the forest that had once been there.
Looking back on his past with new perspective, though, had that forest been as thick and lush as he’d once thought?
His prayers had been little more than surface-level thanks.
A formality. A superstitious ritual to put the finishing touch on his concert preparation.
He hadn’t truly depended on God, because he hadn’t felt like he needed God’s help.
He’d trusted far more in his and the choir’s preparation, their professionalism, than in God.
No, back then prayer had been a mere rubber stamp. A good luck charm. Nothing more.
Now he was moments away from a concert with high schoolers.
Immature, inexperienced, unpredictable high schoolers.
He couldn’t depend on them to come through for him the way his Boston professionals had.
And his faith in himself had taken a beating too.
For the first time in his entire career, God was his only hope.
His prayer was a simple one, but it came from the very depths of his being.
Jesus, help.
The door at the rear of the auditorium opened, and his head snapped up.
It was Blair, clad head to toe in concert black, carrying her blue binder full of choir music. She looked as startled as he felt.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.” She brushed a lock of red hair away from her face. “I . . . didn’t expect anyone to be here yet.”
He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Well, that makes two of us.”
“I usually warm up before concerts. In here.” Alone. She hadn’t said that last word, but it hung in the air just as clearly as the last echoes of a final chord.
“Then I’ll get out of your way.” He turned and strode up the aisle, catching a crazy-making whiff of her shampoo as he passed her. A moment later, scales filled the auditorium at a near-dizzying pace.
Her technique was so crisp and clear. Mozart and Haydn would’ve been right up her alley as a soloist. Early Beethoven too. By contrast, his piano teachers had quickly realized that he excelled at things like Rachmaninoff. Thick, juicy chords and a ton of passion.
But Blair’s delicate precision worked for her. Disciplined and exacting, just like her personality.
What, if anything, could loosen her up? He’d seen glimpses of what lay underneath all that cool professionalism, but only glimpses. What would it take for her to let him see more?
Couldn’t think about that right now, though. He had to get his head right. He couldn’t be in here thinking about Blair. He shoved open the door and stepped out into the bright lights of the hallway. He could continue his prayer just as easily in the choir room, couldn’t he?
Given his new job and new location, a new preconcert ritual suddenly seemed quite appropriate.
Despite everything, Blair had been looking forward to the concert. She always anticipated them, though her enthusiasm had dimmed with each passing year. Each new director. Each time she and the students had to start over with someone new.
Callum, to his credit, had done more with the kids than most of his predecessors, but despite the intense work they’d put in this week, the music was still short of where it needed to be.
So after Freshman Choir filed onstage, blue robes gleaming in bright lights, and she strode out to take her place at the piano, she was uncharacteristically on edge. Her hands were shaky. So were Callum’s.
And he started the first piece faster than they’d ever rehearsed it.
She should’ve been prepared for that, of course.
A collaborative pianist should be prepared for anything.
Be able to adapt to anything. Be able to adjust to anything.
But all those years of adapting and adjusting had taken its toll.
And tonight, at the downbeat of the first concert of the year, her adaptive skills ran out.
She was rattled. And she completely flubbed the introduction.
She had to move on. Forget about it. Keep pressing forward.
And as a professional, she did. But the kids were shaken.
For the rest of the concert, it showed. The freshmen sang so quietly Blair could barely hear them, even from the stage.
The treble choir forgot everything they’d ever learned about diction.
Mixed Chorus managed the unintentional yet difficult feat of singing in two keys at the same time.
And when Madrigals took the stage, they were terrified.
Their performance had no glaring errors, but it sounded tight.
Insecure. She saw the stress on their faces, and she heard it in their voices.
By the time the concert ended and the audience showered them with uncertain applause, Blair was blazing mad. Half an hour of hobnobbing with parents did nothing to take the edge off.
Especially not when she saw Makayla backstage in tears.
Once Blair had comforted and sent Makayla on her way, Blair was practically in tears of her own.
She hauled the heavy quilted cover to the grand piano and wrestled it onto the instrument’s ebony surface.
What would she even say to Callum? He’d probably already left, and he hadn’t even bothered to turn the lights off, so that was yet another thing she had to do before she went home, and—
The stage door opened, and there stood the man himself. He’d shed his jacket, and his tie hung loose around his neck. Despite everything, he was still devastatingly handsome, and that just made her madder.
“That could’ve gone better,” he said as he approached.
She yanked the cover over the back of the piano. “Understatement of the century.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know, Callum. Maybe you’d like to explain why you started the first piece so fast.” Arrrggh. She’d put the piano cover on backward. Again.
“We’d taken it almost that fast in rehearsal.” He took a spot on the opposite side of the piano and picked up the edge of the cover, helping her rotate it clockwise. “What’s another notch or two on the metronome? Given preconcert adrenaline, they were going to take it faster anyway.”
“Directing a high school choir is like steering a cruise ship, Callum. Maybe you’re used to driving a speedboat, but we are not that. You can’t just change the tempo on us.”
“Well, you’re a professional, at least.”
“A professional who does not appreciate surprises.”
“Noted.”
Blair yanked the cover into place and stepped back. “Wait, are you blaming me for how things turned out tonight?”
“The piano is the foundation of the entire performance. If that’s not secure, then it can affect things.”
“And why in the world do you think it wasn’t secure? You’re the one who charged in here and acted like you knew what you were doing when it turns out you definitely did not.”
He flung an arm skyward. “Okay, Blair. You’re right and I’m wrong. You know everything and I know nothing. I should just let you make all the decisions from here on out.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you implied.”
Oh, what a ridiculous, frustrating human being. “So sue me, Callum. Sue me for loving these kids. For caring about them and wanting what’s best for them.”
“Did it ever occur to you, in all your self-righteous pontificating, that you aren’t the only one who cares about them?” His eyes shot sparks.
“Well, given that you’ve set them up to fail from day one, you’ve sure got a funny way of showing it.”
“Why? Because I choose quality music instead of the middle-level drivel they’re used to?
Because I demand the absolute best they’re able to give instead of halfhearted effort?
Because I want them to learn as much as they can here since high school choir is about so much more than music?
Because I want them to be equipped for success in life, not just in choir?
” He stopped, both hands resting on the newly covered grand, a muscle in his jaw twitching.
“We’ve been over this. Equipping them for success means giving them confidence, Callum. And nobody has confidence after a performance like that.” She turned her back on him and walked toward the wings.
“I do,” he said quietly.
She spun to face him. “How?”
“Because even though this performance wasn’t anywhere near where we wanted it to be, we made progress. They’re better than they were in August. They’re working. They’re trying.”
“But if you don’t give them music they can succeed with, then they’ll get frustrated and give up.”
He stepped toward her. “They’ll get frustrated and give up? Or you will?”
“Do you think for one single minute that I would ever give up on these kids? I’m the only consistency they’ve had for the last seven years, and that’s not going to change anytime soon.
One of us has to be loyal to them. One of us has to love them.
And it’s been clear from the moment you took this job that it isn’t going to be you. ”
“So I should just phone it in. Keep them locked up in their comfort zone. Give them music they could sing in their sleep, just so they’ll be successful?
” He framed the last word with air quotes.
“What does that even mean, Blair? What is it that you want from me? You’re annoyed with all the previous directors because they apparently didn’t try hard enough.
And I’m working my butt off for these kids, and you don’t like that either. ”
She blinked at him, stunned speechless. At least for the moment.
He ran a hand through his hair. “You’re an incredibly difficult woman to please, Blair Emerson. So would you just tell me, once and for all, so we can get through the rest of this year without killing each other . . . what do you want?”
He stood there, not ten feet from her, cheeks flushed and breathing fast. He looked rumpled and disheveled and exhausted, and he was the most infuriating person she’d ever met .
. . but he had never been more handsome.
His methods could use some refining, but his motives were pure.
He truly did want the best for her beloved kids. For this school. For the community.
And what did she want?
She wanted this to not be their only year together.
And more than that, she didn’t want him to just be her coworker.
She wanted . . .
She wanted . . .
Oh, crap.
She wanted to kiss him.
To her shock, it seemed he wanted the same thing. Dark brows furrowed a fraction. Disbelief etched his face.
Then disbelief changed to something else entirely. And maybe he walked toward her, or maybe she walked toward him, or maybe they moved at the same time, but then they collided and he was kissing her and she was kissing him and nothing else in the world mattered.
His hand tangled in her hair. Her hip bumped into the piano. His kiss deepened, filled with the same unbridled passion she’d seen at the podium. With the kids. He was wild and free and unrestrained in a way she’d never been.
Not until now, anyway. His kiss made her come alive. Awakened something in her heart she’d thought long dead. Or maybe that had never even been there at all.
Comfort zone? Ha. She was so far beyond her comfort zone that she couldn’t even see it anymore.
And maybe that was okay. Maybe this was exactly where she needed to be.
Maybe this was where God had been leading her all along.