Chapter 11 A Major Unraveling #2
Theodora shifted nearer to whisper, "This place is incredible, isn’t it? Have you performed in churches before?"
"Mhm. Several times." Catherine kept her voice level, revealing nothing of how those memories felt now, distant and painful, like looking at photographs of someone she didn’t recognize.
"The acoustics in Gothic revival architecture are exceptional for piano.
Something about the stone and height creates natural reverb that's difficult to replicate in modern concert halls. "
She hated that she felt herself slipping into lecture mode, but technical explanations were easier.
Theodora just nodded, attentive and patient, and in that moment, Catherine had never felt more grateful for another person.
A young man in formal blacks emerged from a side door.
He sat at the bench, fiddled with its height, and hovered his hands over the keys.
Catherine's eyes narrowed. His wrists were too stiff, his shoulders a touch too high.
She caught herself mentally correcting his posture the way she would for Noah or any of her students.
Then the triplets flowed from his fingers, and her own hands twitched in her lap, muscle memory awakening.
Fifty thousand hours of practice compressed into this moment of watching someone else's back.
Something twisted beneath her ribs—not quite pain, not quite longing, but a hollowness that expanded with each note.
She couldn't look away as she remembered how it felt to sit there instead of here, to be the one making that sound fill a room, to feel thousands of eyes on her and know they were holding their breath because of something she had done.
Her vision blurred. The candlelight fractured into golden stars. She blinked, and something hot slid down her cheek. Then another. She pressed her lips together, tasting salt.
Then, a warm hand covered hers. Theodora's fingers slipped between her own, tentative at first, then settling. Catherine sat perfectly still, afraid to look down and acknowledge what was happening. If she did, the tears might not stop.
Theodora's thumb brushed over her knuckle in a small circle that left a trail of warmth.
Catherine closed her eyes, fighting the sudden, ridiculous urge to turn and hide her face in Theodora's neck. She squeezed back instead, returning to the performance with their fingers laced together. Theodora’s warm palm against hers. Her steady pulse at the wrist.
When Catherine finally forced her attention back to the stage, she found herself thinking about what she would say when Theodora asked her opinion of the performance.
How could she explain that beauty hurt when it reminded you of everything you'd lost?
That watching someone else perform the music you loved felt like mourning?
She sat with the thought, letting it settle as the piece drew toward its end, the final notes dissolving into the church's reverb until Catherine couldn't tell where sound ended and silence began.
The audience exhaled collectively as polite applause filled the space.
Catherine joined in automatically even as her mind stayed caught on everything she was feeling.
Grief and beauty and longing and something approaching gratitude that Theodora had brought her here and given her this complicated gift of experiencing live music again.
Theodora slid an arm around Catherine’s shoulders and drew her in, her nose brushing just behind Catherine’s ear as she spoke. “We should slip out now.”
Catherine's lips curved into something attempting a smile. "We’ve only heard one piece."
“Yeah, the best one,” Theodora whispered. “Quick, while he’s adjusting the bench. Before two hundred of your fans notice we’re leaving.”
"I'll be fine."
"I know." Theodora's eyes held hers. "But I don’t want you to be just fine."
Catherine studied Theodora's face in the candlelight, those green eyes that saw too much, that seemed to read what Catherine couldn't bring herself to say aloud.
It wasn't concern in Theodora's expression, not exactly.
It was more like recognition. Like she understood that sometimes survival wasn't the point.
"Okay, let's go," Catherine whispered, surprising herself with the decision.
They moved quietly along the outer aisle, Catherine's hand still in Theodora's, their shoulders brushing as they navigated around other concertgoers who had chosen to stand at the back.
The side door opened with a gentle push, and then they were outside, the night air sharp and clean after the church's incense-tinged warmth.
Catherine inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the cold, the tears on her face cooling instantly as she did. She hadn't realized how suffocating it had felt inside until she was free of it.
"Thank you," Catherine said as she exhaled slowly.
Theodora shook her head. "I’m sorry, Catherine. I should have—"
Catherine took her hand in her own and squeezed it, stopping her. "You couldn’t have known. I'm sorry I—"
"Please don't," Theodora's voice was gentle but left no room for argument. “So not necessary. Besides, I've already heard the best pianist I know play Beethoven, so the poor kid never really stood a chance.”
Catherine laughed softly, her breath clouding briefly in front of them before vanishing into the cold air. She tilted her face toward the night sky, where stars punctured the darkness above the city glow. "I'm not ready to go back yet," she said. "Would you mind if we walked for a while?"
“I was hoping you’d say that.” A shy, crooked smile tugged at Theodora’s mouth.
They drifted down the block together, Catherine's heel-clicks matching Theodora's footsteps. The church light dimmed behind them as they rounded the corner onto a row of brownstones.
Halfway down the block, Theodora stopped abruptly. "Harry?"
Catherine followed her gaze to where a figure sat hunched on the steps of a townhouse.
Theodora was already moving toward him. "What are you doing out here? The shelter—"
"Full up," Harry's voice was a gravelly rumble. "Got here too late. It happens."
Theodora crouched in front of him, discreetly pressing two fingers to his wrist, her head tipped forward as she counted under her breath.
It was so automatic she barely seemed aware of it, and Catherine felt an unexpected swell of feeling at the sight of her.
She looked away before the sting behind her eyes could turn into something worse.
"Your pulse is too fast," Theodora said, her tone shifting to something gentler. "And you're warm. Have you been taking the antibiotics?"
Harry's shrug was answer enough.
Catherine caught the look on Theodora's face and stepped in before it could become a lecture. "Mr. Lewis," she said, extending her hand. "I'm Catherine. Theodora's friend. It's so nice to be able to put a face to the name, she's told me so much about you."
Harry looked up, surprise flickering across his weathered features as his gaze moved between Catherine and Theodora. A knowing smile settled there—though what he thought he knew, Catherine had no idea.
“All lies, I swear,” Harry said, grinning as he shook her hand.
“Well, she’s a very complimentary liar then,” Catherine replied.
That earned a laugh from both him and Theodora, but it dissolved quickly when Harry doubled over coughing, each hack rattling deep in his chest. He took a moment to catch his breath, pressing a fist lightly against his sternum.
"Pleasure's mine, Miss Catherine," he said, his voice carrying a warmth that belied his physical condition. "Theo talks about you a lot, too. She plays me your piano pieces on her phone sometimes during my checkups."
Catherine raised an eyebrow at Theodora, who suddenly became very interested in examining Harry's other wrist.
Theodora cleared her throat. "Harry, you need to get inside tonight. Your infection's going to get worse if you stay out here."
"I'll be fine," he said, though the slight wheeze in his breath suggested otherwise. "Got my spot picked out in a church alcove two blocks over. Pastor there knows me. So go on with your date. Don’t keep Miss Catherine waiting."
Catherine caught the slight stiffening in Theodora’s spine at the word date, but she didn’t correct him, and more surprisingly, neither did Catherine.
"Please," Theodora said, digging through her bag. She pulled out a small fold of twenties. "At least get a room for tonight."
Harry reached over and pushed her hand back into her purse. "Jesus, Doc," he muttered, “Someone sees cash like that, you'll both be in trouble. Put it away." His eyes darted to a group of men smoking near the corner.
"Harold Lewis." Theodora's voice softened as she pressed the money into his weathered palm. "I won't enjoy a single second of my evening if I'm picturing you out here freezing."
A self-deprecating smile cracked across his face. “Well, don’t picture it then.”
Catherine made the decision before she'd consciously formed it. She pulled out her phone and stepped a few paces away, hearing Theodora continuing her assessment behind her, that gentle medical voice asking about symptoms, medications, when he'd last eaten.
Three minutes and one brief conversation later, Catherine returned and lowered herself beside Harry on the building's step, angling her body to block him from the wind that cut between the buildings. "Mr. Lewis—"
“Harry," he interrupted with a half-smile. "My friends call me Harry."
Catherine smiled back. “Harry, I know it’s April, but it’s still going to drop below forty-two tonight.”
"Been through worse," he said, waving her off, but his shoulders hunched against a gust of wind that made him cough again.
"I'm sure you have. I hope you don’t mind, I just—well, I booked you a room at the Marriott. It's a few blocks from here, and it's yours through the weekend. I called a car to pick you up. It should be here in a few minutes."
"No, Miss Catherine. I appreciate it, but no. Save your money."
Catherine leaned forward, her voice dropping.
"Harry, please. I’m not trying to overstep.
" She glanced at Theodora, who was watching them both with worried eyes.
"Look, she drives me absolutely crazy most of the time, but she’s a brilliant doctor.
She knows what she's talking about. If she says you need to get inside tonight, I believe her. "
"They won't let me past the lobby," he finally said, voice gruff. "Places like that see someone like me, they call security."
Catherine took his hand in her own and gave it a gentle squeeze. "The manager's Jonathan. He’s a very old family friend. Trust me, he'll make sure nobody gives you any trouble."
Harry's calloused hand covered hers for a moment. Catherine glanced over at Theodora and caught the slight shine in her eyes beneath the streetlamp.
"Please accept," Catherine said for Harry’s ears only. "For her, if nothing else."
That seemed to reach him. Harry glanced at Theodora, whose concern was written across her features, then back to Catherine. "Just for the weekend?"
"Just for the weekend," Catherine confirmed.
The car arrived, headlights illuminating the three of them on the sidewalk. Catherine opened the door, gesturing for Harry to enter. He hesitated, then looked at Theodora.
“Don’t mess it up, Doc,” he muttered.
Theodora’s cheeks flushed, even in the dim light. “I told you—”
“Don’t worry, she won’t,” Catherine said, winking at Theodora. “Thank you, Harry. The driver will wait while you check in to make sure everything’s okay.”
Catherine watched him climb into the car and disappear around the corner.
When she turned back, Theodora ran straight into her, arms coming up around her shoulders with unexpected force, rising onto her tiptoes as she leaned in.
The impact knocked the breath from Catherine’s lungs, and she froze for a heartbeat before her arms came up around Theodora’s waist to hold her steady.
Strangers passed with curious glances. Catherine knew they must look like something from a wartime photograph, the desperate reunion, the public intimacy, but with Theodora's hair brushing against her cheek and the warmth of her pressing through layers of clothing, propriety seemed like a distant concern. Very distant.
"Thank you," Theodora whispered, her breath warm against Catherine's neck. The sensation traveled down Catherine's spine like electricity.
Catherine's chin dipped, her cheek coming to rest against Theodora's head. "It was nothing."
"No," Theodora said, holding on tighter. "It was everything."
They stood there locked together, Catherine's defenses crumbling with each passing heartbeat. She closed her eyes, inhaling the subtle scent of Theodora's shampoo, something citrusy and clean that reminded her of early mornings.
When they pulled apart, Catherine's balance faltered, as though the ground beneath her had subtly realigned.
Theodora's voice dropped to a near-whisper, her eyes still holding Catherine's. "What do you say we call the outside world quits and go back to my place? I still have that bottle of red we never opened."
Catherine's head bobbed in a small nod, her body agreeing before her mind had ever considered any other option.