Chapter 14
Josh
I stare at the glass of water, poised on the low side table beside me. Tamika paces restlessly in front of the glass door of the music room, its vista revealing the garden and the rain-drenched day. "Come on," she urges me, "you can do this."
Perhaps. I've been on the new medication for eight days now. The physiotherapist visits me daily. The headaches have subsided, and the stiffness in my back is felt only in the mornings or when I've been seated at the piano for too long. Yet until today, I've not dared to strain my hand.
The fear was, and still is, too immense.
"In three days, you have to stand on stage. Prove to me that you can do it," Tamika asserts sternly, but I know she doesn't mean it harshly. She only wants what's best for me. And that happens to be to ensure that the upcoming concert of the Open Air Tour in Dublin doesn't fall apart too.
I can't let that happen.
So I stretch out my hand toward the glass and wrap my fingers around it. They remain steady. I exhale in relief. This is a good sign.
Tamika nods encouragingly at me. Earlier, we weighed the glass; it was around five hundred grams, water included. According to my doctor, my muscles should be able to bear that weight. I draw in a deep breath, then lift the glass.
My hand stays calm.
Could this truly be real?
"They're working," I state, disbelief tinting my voice as I study my fingers as if they were not a part of me. "The medications are helping!" Only after the words have escaped my lips do I start to comprehend their implication.
With a dramatic gesture, Tamika places her hand over her deeply cut neckline. "Thank. God."
My ease returns. Finally!
In a burst of exuberance, I replace the glass on the table, leap to my feet, and hug my manager. "Dublin, here we come," I exclaim, and the last remnants of my tension melt away.
I am going to perform. Finally, I can return to doing what I was meant for. And the hope for the International Music Award lives on.
Tamika detaches herself from our embrace and claps her hands. "We've got a lot to do. I'll immediately check everything with Ralf, and you'll keep dutifully taking your meds." Her smile is genuine. The first since my diagnosis. She turns to leave, exhaling heavily.
I quickly stop her. "There's something else."
Her perfectly plucked eyebrows arch inquisitively.
"We need a different nanny." I could have overlooked Jasmin's upset remark about the disorder Maya left in the kitchen. But what I observed last week left me unsettled. She is teaching Sophia to talk to stuffed animals. What kind of an educator does that? Especially with a child who's already challenging enough .
Anyway, I’m not sure what to make of her. This woman is an enigma to me. And the way she looks at me, even more so.
Tamika's expression darkens. "Then I wish you luck in your search. I'm curious if you can find someone who is flexible in time and location, accepts a temporary position, and is also a top-trained professional."
This can't be true. "Come on, you couldn't find anyone other than this garish candy?"
Exasperated, she plants her hands on her hips. "Of course, I found better ones. But not even money could lure them."
"And that's why Sophia is being cared for by a novice?" It may be that Maya has a captivating personality. It's entirely possible that her smile carries a touch of magic, and her dimples are so endearing that it's hard to look away when they appear.
But this is not how it should be.
It's bad enough that my own turmoil and helplessness make me a terrible father. Sophia deserves at least a qualified nanny.
"Forget it." My manager waves dismissively. "You need to focus on other things. Maya and Sophia will manage each other. Have some faith."
Faith? I'm not so sure.
"Go on, the piano is waiting." She spins around, snapping her fingers as she crosses the music room and heads for the door.
I sit at the piano thoughtfully after she leaves the room. I can finally play properly again, so I need to seize this opportunity. As soon as I possibly can, I will spend time with Maya and Sophia. I want to reassure myself that my daughter is in good hands. But for now, I have to put thoughts of them aside, difficult as it may be.
I focus on the new energy that flows through me and the confidence that sends a pleasant tingling sensation to my stomach. As always, I take a few seconds to gather myself. Then I let the first notes sound.
I am instantly in another world. Yes, I can feel it. The music is in me. I am the melody; my hands are free, and so are my thoughts.
With my eyes closed, I play the piece, and even when I reach the technically challenging climax, I feel no fear. A brief pause for effect. Breathe. And go.
My fingers fly over the keys. I increase the pressure, play forte, then fortissimo.
The right middle finger hits the C sharp inaccurately.
I slip. The C sharp becomes a D.
Instantly, I stop playing. Everything within me tenses up. I stretch out the fingers of my right hand. The tremor is barely noticeable, but it's there. Clear as day.
How can such a small thing overwhelm me already?
Frustration wells up inside me. I need to vent my anger, but I cannot control it, let alone the pressure it brings. I pound my fist on the keyboard, but that doesn't help.
I know I should accept my health condition. Nonetheless, I jump up from the piano stool and run toward the door. I wrench it open and nearly collide with Maya. Why is she lurking around here? Has she been eavesdropping ?
"What do you want?" I snap at her, my emotions surging more strongly than they should.
"We need to talk…" She looks me straight in the eye, unimpressed. "About Sophia."
"Now is a bad time." I try to edge past her.
She blocks my way. "I've been here for almost two weeks, and you've been putting me off just as long." She grabs my arm, pulling me back into the music room. "We're talking today. It can't wait any longer."
"Is Sophia sick?" I ask, unable to think of anything better.
Maya shakes her head. She directs me to the seating area where I had just celebrated my recovery with Tamika. "Please sit."
"No, thank you. I'd rather stand. Just say what's wrong." My gaze involuntarily drifts to the watch on my wrist.
"I know you have absolutely no time." Is that sarcasm in her voice? "So I'll get straight to the point: Sophia needs her father."
Of course she does, but how am I supposed to manage that? I swallow hard.
"Listen," she continues in a soft tone, "your daughter yearns for attention. I can give her that, but I can never replace you." Her intense gaze lets me know how serious she is.
"I …" What do I want to say? There's only one appropriate response to this. Promise to improve. But I have no idea how to deal with Sophia. Plus, we're heading to Ireland in two days. By then, not only do I need to get the tremors under control, but I also have to practice as much as I can.
"Sophia believes she's disturbing you, no matter what she does. She thinks you don't love her." Her voice almost breaks. It's as if she's carrying Sophia's thoughts within herself too. "And she is sure that it's entirely her fault."
I can feel my facial expression changing. What a miserable failure I am. "That's not true." It's not much more than a helpless stammer that has just left my mouth. But I'm incapable of anything else.
"Then show her that." The hopeful smile reveals her delightful dimples. "It's never too late to rectify a mistake."
God, if only it were that easy. "But how?"
Her gaze wanders to the piano. "I heard you playing earlier," she says gently. "There's all the love in the world inside you."
She no longer sounds like Maya, the colorful nanny. Rather, there is a depth in her words that surprises me. Her facial expression has also changed. She seems yearning. And full of melancholy.
I feel the urge to embrace her, want to pull her close and confess how helpless I feel about Sophia.
What's happening here? Something is happening right now, but I can't grasp it. A special atmosphere spreads between us. Does she feel it too?
I look for signs in her eyes and discover a delicate glow in the darkness of her iris.
She averts her gaze and clears her throat. "Eat dinner with us tonight. It's enough if you're there." She takes a step back and fiddles with her glittering earrings. "Smile at her from time to time, ask her if she likes the food. She'll appreciate every little thing."
I nod, but she doesn't seem to notice anymore. She turns from me abruptly and stumbles out of the music room. The overly wide, orange striped skirt gets caught between her legs, the fabric ripping apart loudly. She doesn't seem to mind. She continues to stagger and disappears through the door with her hair flying without looking back.