Chapter 28
Josh
I have no idea what kind of cake I eat. And I can hardly concentrate on what Sophia is babbling about. Because sitting right next to me at the table is Maya. Even though our thighs don't touch, I can feel her warmth on my skin. I keep stealing glances at her. Most of the time, she examines me at the same moment.
"When are we going to Tyrol?" A dollop of whipped cream adorns Sophia's nose.
The concert is on August eleventh. Just seven days away. Only seven days. According to my doctor, I should rest for at least two more weeks. But that's impossible. "We'll leave next Wednesday," I say.
"What? That's still ages away." My daughter pouts. "But when we're there, you'll go hiking with us, right?"
I nod. "Of course, my darling. I'm sure I can manage a short walk," I say, but seconds later, my thoughts drift elsewhere.
Instead of eating cake here comfortably, I should be in the music room practicing. My attempt yesterday went well, and with each passing day, my fingers regain more of their dexterity.
But I'm not where I need to be yet to give a perfect concert.
Once again, I glance at Maya. She smiles shyly, her eyes sparkling. How much I'd love to place my hands on her cheeks and bring her head close to mine. But I have to refrain from doing so.
With a heavy heart, I push my chair back. "That was a nice break. But now I have to go back to the piano."
I can't gauge the expression on Maya's face.
Sophia's pushed-out lower lip, on the other hand, speaks volumes. "Already?" My daughter's voice is filled with disappointment. "But we wanted to go to the pool one more time."
I lean over her and kiss her sweet-scented forehead. "You shouldn't swim right after eating, remember?" On impulse, I wrap my arms around her and hold her tight. "We can dive for rings again tomorrow."
"Okay." Sophia giggles happily. She doesn't ask me to promise her because she already knows that I keep my word. Just for that reason alone, I would never want to let her go. "Hey, I can't breathe, Dad."
No. Not yet. I want to cherish her closeness a little longer.
But do I even have that choice? Probably not. "Well then, see you later," I say and reluctantly release her from my embrace.
"Mm-hmm." Sophia busily tucks the curly strands of hair back that were disheveled by my cuddling attack, obstructing her view.
I should stop doing that, but I can't. Once again, I look at Maya.
She swallows hard, a peculiar gleam in her eyes.
"Bye, Maya," I say, leaving the dining table, passing by her chair. For a moment, I caress her shoulder. I have no idea why I do that. Perhaps to feel the delicate tingling in my fingertips where we touch. That tingling that only she can evoke in me .
She looks up at me. "Bye, Josh," she replies, her voice filled with wistfulness. I want to believe that she sounds as if she longs for me just as deeply inside as I long for her.
That makes it even harder for me to leave them both. Yet I do it. Because I won't have much time to practice in the next few days.
On my way to the music room, I try to focus fully on what lies ahead, and once I'm there, I sit down at the piano. First, I play the melody of the technically simple opening piece, forcing myself to take it slow so as not to strain my fingers.
It feels good, so I venture further.
I maintain control. My hand does exactly what it should, even as I pick up the tempo. I breathe a sigh of relief inside. And with each subsequent note, I let myself fall a little bit more.
I close my eyes. This is it.
The music captures me and carries me away. How much I've missed this feeling. It's as if the sun is rising within me for the first time since the accident.
I keep my eyes shut until the sound of the final chord fades away in the room.
I want more of this feeling. I want to lose myself in the music and forget everything else.
So I turn the sheet music over. The next piece is written in a challenging key, requiring my hand to work harder and more precisely than before.
Barely have I let the first few notes resonate when my mobile phone vibrates in my pocket.
It's my mother, greeting me with a loving voice. Normally, we would talk about the weather, her vacation plans, and the health of my grandparents, but our conversation takes a serious turn today. "Listen, sweetheart. We need to talk," she insists.
Should I just say that I don't have time? "Uh—?"
"It's about your father." She cuts me off before I can present a suitable excuse.
I stand from the piano stool and wander through the room with the phone to my ear. "What's wrong with him?" I didn't really want to ask that question. "Is he sick?"
"Worse."
Why this pause? "Well, tell me." I automatically quicken my pace, the Persian rug muffling my steps.
"He's retiring," my mother reports from the other end of the line.
We both know what that means. And we both understand that it's better not to discuss this topic. "That's great for him," I reply when I can't think of anything else to say.
"Since he made that decision, everything has been resurfacing for him." She sounds remorseful. I can only imagine the conversations she must have had with him. "Until the very end, he was hoping you would change your mind. Pursue a law degree and..."
"No." Now I'm the one cutting her off. That's not up for debate at all. "The idea of me taking over the law firm someday is his dream alone."
"I know that. Still, you two should reconcile..." my mother tries again. "So he can let go and move forward."
That would lead to nothing. In his world, there is only guilt and innocence. Black and white. Good and evil. The only thing he believes in is tangible evidence, and I can't provide that. Not yet .
"Have we covered everything, then?" I ask wearily. I don't want to hurt my mother, but she's banging against a wall that she can never break through.
"Just think about it." Her voice becomes as thin as parchment paper. "For my sake."
A heaviness settles on my chest. I understand what she's going through. How difficult it must be for her to mediate between us for so many years without ever achieving any success.
"I will," I say, solely for her sake even though it's not true. Because the truth is, I've found a way to deal with this problem. And I'm certain that winning the International Music Award is the only way to show my father that I've chosen the right career path.
Before my mother can reignite the discussion on this tiresome subject, I bid her farewell. Disturbed, I walk back to the grand piano. No matter how forcefully the memories surge within me, I must push them back. Because only one thing matters.
The piano.
The upcoming concert.
The music award.
So I do what I must. I place my fingers on the keys and dedicate myself to the next piece. The first notes of the technically demanding melody go well. The crescendo is successful. Just like before, I gradually increase the tempo.
And then it happens.
I hit the wrong key. And shortly after, it happens again.
I immediately stop.
"It's fine," I say to myself. "It will be alright." I try to calm myself, but a volcano is brewing inside me. Because even without looking, I know exactly what’s happening to me.
My right hand trembles.
I can feel it. Every single finger vibrates.
Why?
Everything was fine just a moment ago. I played as if the accident had never happened!
"Pull yourself together." I clench my hands into fists, then give myself a moment to gather my thoughts. "Now is not the right time to give up," I admonish myself.
Yet I feel the weight on my shoulders.
If I can only play the easy pieces, I won't win the music award. And if I don't win the music award, then my father will triumph. Once and for all.
Breathing becomes difficult. But one thing I know for sure. No matter how much I must practice to play this piece flawlessly, I will do it.
Determined, I straighten up and make a new attempt. I master the passage, only to stumble on another one and start over again.
This continues for hours. The sun finds its way down to the horizon and disappears behind the rooftops of Vienna. Darkness engulfs the music room. Only the music lamp casts its diffuse light.
I'm tired, and my neck aches. Clearly, I have pushed myself too hard, but I can't give up. Not once have I played the piece flawlessly in the past few hours. It can't stay that way.
During a brief pause, as I massage my muscles, I mentally go through the sheet music. I visualize which keys I will strike and remember the challenging passages, intending to reduce the tempo there during the next attempt. It can work, even though my muscles are already exhausted.
Once again, my fingers find the keys, and I gather myself in complete silence. Then suddenly, I hear the creaking of the parquet floor behind me.
Startled, I turn around and spot Maya. Leaning against the wide frame of the double-winged door, she sits on the floor with her eyes closed.
How long has she been here? Since when has she been listening to me play? And why?
Perhaps I should simply ask her. But something holds me back. It's her expression. It's longing and filled with happiness at the same time.
Her eyelids flutter. "Don't stop," she murmurs, sounding a bit like Sophia when her bedtime story ends before she falls asleep. With a heavy heart, she opens her eyes. "I didn't mean to disturb you. I'm sorry."
"Sit with me," I say even though I don't usually like company while practicing. But right now, the feeling inside me makes it impossible to send her away.
She nibbles on her lower lip. "It would be better..."
"... it's not," I reply quickly, so she doesn't say what I don't want to hear. "Please, stay with me." I extend my hand to her.
All the little muscles around her mouth seem to relax slowly.
And there it is again. That soft expression in her eyes that makes me forget everything.
She pushes herself up from the floor. But instead of sitting next to me on the piano stool, she settles into one of the leather armchairs next to the grand piano.
I smile at her, and she nods encouragingly. Although it's difficult for me, I tear my gaze away from her and start playing. This time, very slowly, because if I'm making music for her, I can't afford to make a mistake.
The melody fills the room with its unique magic. It connects the two of us even though we're not physically close. I can feel it, even without looking at her. And when I do glance at her a little later, I notice a watery glimmer in her eyes.
She loves my music. Just like I do.
A warm feeling, stronger than anything I've ever experienced, spreads within me. It's as if she can feel it too. She stands up from her chair, and while I continue to play, she slowly approaches me.
My thoughts are no longer focused on the keys my fingers strike almost automatically. My concentration is solely on her. With each step she takes closer, I forget myself a little more. Accompanied by the melody, which I can suddenly play flawlessly, she now sits next to me on the piano stool.
Only a few inches separate us.
I keep playing. I let myself fall into the music and the warmth of her presence. At this moment, I savor every moment, every note, and every phrasing.
When the piece ends and silence descends upon us, I still feel the notes glowing within me.
"When you play, I forget the world." Maya's words are only a soft whisper yet I feel how much they mean to her.
As if in a trance, I start playing again.
I don't know this melody. I don't know where it comes from. It doesn't matter. I let it resonate only for Maya, and nothing has ever felt so right .
Suddenly, I feel her thigh against mine. Then her arm beside mine. And finally, she gently rests her head on my shoulder.
I tilt my head to the side until I can feel her soft hair against my cheek. Surrounded by her delicate fragrance, the sequence of tones continues to flow from deep within me onto the keys.
We breathe in unison with the rhythm of the music. We listen to this melody of our dreams, immersed in the magic of the moment. Until Maya slowly turns to face me. With lowered eyes, her index finger traces the contours of my cheeks. I keep playing even though I can hardly hear the sound of the piano anymore. Everything around us seems distant. There are only the two of us. I notice every movement in her face. Every subtle change enters my consciousness.
I want nothing more than to kiss her. And nothing can stop me now.
I rest my forehead against hers. Our noses touch. Gently, I tilt my head, bringing our lips close together.
She exhales shakily.
I lean in as the melody reaches its climax. For a moment, we both pause.
And then, at the same time, we let go.