Chapter 5
Elise
The first note is ugly.
Not wrong. Worse.
Careful.
I stop the bow halfway across the string.
Tessa leans against the edge of the rehearsal platform and says nothing.
"You can say it."
"I was going to ask if you wanted coffee."
"Liar."
"I am a musician. We call it interpretive restraint."
I lower the cello against my knee and flex my left hand.
The rehearsal room smells like dust, rosin, and old wood. It is in a converted church on the North Side, all high windows and terrible heat, and I love it with an ache that feels embarrassing.
I have not played in a serious ensemble in almost two years.
Teaching is serious. I correct myself every time I think otherwise. My students matter. Their progress matters. But there is a particular electricity in a room full of professionals listening hard enough to breathe together.
I missed it.
"Again," Tessa says.
"You just said coffee."
"I contain multitudes."
I set the bow.
This time I do not try to make the phrase beautiful.
I let it be angry.
The sound opens.
Tessa smiles.
"There she is."
I keep playing.
For the next forty minutes, my body remembers things my marriage allowed me to forget. The tiny shift of weight before an entrance. The physical trust of following a first violin through a tempo change. The way a cello can hold grief without apologizing for making noise.
When we break, I have three messages from Bennett.
I found the program.
Brahms Piano Quintet in F minor. You are taking Daniel Cho's chair.
May I come Saturday? No pressure.
I stare at the screen.
Tessa peers over my shoulder.
"Points for research."
"Don't grade my marriage."
"I charge extra for that."
I type, If you want to.
Delete it.
Type, Yes.
Send.
The simplicity makes my chest hurt.
That evening, Bennett is supposed to meet me at a small Thai place near home.
At six twenty, I am seated.
At six thirty-one, he texts.
Maren needs me for board prep. I am so sorry. Can we do eight?
I look at the message until the letters blur.
The waitress arrives.
"Waiting for someone?"
I hear myself say, "No. Just me."
The words surprise both of us.
I order curry and eat slowly.
At seven fifteen, Bennett calls.
I let it ring.
At seven seventeen, he calls again.
I answer.
"I know," he says immediately.
"Do you?"
"This looks terrible."
"It doesn't look like anything. It is something."
"Maren has to present the response plan tomorrow. She asked me to review it."
"And there is no one else on the board?"
Silence.
"That's not the point," he says.
"What is the point?"
"She's my COO."
"I'm your wife."
The sentence leaves me before I can stop it.
For a moment neither of us speaks.
I close my eyes.
"I'm sorry," I say automatically.
"Don't."
"I don't want to compete with your company."
"You aren't."
"Then why does it feel like I keep losing?"
A server sets down a bowl at the next table. Someone laughs near the window.
Bennett's voice drops.
"I will be at rehearsal Saturday."
"Okay."
"I mean it."
"Okay."
"Elise."
I look at the empty chair across from me.
"I have to eat."
I end the call.
When I get home, Bennett is not there.
The peonies he sent are opening on the kitchen counter.
I carry them to the guest bathroom where I will not have to look at them every time I make coffee.
Then I take my cello out again.
I play until my fingers hurt.