Chapter Three #3
So Damien had tamed those wild thoughts when it came to April.
Once they graduated from high school it became a bit easier.
They talked through phone and email throughout college, with her still helping him with his schoolwork, even though hundreds of miles had separated them.
But once they were both done with school and on to their careers, the phone calls had become less frequent.
Damien had made sure he attended her performances whenever she was in Houston, and he’d even caught a few outside Texas, both in LA and in DC a few years back when she’d performed for the president. But those encounters had been far too infrequent over the years.
He was damn lucky April was still single and able to help him out with these social events this summer.
“Damien? Damien!”
“Huh? What?” Damien shot out of his chair and raced over to Kurt. “Is something wrong?”
“Other than the fact that I’ve been calling your name for a solid minute?” His brother shook his head. “I hope you don’t space out on your clients like that.”
Damien sucked in a breath to try to calm his heart’s rapid beating. Running a hand down his face, he blew out a relieved sigh.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just have a lot on my mind these days.”
“Fending off all the women who want to take away your bachelor status?”
Damien slanted him a look. It would have silenced most people. It only made Kurt laugh out loud.
“Now that you’re done making fun of me, I’ll go back to the office,” Damien said. “I’ve got this thing tonight in the Warehouse District and I need to get some work done before it starts.”
He began cleaning up the food, but Kurt rolled up next to him and pulled his hand away.
“I’ve got this,” Kurt said.
“I’m just putting the leftovers away for you.”
“I can do that myself.”
Damien lifted both hands in surrender. He wasn’t up for this argument today. God knew they’d had it more times than he could count. His brother was nothing if not independent, and he had no problem chewing Damien out if he tried to step in where he wasn’t needed.
“Have at it,” Damien said. “I need to get back anyway.”
He headed for the door, Kurt following behind.
Once out on the porch, Damien turned back to his brother. “Remember, the guy from that mechanical-chair company is coming on Thursday to get you fitted and take measurements of the house.”
“I told you already that I’m not getting that new chair if it means renovating the house,” Kurt said.
“And I told you that I don’t give a damn what you say, not when it comes to this.”
“You forgetting who the oldest is?” his brother asked.
“We’re going by tallest on this one. That new chair can elevate you to a standing position, so if you had it, you’d win the argument. But since you don’t, I win. The sales rep comes on Thursday. I’ll try to get here before he does.”
“Still a little pain in the ass,” Kurt said.
“It’s in the ‘baby of the family’ job description.”
Kurt laughed. “Thanks for lunch.”
“Always.” Damien leaned over and gave him a hug. “Same time, same meal next week.”
* * *
“Ugh, I hate this part. I always mess up on it.”
April rounded the music stand and stood next to Linsey Turner, who was currently staring at the cello in her hands as though she wanted to heave the huge instrument across the room.
Which was why April quickly interceded. Instruments were hard to come by for A Fresh Start, so April did everything she could to preserve the few they had.
“Don’t get frustrated,” she told the teen.
“It’ll only cause you to lose your concentration.
You know this piece. You don’t need this.
” She moved the music stand out of the way.
“Now, close your eyes and concentrate on the notes. Remember what I said before—allow yourself to feel the music. Now start from the top.”
April studied the teen’s face as her eyelids fell closed and she gently drew the bow across the taut strings. She could see Linsey tense as she came upon the second measure.
“Relax,” April encouraged. “Don’t rush it.”
The fingers that gently plucked the strings eased, and the harmonious notes of Bach’s Second Concerto drifted through the room. A huge smile drew across April’s lips.
“There you go,” she said. “Perfect.”
“Not perfect,” Linsey said, “but close. You’d better watch out. I’m coming for your job.”
“You just try, Ms. Smarty-Pants,” April said with a laugh. “I can always use an assistant. Keep playing like this and I’ll make you one.”
“Promise?”
“Maybe,” April said, warming to the idea. “I’ve been thinking about adding a beginner’s course for the younger kids. If you keep it up, I think you may get to a level where you can teach them the basics.”
“Really?” Linsey’s eyes grew wide. “That would be awesome.”
The mixture of excitement and awe in the young girl’s face pretty much sealed the deal for April.
It had taken her a while to get Linsey to open up to her.
Even though the kids here appreciated them—they wouldn’t attend A Fresh Start if they didn’t—a lot of them still looked at the adults as big, bad authority figures who should be avoided at all cost. Breaking through that barrier wasn’t always easy, but April refused to give up the fight.
“I need to get home,” Linsey said as she packed up her backpack. “I told my mom I’d cook dinner tonight so she could go wedding dress shopping with my aunt Theresa.” The fourteen-year-old rolled her eyes.
“What’s with the look?” April asked.
“The wedding will probably be off by next week,” Linsey said. “This is the third time they’ve gone wedding dress shopping this year. Aunt Theresa always gets cold feet.”
Linsey waved as she exited the room. April picked up scattered pages of sheet music, her spirits light as she remembered how well her pupils had performed today.
None were as talented as Linsey—the girl had a special gift when it came to picking up musical notes—but, as a whole, her most advanced class was an extremely special group.
She’d taken a set of kids who had no interest whatsoever in classical music and turned them into a bunch of budding protégés.
It wasn’t all that strange to hear someone humming Vivaldi or Beethoven down the halls of A Fresh Start.
That was something she could be proud of.
This was her second year with this particular group of students.
They were a little rusty, but not much. April had been thrilled to learn that some of them had met throughout the school year, using instruments they’d purchased at a thrift store, and practicing so that they could keep up their skills.
How much more amazing would they be if A Fresh Start became a year-round program?
“It’s going to happen,” April said. “You’re going to make this happen.”
April felt her phone buzz in her pocket. She pulled it out to find a text message from Damien.
I’ll be there to pick you up at 7 p.m. Remember to wear blue.
A nauseating mixture of anxiety and anticipation swirled around in her stomach, making her queasy.
There was still time to get out of this.
Sure, she and Damien had gone out for dinner before, but that was as friends.
Other than the pity date he’d treated her to for their senior prom, this would be her first time going out with him on an actual date.
“It’s not a real date,” April reminded herself.
But they were pretending that it was a real date, so it was starting to feel that way. She didn’t need her silly little mind going places that it absolutely should not go.
She could handle this. She and Damien had made a fair bargain. She was going to uphold her end of it, because she sure wanted him to uphold his end.
April texted back: See you at seven.
She added her address because in the two years since she’d been in her house, Damien had never once come over. Of course, she had not been to his home, either. They really sucked at this friendship thing.
It was disappointing, because at one time they’d been so close that it was nothing to have Damien come over to her parents’ place for dinner, or vice versa. They should both feel ashamed for allowing their friendship to grow apart as much as it had.
April put away the instruments and locked them in the storage closet.
On her way out, she asked the janitor to pay special attention to the floors behind the counter in the new coffee shop.
The kids were responsible for keeping their workplace clean, but it was apparent to April that their version of clean was vastly different from hers.
She slipped behind the wheel of her Nissan Altima and headed down St. Claude Avenue.
When she’d returned to New Orleans a couple of years ago, April decided to move to the Bywater neighborhood. The area, which was just west of the Lower Ninth Ward and within walking distance of the French Quarter, had seen a complete overhaul following Hurricane Katrina.