“Thanks for bringing me here.”
He nodded again, this time pushing back from the railing. “We should go. It’s late.”
My heart sank at that, but I knew without even looking at my phone that the last three buzzes were likely my uncle checking in on me. I hadn’t come to Pennsylvania looking for friends, but I’d have been lying if I said I didn’t wish I could say at the top of that mountain with Reese a little while longer.
Questions raced through my mind like hamsters on a squeaky wheel as we made our way back down the mountain in the cable car. Reese was quiet, lost in his own thoughts as he gazed out the window, and I watched him in a whole new way. I wanted to know more about him, about the family my aunt had mentioned — the photograph on top of his piano — and more than I cared to admit, about the married woman he loved.
Did she live here? Did he still see her?
And why did I feel so invested in the way he felt about her?
It was almost like a pinch of jealousy that jabbed at my stomach as I watched him, like I was envious of a woman who could bend Reese Walker so out of shape like that. It was ridiculous, I knew, because he was my teacher. He was nearly twice my age. He was a man, and I was a girl, and he was there to help me surpass my injury and fine tune my technique. That was where we existed, in that small realm.
But when he looked at me, his eyes dark and sad and searching for something, those lines blurred. And I didn’t look away. I didn’t run from the heat his gaze brought inside that tiny cable car. If anything, in that moment, I realized I wanted him to find whatever it was he was looking for. I wanted him to find it when he looked at me.
And somehow, though I couldn’t digest it fully, I knew that was a very, very dangerous thing to desire.
Reese
“Killin’ ’em out there tonight, Walker,” Ronaldo said the following Wednesday as I passed him in the kitchen, tossing me his pack of cigarettes and lighter. His hair was longer than mine, weaved into small braids and pulled into a thick wrap at the base of his neck. He had to finagle two hairnets together to get all of it tamed enough for the kitchen, and he flashed me a cocky grin as he adjusted it. “I can smell the panties from back here.”
I laughed, pausing to pull a cigarette from the pack before handing it back to him. I tucked the one I’d taken behind my ear with a shrug. “Ladies love Chopin,” I explained. “It’s just science.”
The pan Ronaldo was tossing around went up in flames, and he tossed faster, shaking his head with a smirk. “How the hell are you still single, bro? Literally every single woman in that room would pay good money to be the one on your arm,” he said, nodding toward the dining area. “Including the married ones.”
That comment struck a nerve, but I smiled in spite of it, shoulders lifting again. “Ah, they think they want to be the girl on my arm, until they realize how fucked up I am.”
“We’re all fucked up,” Ronaldo said, face screwing up like that was an obvious statement and not at all a reason to stay away from someone. “At least you have panty-melting piano skills and the jaw of a Greek god to combat the crazy.”
“Are you hitting on me, Ronaldo?”
He held up his finger and puckered his lips, making a clicking noise with his mouth. “You wish, honey.”
I just laughed, plucking the cigarette from behind my ear and holding it to him in a thanks. “I’ll try to ease my bruised ego with nicotine.”
“Here, take another for your broken heart.”
He tossed me a second cigarette, and I was still chuckling when I shoved my way through the back kitchen door. I lit the cigarette as soon as the evening air touched my skin, letting out an exhale of relief like I always did after the first drag. It was slammed inside, which was unusual for a Wednesday night, but with summer sneaking up on us, everyone in the area was eager to be out and about. After a long winter of mostly staying in and retreating from the cold, Pennsylvania always came to life with the warm weather.
Of course, it being busy in the restaurant didn’t really affect me. I’d play whether there was one person or one hundred. Still, the energy buzzed me to life inside, and exhausted me once the night was over. No matter how tired I was after work, I still had more work to do. Not only were we in final preparations for the end-of-the-year concert at Westchester, but I had another lesson with Sarah tomorrow, and I needed to prepare.
I sucked in another breath of nicotine and tobacco, finding comfort in the familiar taste as I thought about her, about the Incline. I’d taken her there to prove a point, to try to show her the kind of vulnerability she needed at the piano. I expected it to be emotional, and I expected it to be hard on both of us.
I didn’t expect to tell her about Charlie.
I also didn’t expect her to listen.
She was the first one I’d told, though I knew the entire staff at Westchester and half the town of Mount Lebanon had their suspicions. There were rumors about what had happened between me and Charlie, between Charlie and her husband. But rumors were just that — rumors. Hearsay. No one knew the truth.
Well, except now, Sarah did.
What surprised me most wasn’t necessarily that I told her, or that she’d listened. It was that she didn’t look at me with pity once I’d let the words slip out. If anything, it almost seemed like she respected me, which I couldn’t quite place.
Regardless, I’d gotten my point across. I’d shown her vulnerability, and explained that she’d have to do the same if she was to get where she wanted to be.
And I’d be lying if I said finally talking to someone about Charlie didn’t bring me a relief I didn’t know existed.
Smoke left my lips as I shook my head, that relief a joke compared to what tension still existed. Even thinking about Charlie made my chest tight, and that just made me feel pathetic. To make matters worse, she’d been assigned to work on the end-of-the-year concert with me again. She’d been blowing up my phone all week, trying to get together to discuss some details, but I’d been avoiding her.
I couldn’t wait until school was over, until I didn’t have to see her every day in the halls of Westchester.
Summer break couldn’t come soon enough.
I leaned against the brick wall of the building, crossing my right leg over the left as I took another drag of my cigarette. I lazily scanned the employee parking lot, not really seeing anything, just existing, relaxing, taking a break. But when I noticed a familiar face, I did a double take.
Sarah wasn’t supposed to be here, Wednesday being her night off, and yet there she was, not even a full fifty-feet away. She was barefoot on her yoga mat again, wearing her work uniform, but she wasn’t meditating this time.
And she wasn’t alone.
One of the bus boys at The Kinky Starfish had his apron slung casually over his shoulders, his arms folded over his chest as he said something that made Sarah laugh. My chest pinched at the sight of her cheeks flushing, the same way they had the first night she’d met me.
Sarah’s stance mirrored his, her arms crossed in the same manner, and the way she shifted her weight side to side told me she was nervous.
I realized the longer I stared, the more I should have looked away. They were having a conversation, one I wasn’t a part of. But I found I couldn’t look anywhere else now that I’d seen her.