And I wanted her happiness. I did. But it would have been so much easier to see her happy if I could say I was happy, too.
I tried to let those selfish, negative thoughts wash away in the shower, but I still felt them clinging to me as I dressed and tidied up my home. It was just the first lesson, we wouldn’t do much more than get to know each other and discuss her goals, but the first lesson was always the most important to me because it was when I got to see what our challenges would be.
I’d helped students through RIS injuries when I tutored at Juilliard, but it had been so long since I’d worked with a mature student. At Westchester, the oldest student I had was twelve. They were all early in their studies, finding their styles and learning the fundamental elements of playing. In all honesty, it was easier to work with a child who was at the beginning of their practice than it was to teach a student who had already been taught by others. Not only was my teaching style sure to be different from what Sarah had previously had, but coming off an injury, it wouldn’t be easy.
She was going to get frustrated. She was probably going to hate me, because I demanded excellence from all my students. She was probably going to want to murder me by the time we were finished working together.
But I was okay with all of that, as long as I could help her achieve her goals.
And, in all honesty, she studied at Bramlock — so I knew she was accustomed to a tough curriculum. I also knew she was here of her own accord, because she wanted to be here, she wanted to work, to overcome her injury.
She could have given up. Most people probably would have. But she was here, and ready to work.
That spoke volumes.
I lit a few candles in the piano room and put out a pitcher of water with a glass for each of us. At seven on the dot, there was a timid knock at my door.
A jolt of nerves hit me, but my feet moved with confidence across the house. When I opened the door, Sarah Henderson stared back at me like a feral cat in a newfound shelter — wild, but subdued, her eyes wide, shoulders back. She wore a long, flowy, black dress that covered her from her neck to her ankles, and a light jean jacket shielded her shoulders and arms from view, too. There wasn’t a stitch of makeup on her face, but her eyes burned bright, like they were the only accessory she needed.
“Evening, Reese!” Mr. Henderson called from where he was climbing out of the car. He waddled up to the door, standing beside Sarah with a wide grin. “Betty sent me with these.”
He held a Tupperware container in his hand, and I didn’t have to look to know it was her famous baklava. That woman’s baking was revered in Mount Lebanon, and my mouth watered at the sight.
“She’s too good to me,” I said, taking the container from him as I held the door open wider. “Please, come in.”
Sarah slipped past me first, tucking into the corner of the foyer as I shut the door again behind her uncle. For a moment, we all just stood there in that tiny space, and maybe it was the terrible day I’d had, but for some reason, I smiled at having Sarah in my home. She was a burst of color in an otherwise dark place, and I liked the energy she carried with her.
She, on the other hand, looked like she wanted to crawl out of her skin.
I led the way into the kitchen first, pouring us each a glass of water.
“I have some business to attend to,” Randall said when I handed him his. “Do you mind if I set up in your living room?”
He tapped the laptop peeking out from his messenger bag, and I nodded.
“Of course. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Oh, I’ll be fine. You focus on your new star student here,” he said with a proud grin and toward his niece. Her eyes were still shifty as they surveyed her new space, but she returned his smile. “I’ll just be in the next room, if you need me. Okay?”
He said the words slowly, purposefully, like he knew Sarah was scared. I could sense it, too — though I wasn’t sure why. Maybe she was just nervous, or maybe she didn’t do well with being in unfamiliar places. Regardless, when Randall excused himself into the other room, I watched Sarah for a long moment, wondering what she was thinking.
“How are you?” I asked first.
She looked around without moving her neck, as if she was afraid I’d yell at her for taking in the space I lived in.
“I’m well,” she answered, and she glanced toward the living room where her uncle had just set up camp. She stood on the opposite side of the island, hands folded over the granite, everything about her screaming discomfort. “How are you?”
I smiled. “I’m alright.”
She took a sip of the water I’d slid across the counter to her, and I couldn’t help but take a moment to digest her. She was quiet, but in a way only a fire can be. Because though she seemed to only crackle softly, she had the power to burn, to bring light and warmth to a room, or to bring an entire building to the ground.
“There’s no need to be nervous,” I said, taking a seat on one of the barstools.
Sarah’s eyes widened then, her little mouth popping open in a soft O. “I’m not nervous,” she insisted, smoothing her hands down her dress before folding them on the counter again.
I lifted a brow.
She let out a low breath, shaking her head with her eyes falling to her hands. “Okay, I’m a little nervous. I admit, I haven’t worked with a teacher since…” She swallowed. “It’s just been a while, and with the injury… and then of course, knowing who you are…”
“Knowing who I am?” I questioned.
Her eyes doubled in size. “Uh… well, yes. I mean… of course I’ve seen videos of you play… online and everything.”
“Videos?”
“On YouTube…” Sarah lifted a brow at my confusion. “You really don’t know?”
I shrugged. Of course, I’d heard of the videos being posted. My students loved to tease me about being their “famous” music teacher. But I was thirty-seven years old and about as far removed from social media as a person could be. I didn’t tweet, or have a Facebook, or Instagram, or whatever the hell else there was.
“I don’t put them up,” I finally offered. “It’s just the people who tape me at the restaurant, mostly.”
“You have like… hundreds of thousands of views on those videos, Reese,” Sarah said. Then, she cleared her throat. “Mr. Walker.”
“No, it’s okay, call me Reese,” I assured her. “And videos aside, there’s no need to be nervous. This,” I said, motioning between us. “Us working together? It’s about you. I know every student is different, and I’m hoping to take this opportunity of our first lesson tonight to get to know a little about you.”
Sarah nodded, brows narrowing in a confident focus.
“But,” I said, taking a sip of water before continuing. “I want to be clear about one very important thing. I demand excellence from my students, Miss Henderson. Working with me will likely not be your favorite thing in the world. I won’t take it easy on you, and I won’t dance around something just to save your feelings. Piano isn’t easy, it isn’t for everyone, and I won’t be too shy to tell you if I think you fall into that category.”
Her eyes softened at that, like she was afraid she actually would.