The Guest Cottage (11 page)

D
uring the night, the wind rose, whispering through the windows with cool scents of rain. Sophie left her bed still half asleep to close the windows in her children’s room and pull the covers up over their shoulders.

When she woke in the morning, a heavy rain slanted down against the house, tapping on the walls and windows. Pulling on her light cotton robe against the sudden coolness, she went into the kitchen. It was after eight o’clock and no one else was awake. She made coffee and took it into the living room, curled up on the sofa, and picked up a novel to read.

It was sweet to be awake and alone even for a brief time on this rainy day. She wondered what Hristo and his daughter were doing. Clearly he was a good father. He was a fascinating man, and his foreignness gave him an almost dangerous exotic allure. Last night she had felt as if she were playing a game, trying on a different personality, performing a part in his spontaneous play. Was the real Sophie Anderson the woman in that glamorous house last night? She hated being such a cliché female, her tidy mind zooming from one delightful evening to the possibility of years together. But why kid herself? She was no cosmopolitan starlet. She’d forgotten the French she’d had in high school. She was only a suburban mom with two children and even though her marriage was rocky if not right on the rocks, for the time being she still had a husband. So she should stop trying to predict the future and enjoy the present. Wasn’t that what everyone said? Be here now. She looked back down at her novel and forced herself to concentrate.

Later, when everyone else was up, the rain still thundered down, insistent and relentless. Sophie and Trevor decided to drive into town to visit the Whaling Museum with the children. Afterward, they went to lunch at the Downyflake. The restaurant was packed, as usual, but when they were finally seated, the food arrived quickly and all conversation ceased as they devoured blueberry pancakes and bacon, licking blueberry syrup off their lips. By unanimous vote, they bought a bag of the famous doughnuts to take home for later.
Later
for Jonah and Lacey turned out to be during the ride home. “Save one for me!” Sophie demanded as she steered through the rain.

Back at home, they ran from the minivan through the downpour into the house. Everyone scattered to his or her own place. It was the perfect day to read or nap, to enjoy some solitude after days of togetherness.

At the end of the afternoon, the rain moderated but the sky was still overcast, sending a slanting blue-gray light through the wet windows. Sophie stretched. As if caught in a spell, she drifted out of the living room into the opulent music room, where the piano waited in its grand isolation. She sat down on the bench, placing her fingers on the cool ivory keys, welcoming a gentle Brahms melody. Why could she play so readily at this house when she hadn’t touched a piano for years? As she played she forgot to wonder. She lost herself in the music.

Exactly when Leo entered the room, Sophie didn’t know. Only when she had finished one piece did she realize the small boy was standing just inside the doorway, watching her. When she saw his expression, she understood at once. In his face she saw both desire and fear.

“Would you like to come sit with me?” she invited Leo in a calm, almost indifferent tone.

Leo nodded. Slowly he approached her. Sophie lifted him up onto the bench.

“These are called keys. You press down like this to make the music come out.” Gently she indented middle C. Next to her, Leo put his index finger on a key and pressed. “Harder,” she told him. “Don’t be afraid. You can’t hurt it.”

Leo punched the keys and burst into a smile when the notes sounded. Glancing up at Sophie for approval, he placed all five fingers on the keys, producing a cluster of noise. Excited by that, he put his other hand on the keyboard and pounded away.

“That was loud, but it wasn’t very pretty, was it? Here, let me show you how to play a tune.” She lifted Leo onto her lap, placed his right hand on the keyboard, and put her hand over his, pressing each finger slowly so that a rather warped version of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” floated into the air. Leo looked up at Sophie, eyes sparkling.

“Again!” he demanded.

Sophie hadn’t taught piano before but Leo was such an attentive student, pleased by the slightest passage that sounded like a familiar melody, willing to sit quietly listening to her explain the names of the keys and how to play a scale. Like his father, he was tall and lanky and his small hand had long fingers. When he made a mistake, they both giggled.

Trevor heard the music from his second-floor
bedroom/office.
First, rhapsodic music, then a pause, then tentative one-note clinking. He quietly went down the stairs and stood at the door looking at his son sitting on Sophie’s lap, determinedly pushing down the black and white keys. Over and over again. Hitting sour notes, without any rhythm. Sophie’s arms were around his son, her graceful neck bent as she murmured so quietly into Leo’s ear that Trevor couldn’t hear her words. Leo pressed the keys over and over again, and then like a bird lifting off from its nest, “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” emerged as a full-fledged tune into the air.

Trevor saw Leo look up at Sophie. “I did it!”

“You learn fast, Leo. I think you are a natural pianist.”

Leo giggled. “That sounds like ‘penis.’ ”

Sophie chuckled. “Silly. The word is
pianist.
Say it.” She pronounced the three syllables slowly.

“Pi-an-ist,” Leo echoed back, solemnly.

“Excellent. A pianist plays the piano. Do you want to try it again?”

Leo nodded eagerly. Trevor quietly slipped out of sight into the hallway, taking deep breaths to fight the tears in his eyes and calm the wave of emotion that had swept over him at the sight of his son sitting so happily on Sophie’s lap.

Trevor returned to his office to work halfheartedly and
absentmindedly,
his ears practically aimed backward like a horse’s to catch sound from downstairs. When it stopped, he heard his son running up the stairs and into his bedroom/Lego room. Should he say something? He didn’t want to go all sentimental and gooey and ruin the experience for his son, so he forced himself to wait until they all went down for dinner and simply said, “Cool piano playing, Leo.”

That night the entire household watched a funny Jim Carrey movie while eating popcorn. The next day dawned gray and thunderous, with ominous rumbling from the east and a persistent wind. After breakfast, Jonah biked off to meet his surf buddies in town. Lacey called Desi, but her friend wasn’t available that day. Lacey slumped around the house for a while, bothering her mother, who was trying to read, insisting that she was bored and didn’t like any of her books. After a while, Lacey went upstairs, returning with arms full of sheets and blankets, and began to construct a fort out of the dining room table. She put the biggest sheet over the table so that it hung down to the floor. When Trevor went down to get more coffee, he heard voices. Leo was in the fort with her and they were making plans in whispers.

Trevor carried his coffee to Sophie, who was still curled on the sofa. She wore leggings and a pale blue sweater. Her feet were bare and she had pulled a light blue cotton throw over them.

“Can we talk for a minute while everyone else is busy?” asked Trevor.

She stuck a bookmark in the pages of her novel and set it down. “Sure. What’s up?”

Trevor settled in the chair across from her. “I don’t want to make a fuss out of it, but it was an amazing sight to see Leo playing the piano with you. He’s never shown any interest in it before.”

“He learns quickly,” Sophie told him. “I think he has a natural talent. He wanted to play first thing this morning, but I thought he should use up his squirming energy first. I told him we’d play this afternoon.”

“You think he’s really good?”

“I do.”

“Do you think he could be, well,
talented
?”

The smile faded from Sophie’s face. Reaching out, she picked up her coffee and looked down into the mug as if the answer lay there. “It’s too soon to judge, Trevor. And I don’t know if I’d wish that on him.”

“Why not?”

“Playing competitively isn’t for everyone. It’s demanding, it’s exhausting, and it steals your life.”

“Whoa,” Trevor said. “Tell me more.”

From the dining room came peals of laughter. Lacey and Leo ran into the room, snatched up a few throw pillows, and carried them back to their fort.

Sophie sighed. “It’s all so different here, isn’t it? I mean, it’s as if on this island we can look back at our lives as if we were looking at boats making passages toward the land.”

“I kind of think you’re evading the issue,” said Trevor.

“Of course I am,” Sophie laughed, bitterness tingeing her voice. “Look. My parents were both doctors. My father has passed away, but he did important research and traveled all over the globe. My mother’s still working at the ER at Emerson Hospital. I’m their only child. They assumed I would go into medicine. I didn’t want to, but I did like piano, and when my teachers told me and my parents I had serious talent, they thought, well, okay, then I could become a world-famous concert pianist.”

“Ambitious parents.”

“You have no idea. My father told me over and over again:
You’re either a winner or a loser. No in between.
They paid for the best music teacher, bought me a Steinway baby grand, and didn’t care about my grades in school. They set a strict daily practice schedule for me.” Sophie smiled sadly. “My arms still ache, just remembering.”

“From the brief amount I’ve heard you play, it sounds like you got pretty good.”

“I did. Oh, I wasn’t a prodigy, but I was
good.
In my high school and my town, I was a celebrity. My mother took me into New York to buy gorgeous dresses for me to wear at my concerts in competitions. I was admitted to the New England Conservatory of Music in Boston. But I didn’t make it all the way.”

“I don’t know what you mean by that.”

“Well, I’m not a concert pianist, that’s for sure.” Sophie paused. “Do you actually want to hear the whole grisly truth?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. Well, when I was nineteen, I was chosen from all the pianists in Boston for a competition of New England young pianists taking place in New York. My mother accompanied me. My dress was perfection. My father didn’t come, but before the trip he presented me with large diamond studs for my ears. It was like a fairy tale coming true. The hotel was five-star, posh, and crammed with people who loved music more than breath. I attended some of the competitions and was impressed, but not
dismayed
by the other students’ virtuosity. When it was my turn to compete, I walked onstage with my head held high and my heart pounding. I felt like I was the sun, the center of the universe, the bright glowing heart of the world.”

Suddenly Sophie rose, setting her coffee cup on the table, and walked to the windows, where the rain was just beginning to spill against the panes. With her back to Trevor, she softly said, “I choked. Don’t ask me why. I don’t know. I’ve gone over that moment a million times. It happens to everyone, but it had never before happened to
me.
” Sophie began to pace, gesturing with her hands as she spoke. “Sometimes some slight thing will throw a performer. A disgusting cough from the front row. Or someone
laughing—that’s
always distracting. Meeting a stranger’s eyes as you walk onto the stage and seeing contempt, or even admiration.
Something.
I can’t tell you what caused it, but when I sat down at the piano, I went blank. I put my hands on the keys and had no idea what I was to play. I waited, trying to make myself calm, but I
was
calm. Oh, I was nervous, too, you have to be nervous to give a good performance, but I wasn’t anxious, I wasn’t frightened. I cleared my throat, shuffled around on the bench, as if adjusting my dress, giving myself time to get back into my groove—but there was no groove.
Just play,
I ordered myself. If I could just begin, it all would surge back, I was sure. But I couldn’t begin. I heard people whispering in the audience. The curtains backstage rustled as the master of ceremonies peeked out to check on me. I pressed one key tentatively, hoping the sound would spur on my mind—but no, nothing.” Tears welled in Sophie’s eyes. “It was
horrible,
Trevor—it was the single worst moment of my life.” She twisted her hands together.