*
F or the next week, Thayre and I spoke mostly through texts. Between my crazy hours at work and his long rehearsals, it was hard to plan for much of anything else. He'd sent me one or two short snips of what the crew was working on, and it turned out to be the worst torture imaginable. Not only was the melody catching, but I wanted to watch them play. Hell, I wanted to hear the entire song.
So the following Thursday, once I'd finished with work and Thayre assured me he'd be home for the evening, I headed for his place. I didn't bother getting changed. No doubt our clothes would end up on the floor anyway.
Knowing he had the same habits he did in high school, I grabbed some takeout from Max's along the way.
Hope you're hungry, I texted him before pulling out of the drive through and into traffic.
You're a saint. I'll be in the basement, so let yourself in, his text replied one stoplight later.
When I reached his driveway, there was another car parked in front of the garage, so I left my car on the street. The plates belonged to someone who lived in Pennsylvania and supported the Nittany Lions if the blue paws on the bumper were any indication.
I shrugged, and per Thayre's request, let myself in. As soon as I opened the door, I didn't have to ask where he was. Something played softly in the distance. A cello accompanied by a violin. Whoever he was playing with, they were really good. Better than good. Professional. Better than me.
Whoever belonged to the violin should've been the one Thayre had offered the job to. Not me. I was nowhere near qualified, which became more apparent the longer I stood there listening to them play. I couldn't bring myself to interrupt a song that was in progress, so I waited.
I sat on the sofa and set Thayre's dinner on the coffee table. It was hard to imagine that, less than two weeks ago, I'd sat here for the first time. And while I'd been here twice, including tonight, it already felt familiar. Comforting.
The music stopped, and a deep voice filled the void. It was Thayre's voice soon followed by a feminine one. The music started up moments later, picking up right where they'd left off. Thayre must've corrected her. Knowing that, she was still a lot better than me.
Ten minutes passed as they played and replayed the same set, and when they finally stopped, I was lost somewhere in the melody. Footsteps came from down the hall, soon followed by Thayre's smile as he turned the corner.
“Moyra.” I stood as he hugged his arms around me. Then, once we parted, he asked, “When did you get here? You could've joined us.”
“Us?” I craned my neck, searching for the woman I'd heard earlier.
A petite blonde appeared behind him moments later, but unlike Thayre, her smile didn't reach her eyes.
“Moyra, this is Tabitha. Tabby, this is Moyra, an old friend of mine.”
I held out my hand and smiled when she shook it. “Pleasure to meet you, Tabitha.”
“Tabby, if you don't mind,” she corrected me, standing beside Thayre once our introductions were out of the way.
“That sounded beautiful,” I said, looking between them. “You play the violin, Tabby?”
“Who, me?” She shook her head. “Heavens no.” Then, straightening her posture, she added, “The cello is my preferred weapon.”
“Then the violin was—”
“Me,” Thayre chimed in, seemingly amused. “I told you before, Moyra, I'm filling in the blanks until I can find someone to do it for me.”
“Meaning me.” It wasn't a question. He'd said as much before. “But I sound nothing like that.”
“I beg to differ.” He turned to Tabby then, hugging her the same way he'd done to me. “Think you can practice what we went over until we meet on Saturday?”
She looked at her hands as if they could offer an answer. “I can try.”
“Well remember, if you get stuck, you can call me anytime. I have an open block tomorrow afternoon, should you need it.”
She nodded. “Thanks, Thayre. It was nice to meet you,
F or the next week, Thayre and I spoke mostly through texts. Between my crazy hours at work and his long rehearsals, it was hard to plan for much of anything else. He'd sent me one or two short snips of what the crew was working on, and it turned out to be the worst torture imaginable. Not only was the melody catching, but I wanted to watch them play. Hell, I wanted to hear the entire song.
So the following Thursday, once I'd finished with work and Thayre assured me he'd be home for the evening, I headed for his place. I didn't bother getting changed. No doubt our clothes would end up on the floor anyway.
Knowing he had the same habits he did in high school, I grabbed some takeout from Max's along the way.
Hope you're hungry, I texted him before pulling out of the drive through and into traffic.
You're a saint. I'll be in the basement, so let yourself in, his text replied one stoplight later.
When I reached his driveway, there was another car parked in front of the garage, so I left my car on the street. The plates belonged to someone who lived in Pennsylvania and supported the Nittany Lions if the blue paws on the bumper were any indication.
I shrugged, and per Thayre's request, let myself in. As soon as I opened the door, I didn't have to ask where he was. Something played softly in the distance. A cello accompanied by a violin. Whoever he was playing with, they were really good. Better than good. Professional. Better than me.
Whoever belonged to the violin should've been the one Thayre had offered the job to. Not me. I was nowhere near qualified, which became more apparent the longer I stood there listening to them play. I couldn't bring myself to interrupt a song that was in progress, so I waited.
I sat on the sofa and set Thayre's dinner on the coffee table. It was hard to imagine that, less than two weeks ago, I'd sat here for the first time. And while I'd been here twice, including tonight, it already felt familiar. Comforting.
The music stopped, and a deep voice filled the void. It was Thayre's voice soon followed by a feminine one. The music started up moments later, picking up right where they'd left off. Thayre must've corrected her. Knowing that, she was still a lot better than me.
Ten minutes passed as they played and replayed the same set, and when they finally stopped, I was lost somewhere in the melody. Footsteps came from down the hall, soon followed by Thayre's smile as he turned the corner.
“Moyra.” I stood as he hugged his arms around me. Then, once we parted, he asked, “When did you get here? You could've joined us.”
“Us?” I craned my neck, searching for the woman I'd heard earlier.
A petite blonde appeared behind him moments later, but unlike Thayre, her smile didn't reach her eyes.
“Moyra, this is Tabitha. Tabby, this is Moyra, an old friend of mine.”
I held out my hand and smiled when she shook it. “Pleasure to meet you, Tabitha.”
“Tabby, if you don't mind,” she corrected me, standing beside Thayre once our introductions were out of the way.
“That sounded beautiful,” I said, looking between them. “You play the violin, Tabby?”
“Who, me?” She shook her head. “Heavens no.” Then, straightening her posture, she added, “The cello is my preferred weapon.”
“Then the violin was—”
“Me,” Thayre chimed in, seemingly amused. “I told you before, Moyra, I'm filling in the blanks until I can find someone to do it for me.”
“Meaning me.” It wasn't a question. He'd said as much before. “But I sound nothing like that.”
“I beg to differ.” He turned to Tabby then, hugging her the same way he'd done to me. “Think you can practice what we went over until we meet on Saturday?”
She looked at her hands as if they could offer an answer. “I can try.”
“Well remember, if you get stuck, you can call me anytime. I have an open block tomorrow afternoon, should you need it.”
She nodded. “Thanks, Thayre. It was nice to meet you,
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