Dave Simmons said, “Careful, don’t trip.” To me: “I didn’t want to shock her but I don’t usually talk about it. Last time she saw me, I was weak but maintaining, she probably didn’t notice. It comes and goes. Currently, it’s coming.”

“M.S.?”

“Something along those lines, but not exactly.” Simmons smiled. His face was unlined, his eyes wide and blue and merry. “I’ve always had a thing about being different, so now… oh, wow, that’s gorgeous.”

Robin held the instrument out to Simmons.

“Can’t,” he said. “Hands too weak.”

She moved it closer.

His breath caught. “Unbelievable, you’re a wizard — or whatever the female version of that is. Could you please turn it over… look at that maple. One piece, or am I missing the seam?”

“One piece,” said Robin.

“Must’ve been a great plank… got the fiddle-grain plus that vertical wave passing through it — like caramel.”

Simmons’s eyes closed briefly. When they opened, he strained, managed to get his head closer to the mirror-shiny surface. “Like a molten river flowing… where’d you find wood this spectacular?”

“An old violin maker retired. I’ve had it for years,” said Robin. “It gets better as it ages.”

“Sure, natural drying,” said Simmons. “Can’t replicate that with a kiln — I’ve been doing my research. It’s amazing, Robin. Thanks for creating it and thanks especially for having it ready so soon. My idea is to give it to a deserving musician. Run a benefit for something, have a raffle. No charge for the tickets, to qualify you’d have to play a classic bluegrass song at a certain level. We’d use virtuoso judges. Maybe Grisman or Statman, someone of that caliber. What do you think?”

“It’s a lovely idea, Dave.”

“I think it’s best, Robin. I really did intend to learn how to play, had a teacher all lined up.” A flicker of arm movement stood in for a shrug. “Best-laid plans.”

“I’m so sorry, Dave.”

“Hey, stuff happens. Then it un-happens. I’m staying positive.” He gave the mandolin another long, dreamy look. “Absolutely masterful, I’m blown away. Okay, Tom, we’d better get going. Nice to see you again, Robin. Keep it here until I get the details worked out. If you get any other ideas, let me know. Great to meet you, Alex.”

Tom took hold of the chair and began pushing it toward the ramp.

Robin ran to catch up. Placed her hand on Simmons’s arm.

He said, “Oh, one more thing. Could I ask when you see yourself finishing the rest of the quartet?”

“I’ll start today on the mandola.”

“Nine months seem reasonable?”

“Sooner, Dave.”

Simmons grinned. “Sooner is better.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ABOUT THE AUTHOR