BooksBarbecue
Back Night Music Save as PDF
Chapters (48)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1.
  4. 2.
  5. 3.
  6. 4.
  7. 5.
  8. 6.
  9. 7.
  10. 8.
  11. 9.
  12. 10.
  13. 11.
  14. 12.
  15. 13.
  16. 14.
  17. 15.
  18. 16.
  19. 17.
  20. 18.
  21. 19.
  22. 20.
  23. 21.
  24. 22.
  25. 23.
  26. 24.
  27. 25.
  28. 26.
  29. 27.
  30. 28.
  31. 29.
  32. 30.
  33. 31.
  34. 32.
  35. 33.
  36. 34.
  37. 35.
  38. 36.
  39. 37.
  40. 38.
  41. 39.
  42. 40.
  43. 41.
  44. 42.
  45. 43.
  46. Acknowledgments
  47. About the Author
  48. What’s next onyour reading list?

“She did love you. She does. Of course she does.” Gramps stared out at the night sky. “Just not as much as she loves herself.”

Hearing that knocked the wind from me. But my next breath felt easier. And the next, even better, deeper, my shoulders relaxing, toes uncurling.

If I’d been gifted, a piano virtuoso, the next Mozart, she would have left all the same.

“I worry for Victor,” Gramps said, and I turned to see the corner of his lips twitching. “Poor Victor.”

“Poor Victor.”

“We’ve got tickets to the show, you know,” he said, rolling his eyes dramatically, like he was pretending to be a teenager. “If you want to go.”

“I do.”

He quirked an eyebrow.

I tucked my legs in. “I haven’t heard her play in a long time.”

“Yeah.” He stood, offering me a hand up. “Neither have we.”

•   •   •

You couldn’t hear a single sigh, cough, shift of weight in the audience while Mom performed. I closed my eyes, transported back home to my living room, sunlight streaming like pixie dust—but it was Oscar I saw, standing at my piano, glancing at me for the very first time as if he’d been expecting me to turn up for years.

I dug my fingernails into my palms, fighting the ache in my chest, clinging to it.

It hurt to think about Oscar. It felt much worse to think about the person playing this concerto.

We waited for Mom out on the gas-lamp-lit sidewalk after the show. She came out holding flowers from some unknown fan, fevered from greeting well-wishers, her expression shuttering at the sight of us.

I leaned in quickly for a hug and said, “You’re amazing, Mom.”

She pressed a hand to her heart, eyes brimming. “That means so much—”

I walked away to the parking garage before she could finish.

I’d now said every single thing I needed to say.

35.

as soon as I’d hugged my grandparents good-bye and made it through the security checkpoint in Charleston, I pulled out my cell and listened again to the last voicemail Oscar left me.

It must have been windy there—half his words were cutting out.

“Um . . . it’s done! I feel . . . I mean, sort of good . . . empty. I think I’m done too. I can’t . . . really need you. Hope you’re finding . . . or whatever you needed. I’m not being sarcastic, I really . . . lost track of the point. Anyway, sorry for all this, only needed to . . . when you get back. Bye.”