Page 82 of The Sound of Harmony

ChapterTwenty-One

A few days later, Kendrick moped at the piano. His laptop sat on top of it, one window open to a music player and one to a Skype call with Ben.

Kendrick had a vision. He knew what the music needed and what it didn’t. But he’d been mulling over Umaru’s comments. What if the conductor was correct, and Kendrick just couldn’t hear it? So he’d asked Ben for an opinion. Ben had listened through once and then called him during his lunch hour.

“And you’re worried about what, exactly?” Ben asked when they’d listened through it a second time. “It’s fine, man.”

“You don’t think I need to change that trumpet part?”

“If you want,” Ben frowned into the screen. “But isn’t it kind of late for changes?”

Kendrick rubbed the back of his neck. “The only part I’m absolutely sure about is the allegro.”

“Why that section?”

“It’s an arrangement of another work,” Kendrick said. Musicians were constantly borrowing, making homages and arrangements. Nothing was original when you only had eight notes per octave.

“That part is great,” Ben said. “It’s all great. Your music doesn’t suck. Consider this your self-esteem boost for the day.”

“Thanks. I feel better.”

“And now just to take you down a peg, guess who I’m bringing to the concert?”

Kendrick sat up straighter. “Wait, you’re coming here?”

“I got two tickets,” Ben sang. “I’m bringing Raine. We’re going to make a weekend of it.”

“It’s that serious with Raine? Weekend getaway serious?”

“She’s one of a kind,” Ben said. A school bell rang in the distance. “I’ve got to get to class. Can I catch up with you later?”

“Yeah. Bye.”

Kendrick ran his hand over the piano keys, playing arpeggios. His head spun, and not from vertigo. It was like he’d forgotten to count the rests in his music and come in a measure too late.

He knew Raine was crazy about Ben. He was in every photo on her Instagram feed, and every time he talked to her on the phone, Ben became most of the conversation. Raine and Ben were a natural fit. They both liked kids, they both spoke French, they both liked baseball and cooking. The only reason it seemed sudden was because he was here while they were there. He hadn’t had them over for drinks or gone for coffee with them or ever socialized with them as a couple. And now they were both coming to Ohio to hear his new piece, which was strangely terrifying.

Kendrick stared at the laptop screen. It was open to Sibelius, the software composers used to make notation and print out their scores. The dots on the screen seemed to be mocking him. He opened his manuscript notebook, intending to make some notes by hand, and saw that he was down to his last sheet of staff paper. No problem, he could print some more.

He fired up his printer, commanded it to print the file, and then discovered it was out of ink. Kendrick growled at the ceiling. Stupid printer. And stupid self, for not getting more ink in his last online order.

Being without a car made everything harder. The big box stores on the edge of town were a long bus ride away, but he could walk to campus. He did a quick Google search and found he could get to the campus bookstore in less than half an hour. They probably wouldn’t have printer ink, but they’d have staff paper. He needed to get out of his head for the afternoon, get some fresh air, and hopefully come home with more focused energy. He could even stop for coffee on the way.

October was gorgeous in Ohio. The warm days invited lingering outdoors, while the cool nights were great for staying in. Today was the perfect day to enjoy a cup of coffee, to sit for a moment and soak up the day.

That was the plan, anyway. But when he arrived at Hotshot Coffee, every table had students at it, working on laptops or with textbooks open and highlighters in hand. It was a sunny day, and he’d assumed they’d be sprawled across the quad, studying outdoors. But apparently the coffee shop was the new living room, and Kendrick would not be occupying a table today. He got his coffee to go and kept walking.

On campus, he passed Niles Hall, which the map on his phone helpfully told him housed the department of music, theater, and dance. Like most campus buildings, Niles Hall was a plain brown box built in the sixties. But some ambitious ivy had started to creep up the sides, softening its lines.

Someone was taking advantage of the acoustics of the stairwell to play flute. Bach’s Sonata in A minor drifted through the open window, with the student screwing up the same measure over and over. It brought back painful memories of Kendrick’s own college days, when he’d screwed up those same notes. He tuned it out and kept walking.

The bookstore stood in the center of campus next to one of the main dining halls, and was open to the public as well as students. Like most college bookstores, it didn’t sell many books, but it was doing a brisk business in sweatshirts, pens, snacks, and art supplies. Kendrick wove through a knot of young women who were discussing a problematic professor, ignored the kid shoplifting earbuds, and turned down the art aisle where he overheard some bizarre relationship drama. He finally found spiral-bound staff paper on the bottom of a shelf of sketchbooks.

He cut through less-crowded aisles on his way to the front of the store, and ended up in line behind Emma’s sister. Gwendolyn was dressed for work in a skirt, blazer, and high heels, her hair and makeup flawless. She held two packs of drawing pens and some mints. “Hey, what are you doing out this way?” she asked.

Kendrick showed her the staff paper notebook. “I needed fresh air and some supplies. You?”

“Same. I’m on my lunch break.” The line inched forward and they moved with it. Gwendolyn reached for the notebook. “I get a faculty discount here. We might as well share it.”