Instead of answering that, he turned his attention to Amy. His beautiful daughter. While he ached at the thought of any part of her being destroyed, he knew he couldn’t deny her what she asked for. The compromise lay in doing only one ear, leaving the other available for future technology. Now she wanted to hear Claire play the piano. In time she would want to hear more of the world. A friend’s laughter. A man’s voice. A baby’s cry.
It wasn’t when or what he would have chosen, but he couldn’t say she was wrong to want that. Like Claire’s music, his daughter was a miracle.
“YOU’RE RESTLESS,” Nicole said after dinner. “Do I want to know what’s wrong?”
“I need to play,” Claire told her. She’d been feeling the urge since her conversation with Wyatt.
No, that wasn’t true. She’d been feeling it for a while now. She’d finally admitted it to herself after her talk with Wyatt.
Nicole looked confused. “I thought you were playing before. You had the studio door propped open. I heard you.”
“I mean in public. I have to play for other people.” She held up her hand. “This isn’t about my ego. I don’t need an audience to feel special about myself.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“You were scrunchy. You had scrunchy face.”
“I don’t even want to know what that is,” Nicole grumbled. “And hey, I’m sensitive, too. I get it. You need to play in public to figure out if you’ve conquered the panic thing. If you haven’t, you’re totally screwed.” She paused. “I don’t mean that in a bad way.”
“Of course not.” Claire sighed. “You’re right, though. I have to fix this stupid panic thing. So I need to play in front of strangers. A lot of strangers.”
“What’s the plan? You could set up shop on a street corner. You might even earn some extra cash in tips.”
Claire ignored that. “I was thinking of a bar. It’s contained, anonymous. Do you know any around here that have pianos or like a talent show or something?”
Nicole picked up one of her crutches and pointed it at Claire. “You are so not going to play in a bar.”
“Why not?”
“You’re not the bar type.”
“I’m not looking for a second career. I just want to practice being in public. So are you going to help me find a good place or do I have to do it by myself.”
Nicole set down the crutch. “Fine,” she grumbled. “I’ll give you a couple of names. Are you going by yourself?”
“I’ll be okay. I’m going to order a glass of white wine, ease over to the piano and start playing. What’s the worst that will happen?”
“I don’t want to imagine it. When are you going?”
“Tonight. Right now.”
NICOLE WAITED until she heard Claire’s car backing out of the driveway, then picked up the phone.
“There is a serious problem,” she said when Wyatt answered. “You won’t believe what Claire’s going to do tonight.”
She told him, then interrupted his string of swearing by saying, “I know exactly what you mean. Bring Amy over. She can spend the night here. Then you can go and check on Claire. Don’t be obvious about it. Just hang out in the back and make sure she’s all right. I’m sure she’ll be fine-”
“Did she ever tell you about Spike?” he asked, interrupting her.
“Spike who?”
“Some guy at my construction site. Convicted felon, still on parole, tattoos, married. He asked her out and she nearly said yes.”
Nicole’s vague unease shifted to elephant-size worry. “Hurry.”
“I’ll be right there.”
THE GREENWAY TAVERN was better lit than she’d expected, relatively clean and kind of crowded. Claire made her way to the bar, settled on an empty stool and waited for the bartender to make his way to her.
She had no idea if the place was typical or not. There were a couple of pool tables, several televisions showing a baseball game with the sound down, and music playing through speakers in the ceiling. A lone piano stood covered in the far corner of the room.
The crowd seemed evenly divided between couples and groups of guys. There weren’t a lot of women on their own. In fact, she couldn’t see any except for a table of them by one of the posts.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.
“Glass of…” She hesitated. She had a feeling this wasn’t much of a white wine kind of place. “Um, a beer. Whatever you have on tap is fine.”
The guy nodded and walked away. Claire had no idea where she’d ever heard about draft beer, but as it had been the right thing to say, she was only grateful.
A couple of guys smiled at her while she waited for her beer. She gave them a slight nod, not wanting to get into conversation. She was here for the pain and nothing else.
When the bartender returned with her beer, he said, “Three bucks.”
She passed him a five. “Would you mind if I played the piano?”
The guy hesitated. “You any good?”
That made her smile. “I’ve taken a few lessons.”
“Sure. But if people complain, you’re going to have to stop.”
Claire was less concerned about anyone’s opinion than having a panic attack of some kind. She’d felt strong for a few weeks now, but she also hadn’t tested herself since the school. While she’d gotten through that performance, it had been by sheer force of will.
She waved for the bartender to keep the change, then picked up her mug and walked toward the piano. As she passed a table, a guy grabbed her hand.
“Want to join me, honey?”
“No, thanks,” she said without looking at him.
She tugged off the cover, then stared at the black upright. There was a coaster on one end and a tip jar on the other.
She sat on the bench and felt her chest tighten. This time there was no Amy to distract or save her. She was going to have to save herself.
Her breathing became more shallow. She deliberately slowed and deepened it, but she still felt as if air wasn’t filling her lungs. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t…
“Stop,” she said aloud, not caring if anyone else heard her. “Just stop it”
She was fine. She could breathe and she wasn’t going to die, no matter how it felt otherwise. The only way to get over this was to play until playing was easy again.
Ignoring the tight chest and the sense of panic, she put her hands on the keys and lost herself in the sound.
Rachmaninoff, she thought with a sigh of relief. One of her favorites. It always calmed her. The way the music-
“Hey, lady. Shut the hell up. No one wants to hear that.”
Claire opened her eyes and glanced around to find several people glaring at her. Oops. This wasn’t a Rachmaninoff kind of crowd.
“Sorry,” she said with a smile. “How about this?”
She transitioned into “Uptown Girl” by Billy Joel and when that was done, played “Accidentally In Love,” a song she’d adored from the moment she’d heard it in the second
She played Norah Jones, several popular show tunes and then started taking requests.
She wasn’t sure how much time passed. When she felt her body begin to tremble with exhaustion, she knew it was time to stop. But before she could finish her current song, some guy walked up and put a buck into the empty
