* * *
“Say hi to Father, won’tyou?”
His mother’s arm waslatched around his waist as she navigated him through the exitingthrong. She only reached up to his shoulders, but like Ginny, hersmall frame belied her physical strength. After they’d walked upthe stairs at the side of the church’s entrance, his mom pulled himthrough the open door. Caleb couldn’t remember the last time he’dbeen inside the pastoral office. Manning the reception area was thesecretary whose eyes widened at their approach.
“Caleb,” she cooed.“You’ve grown so guwapo—and so tall. You must be at least six feet!”
“Almost,” hemumbled.
“He takes after me, ofcourse,” his mom said smugly before rushing to add, “The goodlooks, I mean, not the height.”
They both looked up whenthe door of the adjacent room flew open and out popped a small,hefty-looking man clad in a white habit.
“Father Mon,” Caleb’s momchirped as she rushed forward, pulling Caleb along. “My son wantsto say hello.”
The priest’s round facebroke into a smile. “I almost didn’t recognize you, young man. Wemiss you around here.” His grin turned a shade suggestive. “Isuppose you’re busy now with a girlfriend?”
Caleb felt the tips of hisears grow warm. “No, Father. Just really busy withschool.”
“He made it on the dean’slist last semester,” his mom offered proudly. “And you know,Father, his piano teacher wants him to train under Cynthia Libanthis summer.”
Father Mon’s thickeyebrows shot up. “The Cynthia Liban?” He turned to Caleb, beaming. “Well done, mychild. Perhaps you can spare some time to play for the youth choir?I’d hate to think that the ministry is being deprived of yourtalent.”
Caleb felt a wave of guiltwash over him. After all, the choir was where he first gotinterested in playing the piano. In fact, his first piano teacherwas a choir member.
Back then, Caleb hadenjoyed playing the instrument as a hobby. But on the days hisdemons came to remind him that his life was a mess, he learned thatmusic could silence the nagging voices. So with as much as fervoras he applied to his studies, he decoded music sheets instead ofwallowing in despair. Maybe playing the piano had saved him in thesame way church had saved his mom.
But since entering college,he’d shied away from church activities because now, he’d found anew sanctuary: his school. There, he could get his fill of music—ina world separate from his mom’s.
Caleb met the priest’s eyestouched with that fatherly, beseeching look that almost got everyparishioner scrambling to fulfill his request. But his eyes weren’tas dark as roasted coffee beans. His smile didn’t curl up like thelazy rise of smoke. His skin wasn’t baked to golden perfection.Father Mon was not Franco De Leon, a fact that prevented Caleb fromfalling under his spell.
Caleb smiled an apology andsaid, “Forgive me, Father, for I am really busy.”
Chapter 6:Off-Key
From the window, a shaft ofafternoon light poured into the small piano room, softening theangles of Sir Carreon’s face, making it look almost kind. Acrosshim, Caleb sat behind the piano, trying to read the teacher’sface.
“Well, that was . . .” Thetips of Sir Carreon’s index finger rested on his lower lip. Then heshook his head and sighed. “Long.”
Caleb felt thedisappointment sink into his stomach. Mozart’s twelve variationsof Ah vous dirai-je,Maman, whose melody was also used forTwinkle, Twinkle Little Star, took almost thirteen minutes tofinish. Any respectable musician would know it was a lengthypiece.
“I admit I’m impressedthat you learned all of it in two weeks. Highly ambitious. But this. . . this . . .” He twirled his hand in the air as if carrying aninvisible baton—“it’s quantity over quality.”
Caleb nodded, strugglingto keep his expression neutral. But inside, he wanted to pound afist on the keyboard. For two straight weeks, at least two hours aday, he had practiced nothing but Mozart’s variations, sacrificingsleep. Even on weekends, he’d holed up inside the house, only goingout for mass. He had even turned down Ginny’s invitation to watchthat superhero movie he’d missed.
“It’s not enough to followthe notes. You need to discover the story behind the melody. Whenyou play like that—like a machine—you lose all connection.” SirCarreon leaned back on his chair and crossed his legs. “Now playthe first two movements. But this time, give me real emotion.”
Hands on the keyboard,Caleb took a calming breath and closed his eyes. Then he began toplay, his fingers stumbling over the keys, a discordant melodyechoing in the room.
“Who told you to close youreyes while playing, Mr. Salve?” Caleb flinched as his teacher’swords exploded in the air like bombs. “How can you play properlywhen you can’t see what you’re doing? Anyone who advises pianiststo keep their eyes closed while performing should be flogged todeath.”
Sir Carreon wrenched hisumbrella from the wall and rapped its sharp tip on the floor threetimes. Caleb felt his heart jump at the sound. “Play it again,please—this time, with your eyes open.”
Whatever emotion Caleb wassupposed to convey was crowded out by nervousness. He was a zombie,barely blinking all throughout the piece. A shipwreck survivorfrantically kicking his legs so he could stay afloat. He triedpushing against that barrier between the music in his head and thekeyboard in front of him, but the harder he pushed, the harder itpushed back.
When he was done, his chestwas heaving as if he’d run a marathon. Even before it was over, heknew what awaited him at the finish line. Caleb didn’t botherlooking at his teacher.
“Well, that’s that.” SirCarreon’s rumbling voice was followed by the rustle of fabric as hegot up from his seat. “I’ll see you in a few weeks.”
Despair scorched Caleb’schest, melting all hope. He stared at the bone-white keys untilthey blurred into a menacing set of teeth threatening to swallowhim whole.
“Mr. Salve.”
His neck twisted to theside where Sir Carreon was halfway through the
