When everybody had cleared out of the area, Dani stepped up, leaned against the hall beside Jessica, and asked, “So, was this impromptu performance your doing?”
“Am I fired if it was?” she said in a half-joking voice.
“No,” she said, “but you’ve brought up a really good point. Music hasn’t come up around here many times, but, when it has, it’s been pretty important to those involved. We have a piano around here somewhere, but it probably needs tuning.”
“He said he can play almost anything,” she said quietly. “I thought I might find a guitar, and, when I happened across it, at a really cheap price, it seemed like it was worth a try.”
“Definitely is,” Dani said. “We’ll have to set some hours and see if anybody complains.”
“And maybe he can take it outside too,” she said.
“As soon as he gets a little bit more strength in him, he will. It’ll be months before he leaves, and it’s obviously something that’s good for his soul. Who knows? Maybe the music will be good for some of the other patients too,” she said thoughtfully.
“The problem is,” Jessica said, “there will no doubt be at least one person who complains.”
Dani’s grin was swift and lethal. “There always is,” she said. “Anyway, good job.” And, with that, she pushed off the wall and headed back to her office.
Jessica stayed here for a long moment, wondering if she should go talk to him. When she looked up at his doorway, she saw him sitting there in his wheelchair with the guitar in his lap. He just stared at it. She gave him a lopsided grin. “I was kind of hoping for another concert.”
His grin flashed. “And I’d love to, but that would be pushing it,” he said, rotating his shoulders to ease the strain. “And thank you. It was sweet of you to bring it.”
She shrugged. “You’re welcome. I’d like to see it help you on your path to recovery.”
“It will,” he said. “I know it. I’d forgotten how much I’ve missed it,” he said, his fingers gently stroking the strings.
“We’ll just have to see how much pushback there may be from other patients,” she said. “Just because 98 percent of the place likes it, doesn’t mean everybody will.”
“I was thinking I should take it outside and to the pastures, where it won’t disturb anybody.”
“That’s quite possible too,” she said. “How does your afternoon look?”
“Sounds like I’m still on a reduced schedule until the new meds have a chance to work, but I am supposed to visit with my shrink this afternoon. And Shane for a short session this morning.” He looked at the clock and said, “Uh-oh, I better get going.” He quickly put the guitar gently against the wall inside the doorway and wheeled past her.
She called out, “Have a good one.”
“Is that possible?” he called back, laughing.
“Sure,” she said. “Why not?” She watched as he disappeared around the corner; then she headed back to the nurses’ station. As she settled in, one of the other nurses huffed.
“Well, thank God that noise calmed down.”
“You don’t like music?”
“If I go to a concert or I’m at home and turn on the music, sure,” she said. “But I don’t like music rocking down the hallways.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” she said, “because music is really good for him. It’s helping him to reconnect.”
“There are other ways to do that too,” she said.
“Such as?”
“Who knows? But everybody else has managed it without music, so I’m sure he can too. Maybe get him an iPod with earbuds.”
Jessica laughed at that. “Well, that’s another answer too,” she said. “I didn’t realize you were such a curmudgeon.”
“I’m not,” she said, “but I want music when I want it, not when it’s not a choice.”
“Good point,” she said. As she sat here, she wondered if she had done Lance a disservice, as it was obvious that they had already found one of the two percenters who weren’t happy with his playing.
“I guess I sound kind of cranky, don’t I?” she said.
“I don’t know about that,” Jessica replied. “I guess you have a right to how you’re feeling. It’s just kind of frustrating, since it was a promising step in Lance’s recovery.”
“Is he really that happy with it?”
Jessica looked at her. “You have no idea,” she said. “It’s seriously amazing to see the change on his face.”
“Great,” she said. “So I’ll have to listen to that for the next few months now.”
“Who in your life hated music?”
“Me,” she said, “and it’s because of everybody else who shoved it in my face all the time.”
“And who was that?” Jessica asked.
“My parents, my brother, my husband. Everybody,” she said. “It seemed like I was always surrounded by musicians.”
And that gave Jessica an inkling of what the problem was. “And you don’t have the same affinity, I presume?”
“No. God, no,” she said. “I don’t have the slightest bit of skill in that direction at all. It’s really very sad.”
“Maybe,” she said, “but that’s also life, isn’t it? And you have plenty of other gifts.”
“It doesn’t seem like it,” she said. “I spent a lifetime being the butt of jokes because I couldn’t sing or play an instrument. It made for a pretty rough childhood in some ways.”
“But you’re an adult now,” she said, looking at the woman who had to be in her late thirties. “Surely it doesn’t still bother you.”
Instead, Bridget looked over at her and groaned. “Even my kids play.”
“Of course they do. I’m so sorry,” Jessica said. “Obviously it’s a
