“Well, it looks like destiny has other ideas now,” I say.
Mom is just gearing up for a repeat performance about my wasted talents when there’s another knock on the door.
“Can I come in?” Rayne asks from out in the hallway. I can’t tell if she’s overheard us or not.
“Please,” I call out. Mom seems to deflate into the chair by the window, aware that our “discussion” is over, at least for the moment.
“How’s it going?” Rayne asks, stepping further into the room, her eyes flickering momentarily to my bandaged hand and then to my face.
“It’s okay,” I say. “I get out of here today.”
“Awesome,” she says, bending down to give me an awkward hug. “What time?”
I glance at Mom. “Did he say what time?”
“No,” she says. “Probably before dinner, I’d imagine.” She stands up. “I’m going to get the nurse to start the paperwork so that it doesn’t take all day.”
I breathe a sigh of relief once she’s gone and the door has thunked closed. “Mom wants me to stay home all week, but I can’t wait for things to get back to normal,” I say. “I’ll probably miss school again tomorrow, but I might be able to go back on Wednesday.”
“Good,” Rayne says. She looks back at my arm again. “Is it going to be back to normal?”
“Sure,” I say, sounding more confident than I feel. “It just might take a little while to get all of the feeling back in my fingers. It’ll be fine.”
“Will you be able to … play anymore?”
“I don’t know,” I say, trying to sound indifferent. “And if I can’t, who cares? You’re the one who’s always saying there’s more to life than practice. Maybe I need to take a break.”
Rayne studies my face. “Yeah, but forever? You can’t give up on your gift.”
“So now you’re on Mom’s side too?”
Rayne sits down on the edge of the bed. “I’m not taking a side.” She grins. “Especially your mom’s. But there must be a reason that you’re so good at cello. I’m not good at anything, but if I was, I’d make the most of it.”
If she only knew how close she is to the truth. The reason I was so good at cello. I realize that I’m already thinking about it in the past tense. Something I used to do. Something that used to define who I was. And for the first time since I woke up and saw Griffon sitting by the bed, tears spill over my lids and down my face before I can do anything to stop them.
“Oh crappity crap crap,” Rayne says, lunging for the tissue box and handing it to me. “I totally didn’t mean to do that.”
“It’s not your fault,” I say, losing myself completely into blubber mode now. “It’s just something I have to deal with.”
“But maybe it will be okay,” she says eagerly. “They can do amazing things these days. Maybe it’s just going to take a few weeks or a few months and everything will be just like it was.”
“Nice try, Mary Poppins,” I say to her. The tears that haven’t made their way out of my body seem to be congealing into a tight, hard ball in my chest. “But you know and I know that it will never be the same.”
“I refuse to know that right now. And so should you.” Rayne gets up and starts poking at the cards and flowers that are set around the room. “You sure got a lot of stuff,” she says. “Too bad nobody likes you.”
I laugh, because the biggest and craziest bouquet of wild-flowers is from Rayne and her mom. “Yeah. All of a sudden I’m the most popular person around. I guess almost bleeding to death has an upside.”
“Must have been some mess,” Rayne says, and makes a face. I’ve been trying not to think about that too much. By the time I’d woken up in my hospital room, my clothes were gone, and I’ve been wearing this hospital gown and my robe ever since. I realize now that they were so covered in blood Mom probably threw them away.
“Who sent you bamboo?” Rayne asks, looking at a small red pot with some green stalks in it.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t remember seeing that before. Is there a card?”
Rayne peeks among the leaves. “Nope. This pot has three stalks growing in it. That means long life for Chinese people.”
“How do you know all this stuff anyway?”
Rayne shrugs. “You know cello. I know rocks and flowers.” She rubs a silky green leaf with her fingers. “Weird. I wonder who it’s from?”
Long life. And he’d said he’d been Chinese a few lifetimes ago. I smile, knowing exactly who the bamboo is from.
Seventeen
Gabi closes her locker with a bang and I jump. “Nervous?” she says, and laughs.
“No,” I say. “I was just thinking about something else.” All week, the smallest sound or movement out of the corner of my eye causes my heart to race, and I’ve been imagining I see Veronique everywhere.
“I think I know what that ‘something else’ is,” Rayne says. “Or, rather, who that someone else is.”
“Not true,” I say, automatically feeling for the outline of my phone in my pocket.
“Going to see him today?”
“No,” I said. “Probably not until tomorrow. I haven’t seen him since I got out of the hospital.”
“Well, it’s too bad you didn’t screw up your right hand,” Gabi says, looking at the splint on my arm. “Then you wouldn’t have to do Ms. Lipke’s famous timed essay this afternoon.”
“I’m seriously beginning to hate that woman,” Rayne says. “Did she give you one first period?”
“Yup,” Gabi says. “Sixty minutes of writing on one of the books we’ve read so far. We did Their Eyes Were Watching God, so at least you know it won’t be that one.”
“I’m so not in the mood,” Rayne says. “It would almost be worth slitting my wrists to not have to do that today.” She looks at me. “Crap. Sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”
“It’s okay.”
“See you guys later,” Gabi calls, rushing down the opposite hallway.
Just as the bell rings, I slip through the door of the orchestra room. I’ve felt so out of place here the past few days, just being able to watch and not join in. I start toward my usual chair on the end of the cello row, but then hesitate. I have no cello with me, and I can’t play even if I did. At the last second, I head toward the back of the room and settle into one of the stools near the percussion section.
“Nicole?” Steinberg asks, looking out over everyone as they get out their instruments and start tuning up. In addition to teaching me privately, he’s the orchestra director at school. I miss our afternoon sessions at the studio, but without being able to play, there’s no point in showing up. “You don’t have to sit back there, you know,” he says. “You can stay in your usual position as long as you like. Did the doctors say when you might be able to play again?”
I shake my head. “Awhile.” Despite the fact that the sounds of tuning echo through the room, I’m acutely aware that everyone in the orchestra is paying attention to our conversation. Claire White ducks her head, pretending to concentrate on her bow, but I know she’s thinking the same thing that I am. “You should give my chair to Claire.” She’s sat next to me for the past three years, always ready for any challenge opportunity.
Steinberg glances back at my row. “You don’t need to decide that now—”
“I already did,” I say. “I’m no good to anybody at the moment. Claire deserves it. She’ll be great.”