I hadn’t known this about Adam. “You seem very happy, now.”
“Yes, but when I met him, he wasn’t a happy man. He had all but given up hope. That’s how I know. Strong people think they’re invincible, they think they can manage, so they don’t allow themselves to weaken, or get help. And that’s what makes it worse. Trying to soldier on. Lessa,” she puts a lot of feeling into my name, “pretending you don’t feel things only makes the pain worse.”
I’m about to make a joke or a careless denial, but I can’t. My mouth simply won’t cooperate.
“Brandon? You have feelings for him, don’t you?” Her big dark eyes soften on me.
I don’t answer at once. I check on my daughter, make sure she’s not too hot, or too cool. Then I look at the sky, at the trees with the new leaves, the flowers growing here and there all over the ground. I check my baby again.
Finally, I say. “It’s just a crush.”
“How does he feel about you?”
I answer very quickly. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course, it does.”
I shake my head and keep my eyes on the sky.
Laura places her hands on my knees. “Allow yourself to be weak, you don’t need to have the answers just yet, it’s enough to voice the problem.”
I hug my arms to my stomach and fold myself over my knees. “We have a beautiful friendship, and I don’t want to risk spoiling it.”
My throat constricts and I can’t breathe properly so I stop and wait for the pain in my chest to untwist.
Malinara whimpers suddenly, then starts to cry. I get up, brushing grass form my hands and clothes, go to her and lift her into my arms. She only cries harder.You and me both, baby.I think grimly.
“I should take her back.” I say tucking her back in her pram. Laura gets dressed and we set off towards the lane. The steady rolling of the wheels seem to soothe my daughter and she settles back to sleep.
When we approach the house, I stop and turn to Laura. “Thank you for listening to me.”
She hugs me. “Anytime.” Then she pulls back so she can meet my eyes.
“I’ll be okay.” I can’t help the need to reassure her. As if the momentary weakness was just a momentary lapse.
“Tell him,” she says. “Tell him how you feel.”
I don’t answer.
“Tell him.” She repeats gently.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Brandon
“You don’t sound very excited,” she says, her own voice an explosion of fireworks.
“I am.”
“It’s like I’m telling you old news.”
“Itisold news, Janey. I already had an email from Van Wieren.”
“Van Wieren?” She almost trips over the name. “You make him sound like the postman. He’s the orchestra leader. Brandon?” Her voice rises. “He doesn’t usually make phone calls. You are going to be a star.”
Van Wieren emailed me yesterday. The Concertgebouw have expanded their touring program and consequently need another oboist. In view of my reasons for leaving the auditions last spring, they wish to give me a chance now. Would I be interested in a one-year contract? If all goes well, the job can become permanent.
I said, yes. Of course, I said yes. And since then, there’ve been several phone calls to tie up the details and send me a draft contract to sign. I’ve been walking around for three hours trying to think.
