A wistful expression crosses her face, her focus going fuzzy as she gazes over my shoulder. “Yeah. I know,” she says softly.
Clearing my throat, I reach for the passenger door. “Still want to go busking?”
She arches an eyebrow, her wistful look turning sardonic at the flip of a switch. “What was that about performing as a duo?”
Laughing, I wave that off. “I was just kidding. I don’t play anything. I once got ahold of a guitar and learned a handful of chords, but …” I shrug.
“No mouth percussion or anything?”
It’s my turn to arch an eyebrow. “Would you … want me to try that?”
She laughs, nearly doubling over. “God, no. Please don’t.”
“Deal.” I hold up my right hand. “I promise, no mouth percussion. Or banging on trash cans, for that matter.”
“Y’know, if I knew you had rhythm, I might be okay with that one. But since I don’t …”
“Not worth the risk. Got it.”
“Exactly,” she coos, reaching out and patting my chest. Then she jerks her hand away like touching me burned her. That zing went up between us again—is that what she’s reacting to?
She climbs into the car, and I let go of the door, letting her pull it closed. Sucking in a deep breath, I go around to the driver’s side.
“I found a couple of spots that seem to have a good amount of people.”
“Oh, yeah?” She sounds surprised.
I shrug. “You said you wanted to go to a park, so I found a couple of busy parks.”
“Somewhere with shade,” she says definitively. “I was halfway in the sun for the last hour, and I’m not sure I put on enough sunscreen. Plus, it just gets hot to cook in the sun that long.”
“Shady park it is!”
Once we get there, I carry her stand and binder full of music while she carries her case, wandering slowly until she picks a spot under a pair of maple trees. She moves into the grass and reaches for the stand. I hand it to her, accepting the carrying bag once she unzips it.
Then she squints and looks around. There’s a fair amount of foot traffic on the sidewalk by here. “I just realized there’s nowhere for you to sit,” she murmurs, her face almost stricken. The nearest bench is a ways away.
I shrug. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”
She screws up her mouth and studies me, then shrugs her acceptance and continues setting up. To my surprise, she just sets her binder of music on the stand, leaving the stand at waist height. I don’t know a ton about music, but at the wedding, she had the stand up closer to her face.
Crouching down, she unpacks her violin and bow, messing around with things I don’t understand before touching the bow to the strings in a particular order a few times. Then she straightens, offers me a smile, and launches into some music.
It’s gorgeous. Transcendent. I don’t recognize it, but it’s something outrageously beautiful, and watching her play is a revelation.
She almost looks like she transforms—no longer a mere human but a conduit for beauty, becoming even more beautiful herself.
It’s clear she loves playing. Her expression is pure delight.
It takes me a second to remember that I brought cash. Her case is open next to her, empty. Pulling out my wallet, I fan out the singles and fives I got from the store. One by one, I toss them into her case, crumpling a few of them to make it look more authentic.
She takes this in, her playing never faltering, then with a smile I can’t quite interpret, she turns away, giving me more of her profile.
I stay rooted to the spot, though, just watching her. She finishes the first piece, then transitions to something I recognize, something that I remember listening to on the oldies radio station my dad liked when I was a kid. That gets a few people stopping—a family with little kids who are boogying to the music. There’s a little girl who’s twirling, sending her sundress spinning, and her dad gives her a dollar to put in Hailey’s case.
After a few songs, I settle on the grass, my back against one of the trees, happy to sit here and listen until Hailey decides she’s done.
I’m not sure exactly how long she plays for—thirty minutes? An hour?—but after a while, when the sun’s dipping closer to the horizon and washing everything with golden light, she finishes the tune she’s playing, then lowers her violin and turns to face me. “I’m starving,” she says. “Was that enough of a concert for you?”
