Chapter 14
Josh
I stare at the glass of water, poised on the low side table beside me. Tamika paces restlessly in front of the glass door of the music room, its vista revealing the garden and the rain-drenched day. "Come on," she urges me, "you can do this."
Perhaps. I've been on the new medication for eight days now. The physiotherapist visits me daily. The headaches have subsided, and the stiffness in my back is felt only in the mornings or when I've been seated at the piano for too long. Yet until today, I've not dared to strain my hand.
The fear was, and still is, too immense.
"In three days, you have to stand on stage. Prove to me that you can do it," Tamika asserts sternly, but I know she doesn't mean it harshly. She only wants what's best for me. And that happens to be to ensure that the upcoming concert of the Open Air Tour in Dublin doesn't fall apart too.
I can't let that happen.
So I stretch out my hand toward the glass and wrap my fingers around it. They remain steady. I exhale in relief. This is a good sign.
Tamika nods encouragingly at me. Earlier, we weighed the glass; it was around five hundred grams, water included. According to my doctor, my musclesshould be able to bear that weight. I draw in a deep breath, then lift the glass.
My hand stays calm.
Could this truly be real?
"They're working," I state, disbelief tinting my voice as I study my fingers as if they were not a part of me. "The medications are helping!" Only after the words have escaped my lips do I start to comprehend their implication.
With a dramatic gesture, Tamika places her hand over her deeply cut neckline. "Thank. God."
My ease returns. Finally!
In a burst of exuberance, I replace the glass on the table, leap to my feet, and hug my manager. "Dublin, here we come," I exclaim, and the last remnants of my tension melt away.
I am going to perform. Finally, I can return to doing what I was meant for. And the hope for the International Music Award lives on.
Tamika detaches herself from our embrace and claps her hands. "We've got a lot to do. I'll immediately check everything with Ralf, and you'll keep dutifully taking your meds." Her smile is genuine. The first since my diagnosis. She turns to leave, exhaling heavily.
I quickly stop her. "There's something else."
Her perfectly plucked eyebrows arch inquisitively.
"We need a different nanny." I could have overlooked Jasmin's upset remark about the disorder Maya left in the kitchen. But what I observed last week left me unsettled. She is teaching Sophia to talk to stuffed animals. What kind of an educator does that? Especially with a child who's already challenging enough.
Anyway, I’m not sure what to make of her. This woman is an enigma to me. And the way she looks at me, even more so.
Tamika's expression darkens. "Then I wish you luck in your search. I'm curious if you can find someone who is flexible in time and location, accepts a temporary position, and is also a top-trained professional."
This can't be true. "Come on, you couldn't find anyone other than this garish candy?"
Exasperated, she plants her hands on her hips. "Of course, I found better ones. But not even money could lure them."
"And that's why Sophia is being cared for by a novice?" It may be that Maya has a captivating personality. It's entirely possible that her smile carries a touch of magic, and her dimples are so endearing that it's hard to look away when they appear.
But this is not how it should be.
It's bad enough that my own turmoil and helplessness make me a terrible father. Sophia deserves at least a qualified nanny.
"Forget it." My manager waves dismissively. "You need to focus on other things. Maya and Sophia will manage each other. Have some faith."
Faith? I'm not so sure.
"Go on, the piano is waiting." She spins around, snapping her fingers as she crosses the music room and heads for the door.
