Page 12 of What He Never Knew

A photo of my parents and my baby sister stared back at me as I sat, flipping the wood panel up and revealing the ivory keys. Their smiles made my heart warm as much as they made it ache. Their lives were stolen too soon, my sister too young, my parents too in love with too much still left to do.

But the man who shot them didn’t see them the way I did.

I shook those thoughts away, my hands moving over the keys on autopilot as I thought of Sarah, of what working with her would be like.

It was the most money I’d ever been offered to teach, and I knew it spoke both of how Mr. Henderson felt about me and how important this was to him and his family. I didn’t know her story yet, but from what he’d told me, she’d been through something outside of her injury that had her family worried sick. I wondered if that was why she’d shaved her head, if it was her acting out more than a fashion choice.

Somehow, it didn’t strike me that way.

She didn’t seem like the kind of girl who would pull a stunt just to get attention. She seemed pure, genuine, and like she had a plan for everything. After all, it washerwho had moved halfway across the country to study with me, because she felt like I could help her.

I didn’t know what I was walking into with her, but for some reason, I was excited for it. Sarah would also be the oldest student I’d had since leaving New York City, and I knew she’d be a completely different challenge than the young kids I worked with daily at Westchester.

She was a walking contrast, it seemed to me, and I closed my eyes as my hands moved over the piano keys, remembering her. She wore oversized, baggy clothes that covered her neck to ankle, hiding whatever curves or lean muscles were beneath. It was unlike any other girl dressed at her age — at least, any who I’d seen. And she sported a shaved head, as if she wanted to disappear, and yet she achieved the exact opposite of what she desired. Her skin, rich and dark, like a night sky peppered with freckles instead of stars, was impossible not to notice. Her eyes were bright golden hues, wide in nature and tilted at the edges, like those of a panther. Her lips were plump and round, bowed at the top, and she carried her tall figure in a way that screamed she was afraid of nothing.

The way she dressed, the hairstyle she chose — they told me she wanted to be hidden. She didn’t want to be seen.

But by her very nature, she was impossible to ignore.

Everything about her seemed to be a warning — dark clothes, eyes that searched the room like she was looking for a reason to bolt, arms that crossed over her chest like a shield.

I closed my eyes, moving with the music my hands created. I’d never played anything like it before, and it didn’t sound great, but it didn’t sound particularly awful, either. The notes clashed together in an unfamiliar way, my hands stumbling over themselves as they tried to find a melody, a rhythm. It was always my favorite part of birthing a new song, of bringing music to life that had never existed before. Nothing was perfect the first time it came out, but it would grow, and change, and one day, stand on its own.

I didn’t know what to make of the music I made that evening, a half-empty beer can the only audience in the room. The song was pained. It was real. It was raw… and new. Fresh, like nothing I’d played before.

And all the while I played it, I thought of my new student.

That should have been my first warning.

Reese

It’d been a shit day.

There just were no other words to describe how I felt when I stepped out of my shower Tuesday evening, thirty minutes before my first lesson with my new student.

I was no stranger to anxiety, but I’d had the worst kind last night — the kind that keeps you up and then invades your dreams when you do finally manage to fall asleep. I’d had nightmares of Charlie all night long, and then I’d had to see her bouncing around school all day just as happy as can be.

And Iwantedher happiness. I did. But it would have been so much easier to see her happy if I could say I was happy, too.

I tried to let those selfish, negative thoughts wash away in the shower, but I still felt them clinging to me as I dressed and tidied up my home. It was just the first lesson, we wouldn’t do much more than get to know each other and discuss her goals, but the first lesson was always the most important to me because it was when I got to see what our challenges would be.

I’d helped students through RIS injuries when I tutored at Juilliard, but it had been so long since I’d worked with a mature student. At Westchester, the oldest student I had was twelve. They were all early in their studies, finding their styles and learning the fundamental elements of playing. In all honesty, it was easier to work with a child who was at the beginning of their practice than it was to teach a student who had already been taught by others. Not only was my teaching style sure to be different from what Sarah had previously had, but coming off an injury, it wouldn’t be easy.

She was going to get frustrated. She was probably going to hate me, because I demanded excellence from all my students. She was probably going to want to murder me by the time we were finished working together.

But I was okay with all of that, as long as I could help her achieve her goals.

And, in all honesty, she studied at Bramlock — so I knew she was accustomed to a tough curriculum. I also knew she was here of her own accord, because she wanted to be here, she wanted to work, to overcome her injury.

She could have given up. Most people probably would have. But she was here, and ready to work.

That spoke volumes.

I lit a few candles in the piano room and put out a pitcher of water with a glass for each of us. At seven on the dot, there was a timid knock at my door.

A jolt of nerves hit me, but my feet moved with confidence across the house. When I opened the door, Sarah Henderson stared back at me like a feral cat in a newfound shelter — wild, but subdued, her eyes wide, shoulders back. She wore a long, flowy, black dress that covered her from her neck to her ankles, and a light jean jacket shielded her shoulders and arms from view, too. There wasn’t a stitch of makeup on her face, but her eyes burned bright, like they were the only accessory she needed.

“Evening, Reese!” Mr. Henderson called from where he was climbing out of the car. He waddled up to the door, standing beside Sarah with a wide grin. “Betty sent me with these.”