Page 23 of What He Never Knew

There was a sinking feeling in my gut as I stood there, inhaling another pull of nicotine. I knew the time was coming when I’d have to confront Charlie, when I’d have to tell her that being around her, around her family, wasn’t good for me anymore.

But how could I do that?

How could I tell her parents, the closest thing I had to family in this world, now that my own family was gone, that I couldn’t be around them? How could I explain to her father, her mother, or even worse — to her brother, my childhood best friend? It didn’t matter that we didn’t talk all the time anymore, that our relationship had changed with the distance and time.

They had all been there for me, ever since I could remember.

And I didn’t know how to say goodbye, even if it was the “healthy” thing to do.

“Do you have to do that here?”

A cloud of smoke left my lips as I opened my eyes again, and when they adjusted to the night, I had to blink several times to be sure I was actually seeing what I thought I was.

Sarah Henderson was seated on a yoga mat a few feet to the left of me, her legs folded, palms on her thighs and back straight like she was meditating. Her shoes were abandoned at the edge of the mat, pants rolled to her ankles.

It was the strangest thing I’d ever seen behind that restaurant, and that was saying something.

“Do you have to dothathere,” I challenged.

Sarah scoffed, shaking her head before she pulled in a long, steady breath and straightened her back again. Her eyes were closed, and one hand floated up to cup the crystal necklace around her neck. “I think we can both agree that what I’m doing is the healthier of the two.”

“Maybe,” I conceded, taking another puff of my cigarette. “But, judging by the other cigarette butts and other disgusting things littering the ground, I think we can both agree that mine is the morenormalof the two in this space.”

Sarah’s eyes shot open, and as if she just noticed them, her lip curled, eyes scanning the abandoned cigarettes on the concrete around us. She let out a long breath, closing her eyes again and pulling her shoulders down and back. “Well, I needed to mediate. Sometimes I get off kilter around big groups of people. I just wanted to get centered.” She held up one finger. “And before you say anything, I know work isn’t the best place for that. But it’s been a stressful day and I needed a minute.” She paused. “And this might not be the most appropriate spot to clear my mind, but I have a feeling our boss wouldn’t be too keen with me rolling out a mat next to the piano.”

“Hey, I’m not the one judging,” I said, cigarette between my teeth again as I held my hands up. “That was you.”

“I wasn’t judging,” she defended, brows furrowed as she glanced at me. She shifted, her back slouching a bit before she straightened again. “I’m just saying, that’s not the best thing for you.”

“Trust me,” I said on a laugh. “I’ve never been one to gravitate toward the things that werebest for mein my life.”

We were both silent then, and Sarah stretched her hands out in front of her, rolling her wrists with a grimace.

“How are your wrists feeling?” I asked, extinguishing the last of my cigarette on the concrete before tucking it in my pocket. The least I could do was not add to the butts around her.

“A little sore, but not too bad,” she answered. “I’ve been working on that piece you assigned me Thursday night.”

I nodded. “You’re not pushing too hard, though, right?”

“About four hours a day right now,” she said. “I could do more, but I’m trying to ease into it.”

“Good,” I said. “Slow and steady will win this race. I don’t want you injured again before we can even work on your technique.”

I watched her for a long while, content with the silence as I thought over our week together. We’d only had two lessons, but we’d kick it up to four times a week once school ended. I knew just from our first hours together that Sarah thought I didn’t believe in her. She thought I doubted her abilities, her drive, her talent.

But it couldn’t be further from the truth.

I saw the natural talent she possessed, the emotion she brought to the piano when she played, the technique she’d been fine tuning her entire life. Yes, her injury had set her back, and we had work to do — but it wasn’t her technique that worried me most.

It was everything she held inside, everything she wouldn’t release at the piano when she had the chance to.

In our first lesson, she chose such a short and simple piece, one that could showcase her talent easily without her having to dig too deep. I didn’t judge her for it, most students tended to choose a piece they were familiar with, one they could play well, when I asked them to play for me at our first lesson.

But when we worked together Thursday night, when I asked her to play a piece ofmychoosing, that’s when I realized the tensions she brought with her. Every muscle was wrapped tight as she played, her face devoid of emotion, though the piece was cheerful, energetic, joyful. Sarah played like she wanted to be background music, not the center of everyone’s attention — like she wanted to slip away, hide behind the music rather than pour herself into it.

And later in that lesson, when I’d had her play a more dramatic, melancholy piece, she’d hidden away even more. She didn’t take the pain I knew she felt and use it — she ran from it.

Thatwould be our biggest hurdle.