Page 11 of Wisteria Winds (Wisteria Island #2)
T he community center hummed with activity as the residents gathered for a talent showcase.
Clara stood at the entrance, hesitating, suddenly very uncertain about attending.
She had told Danielle that she would come, and now that she was here, surrounded by the cheerful chatter of people who all knew each other, she felt like an outsider.
“Oh, Clara, you made it,” Janice said, appearing at her side, her pink hair bobbing as she bounced excitedly. “We saved you a seat up front. Ted’s doing a cello solo tonight. He’s nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”
Without even waiting for a response, Janice linked arms with Clara and pulled her through to the row of chairs near the small stage. Frank and Emmy Lou were already sitting there and waved as they spotted her.
“Well, we didn’t expect to see you here,” Frank said. “I’m glad you came out.”
Clara smiled. “Danielle suggested that I attend, maybe to get an idea of the musical talent on the island for wedding planning,” she added very quickly.
Emmy Lou nodded. “Planning, schmanning. You know you’re a part of our island now, honey. That means you show up for things whether you want to or not.”
Before Clara could say anything, the lights dimmed, and Morty ran onto the stage wearing a sparkly purple bow tie.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to our Wisteria Talent Showcase,” he said, holding his arms up like a ringmaster. “We have a delightful lineup tonight, starting with our very own Ted, performing Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1.”
The audience clapped as Ted took to the stage, looking pale and clutching his cello like it was a shield. He sat in a chair, took a deep breath, and began to play.
Clara was surprised. His technique was perfect. She could hear the small moments where nerves made his fingers slip or his bowing falter. The Bach Suite had been one of her husband’s favorite pieces to conduct, and hearing it now brought both pain and pleasure.
When Ted finished, Clara applauded along with the crowd. He looked so relieved as he hurried off the stage and was soon replaced by a woman in her seventies who did a very limber tap dance routine.
The showcase continued, and Clara was struck by the different talents on display, from Dorothy reciting a dramatic monologue from one of her films to Gladys performing card tricks with her little dog as her assistant.
The performances lacked technical perfection in most cases, but they made up for that with enthusiasm.
During a short intermission, Clara was surrounded by residents who were excited to meet her.
“So you’re the conductor, right? What are you going to perform for us?” a man asked, who sported quite impressive mutton chops.
Clara felt panicked all of a sudden. “I’m not, actually. I haven’t conducted since…”
“Oh, give her a chance to settle in,” Janice chided. “She did play beautifully with our little group the other day.”
“You should play something tonight,” Emmy Lou suggested, smiling brightly. “We have a pretty decent piano up there.”
“Oh no, no, no, no. I couldn’t possibly,” Clara said, holding up her hands, but her fingers tingled with the memory of playing her own piano the other day.
“Of course she can’t. She’s not prepared,” Ted said protectively. “Maybe next month’s showcase.”
Clara felt a rush of gratitude, but also a twinge of disappointment. Part of her, maybe a part she thought was long gone, actually wanted to play, to share the music that had been flowing through her fingers before.
She didn’t even get a chance to reconsider before Morty was back on stage announcing the second half of the program. Clara sat back in her seat and listened as a quartet performed a slightly off-key rendition of “Blue Moon.”
As the final performer finished - a retired English professor who juggled while reciting Shakespeare - Morty returned to make closing announcements.
“What a spectacular display of Wisteria talent. Before we close tonight, I received word that we have a surprise addition to our program. Our newest resident, the acclaimed conductor Clara Whitman, has graciously agreed to favor us with a piano performance.”
Clara froze in shock. Everybody turned and looked at her. She hadn’t agreed to any such thing. She glared at Janice, who grinned unrepentantly.
“I may have sent Morty a text,” she said, whispering as low as she could. “Just go up there. One piece. Just play one piece. What’s the worst thing that could happen?”
Clara was just about to refuse when she saw Danielle and Bennett walking into the back of the room. Danielle gave her an encouraging wave. Something inside Clara shifted.
These people had welcomed her, included her, and given her a space to grieve, but they were trying to encourage her to rejoin the living. Maybe it was time for her to take another step forward.
With a deep breath, she stood and slowly walked to the stage as people applauded enthusiastically. She sat at the piano and adjusted the bench, then took a moment to collect herself.
“I wasn’t actually… I wasn’t prepared for this,” she said softly into the microphone.
She’d been in front of hundreds, sometimes thousands of people, but right now she felt like a kid at her first recital.
“But music has been my best friend all my life, even when I tried to push it away at times. This piece is called ‘Remember When,’ and it was composed by my late husband, Robert.”
Her fingers found the keys, and the gentle notes of Robert’s composition filled the room.
He’d written it during their 30th anniversary trip to Venice, inspired by the most perfect evening watching the sunset over the Grand Canal.
The melody was wistful but also hopeful and very complex in structure.
Clara played, closing her eyes, letting the music carry her back to that time. For the first time since Robert’s death, she played not just with technical precision but also with her whole heart and allowed the grief and love to flow out through her fingertips.
When the final notes faded, there was a moment of silence before the room erupted in applause.
Clara opened her eyes and found many of the audience members wiping away tears, including Dorothy, who seemed to be someone who rarely displayed emotion, especially publicly.
Danielle walked to the stage as Clara stood and offered her a hand, helping her down the steps.
“That was extraordinary, Clara. Thank you for sharing that with us.”
“I really wasn’t planning to,” Clara whispered, “but somehow it felt right.”
“Well, the best moments often come unplanned,” Bennett said, joining them. “Your husband’s composition was beautiful, as was your performance.”
Clara found herself surrounded by residents, everyone offering appreciation for what she’d done. Even Cecilia approached and told her how much she admired the technical complexity of the song.
“You know,” Morty said, “we’ve never had live music for our sunset gatherings at the beach, just that little portable speaker with spotty reception. Wouldn’t it be lovely to have Clara play our keyboard out there occasionally?”
Clara immediately wanted to refuse, to retreat back into the safety of grief and solitude. But she felt such a warmth while playing, and such a connection to Robert’s memory, it pulled her in a different direction.
“I think I might enjoy that,” she said.
The crowd dispersed, and Clara found herself walking back to her cottage with a lightness in her step. The grief was still there; it would always be there, but tonight she learned that she could coexist with the grief.
When she got to her cottage, she went straight to the piano and lifted the stack of her husband’s compositions she’d brought with her but hadn’t been able to face.
It was time to bring his music back to the world.
It’s what Robert would have wanted, and perhaps, she realized, it was what she needed as well.
* * *
D anielle woke up to the sound of hammering. Blurry-eyed, she looked over at her clock. 7:15 a.m. She groaned and pushed herself up, trudging to the window. She pulled back the curtain like she was an investigator looking for the source of the disturbance.
Off in the distance, at the bluff overlooking the cove, she saw a flurry of activity. Workers were wearing hard hats and moving things around a construction site, unloading materials from a big white truck, while others appeared to be measuring and marking the ground.
It was the gazebo project. Bennett had mentioned the builders were starting today, but she hadn’t expected them to begin so early in the morning.
Her phone buzzed on the table with a text from Bennett.
Sorry about the noise. Brought a crew over on the first boat. Want to come see the progress after your morning rounds?
Smiling, she texted him back.
Only if you bring coffee. The GOOD kind from the mainland.
His response was immediate.
Deal. And I’ll also throw in your favorite chocolate croissant. Meet you at 11?
Danielle put her phone down and walked over to the shower, suddenly excited despite the early wake-up call. The gazebo wasn’t just going to be a wedding venue. It was going to be the symbol of their future together, a permanent addition to the island they both loved so much.
She got dressed and grabbed a quick breakfast before heading to the clinic for her morning appointments. Mrs. Henderson needed her blood pressure checked again, and Ted was due for his quarterly physical. These were routine matters that grounded her day-to-day life on the island.
As she walked toward the clinic, she saw her mother walking briskly along the path, dressed in workout clothes and looking kind of casual.
“Mom? You’re up early.”
Cecilia paused and wiped a fine sheen of perspiration from her brow. “Oh, good morning, dear. I’ve just been exploring your little island. The walking paths are quite lovely at dawn.”