Page 9 of Wisteria Winds (Wisteria Island #2)

C lara sat at her beloved piano on Saturday morning with her fingers hovering hesitantly over the keys.

After yesterday’s wedding planning session, she’d gone home with an unfamiliar energy she hadn’t felt in months.

There was a restlessness that couldn’t be satisfied by her normal quiet reading or staring out at the ocean.

It was almost as if her creativity was starting to fight with her grief.

For the first time since her husband’s death, she felt an urge to play the piano, not just to accompany the island’s ensemble, but to really play the way she used to when music was just as essential to her as breathing.

She put her hands on the keys and started to tentatively play a simple Bach prelude, one of the first pieces she had mastered as a small child.

The notes came back to her with muscle memory, just like riding a bike, as her fingers remembered what her heart had tried to forget.

The melody filled the cottage, and she closed her eyes, allowing the music to wash over her.

Yes, every note hurt—a reminder of Robert, of their shared passion, of all she’d lost. But there was something else there too, something she hadn’t expected at all.

Comfort.

It was like finding an old friend waiting patiently for her to return.

She transitioned into a Chopin nocturne as her confidence grew with each note.

This one had been one of Robert’s favorites.

It was timeless. He would often sit beside her on the bench as she played, with his eyes closed, occasionally humming softly to the melody.

A tear slipped down her cheek, but she didn’t stop playing.

For so long, she had avoided anything that reminded her too much of her beloved husband.

The grief would just consume her, she feared.

But now her fingers danced across the keys like they always had, and she realized that music wasn’t a reminder of her loss.

It was her connection to him, a way to keep him close to her.

The final notes of the song lingered in the air, and she sat motionless with her hands resting lightly on the keys. The silence that followed felt different from the grief-stricken, empty silence of recent months.

It felt full of possibility.

A knock at her door startled her. Wiping away a stray tear, she stood to answer it and found Danielle on her porch with a small white wicker basket.

“Good morning. I brought you some muffins from the bakery,” Danielle said, smiling. Then her expression shifted to concern. “Oh no, Clara, are you okay? Have you been crying?”

Clara touched her own cheek. “Oh, I’m just a bit emotional this morning. I played piano for the first time since… well, in a long time.”

“I thought I heard music as I walked up,” Danielle said gently. “It was lovely.”

“Thank you. Please do come in.” Clara stepped aside, aware that dust had accumulated on various surfaces. She hadn’t been particularly diligent about her house cleaning since arriving on the island. But Danielle didn’t seem to notice or care, and put the basket on the kitchen counter.

“Maxine’s blueberry muffins are absolutely legendary around here. I just thought you might enjoy some. I hope you like them.”

“That’s very kind,” Clara said. “Would you like some tea? I was just about to make a pot.”

Danielle nodded, and Clara busied herself in the kitchen with the kettle. She saw Danielle wander over to the piano.

“You play beautifully,” she said. “I love watching people play piano. The way their hands move over the keys is like watching a dance. I was never particularly gifted with musical talents.”

Clara smiled. “Music has always been my language. I think I express myself better through playing than words.”

“I get that. For me, it’s taking care of people. Sometimes a simple act of care communicates more than anything else I could say.”

Danielle accepted the cup of tea that Clara offered. Clara loved to use her mother’s teacups. She’d broken several over the years, but she still had three that she cherished, almost as much as anything else she owned. They were white bone china, very delicate, with pink roses on them.

“How did you find yesterday’s wedding planning session? I hope my mother wasn’t too overwhelming.”

Clara laughed. “You know, it was very entertaining. Your mother is, let’s say, formidable, but in a very impressive way. And she clearly loves you.”

“She does,” Danielle said. “Although we often have very different ideas about what’s best for me. I was actually surprised to see her so agreeable about the gazebo.”

“I think she just appreciated being included,” Clara said, sitting down across from Danielle at the small kitchen table, “and having her expertise valued. You know, sometimes as we get older, we start to feel irrelevant. I’m sure your mother doesn’t struggle with that, at least not right now.

She’s still in the working world and very well thought of.

But sometimes, just having other people take your opinion into consideration is all an older person wants.

Sometimes we feel like our wisdom means nothing, and that people don’t want to hear from us anymore. ”

“I hope you don’t feel that way here,” Danielle said. “We’re all one big family, although we don’t always get along. But I know your input here is already very valuable to everyone who’s met you.”

“Thank you,” Clara said.

“And you’re probably right about my mom. I had been so focused on asserting my independence with her that I might have excluded her unnecessarily.”

They sat for a moment, sipping their tea without any words.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Clara said finally, “about the music for your wedding. If you’d like, I could play the piano at the ceremony. If you don’t want piano, I totally understand. But I could help coordinate the other musicians as well.”

Danielle’s face lit up. “Really? Clara, that would be wonderful. I would be so honored.”

“Oh, it would give me a purpose,” Clara said. “You know, something to focus on besides all the grief. To be honest, after yesterday, I’m feeling a little more connected to things, to people.”

“Well, I’m so glad to hear that. I’ve found the island has a way of healing people. Not by making pain go away or erasing memories, but by surrounding you with other people who’ve been through it and understand it. And they help you carry it.”

“You know, Robert would have loved it here,” she said softly. “He always said music was about connection. The connection between notes, between musicians, between the performer and the audience. I really think he would appreciate how this community connects with each other.”

“Tell me about him,” Danielle said. “What was he like as a conductor?”

Her eyes crinkled as she smiled, remembering him.

“Oh, magnetic. When Robert stepped onto the podium, everyone, musicians and audience alike, felt it. It was energizing, like electricity was in the air. He had a head full of unruly white hair that made him kind of look like that crazy doctor on Back to the Future, and he had this amazing ability to draw performances out of musicians that they didn’t even know they were capable of.

He never intimidated, like some conductors do. He inspired them.”

She shared stories about her husband. About his passionate interpretation of Brahms, his infamous battles with opera divas, and his ritual of eating exactly three almond cookies before every performance.

She could feel the knot of grief in her chest loosen slightly. It didn’t disappear. She didn’t imagine it ever would. But it was transforming into something that could coexist with warmth, and even occasional laughter.

“Well, he sounds like a remarkable man,” Danielle said. “Thank you for sharing him with me.”

Clara was surprised to realize they’d been talking for nearly an hour, and the tea had long since gone cold in her cup.

“I’m so sorry I’ve been rambling on.”

“Not at all,” Danielle said. “I loved hearing about him. And I’m honored that you want to play at our wedding.”

“It feels right,” Clara said. “Not only is it a way to honor Robert’s memory, but it’s also a way to usher in a new love story and a new life together with you and Bennett.”

Danielle paused at the door before getting ready to leave for her morning clinic hours.

“You know, there’s a small concert in the community center this evening, just some residents sharing their talents. Maybe you could go and listen to them? See if any of them would be good for our wedding?”

Clara nodded. “I think I’d like that.”

After Danielle left, Clara returned to the piano, her fingers finding the keys with renewed purpose.

This time she played one of Robert’s compositions, a piece he’d written for their 25th anniversary.

As music filled the cottage, she felt something shift.

The pain of loss was still there, a constant companion.

But now something was there alongside of it - hope.

* * *

B ennett stood on the grassy bluff overlooking the cove and tried to imagine the gazebo that would soon stand in that spot. The gentle breeze carried with it the scent of saltwater and blooming wisteria.

“So this is the spot?” Eddie asked, standing beside him with a clipboard and measuring tape.

“This is it,” Bennett said. “Perfect vantage point. Ocean views, elevated enough to not worry about any concerns with the tides.”

Eddie nodded, making notes and grunting. “We’ll need to pour concrete footings and ensure it’s stable. That means digging down pretty deep.”

“Whatever it takes,” Bennett said. “This needs to be built to last.”

“Like your relationship with Danielle,” Eddie grinned, his weathered face crinkling at the corners.

Bennett laughed. “Well, that was very poetic, Eddie, but exactly like that.”