Page 134 of Share with Me

Emmeline sidled up to Ivan. “I think you should know. Your name is no longer on the SISO list.”

“I’m on the disabled list.”Yeah, of a small regional orchestra that pays per rehearsal and per performance.

“If you can’t play, you don’t get paid, Ivan. Duh.”

Ivan tried to remain calm, but inside he did not like the reminder at all. “I was told SISO is going to let me sit out for four months until my wrist heals.”

Emmeline chuckled. “This week two violinists came in for auditions.”

“Musicians come and go all the time.”

“Well, you’re going, Ivan. The one who is joining us in Jax is an assistant concertmaster.” Emmeline grinned. “You don’t believe me? Ask Petrocelli. When was the last time you spoke with him?”

Three days ago. One day before the audition with those new violinists.

If there was anything happening, Petrocelli had not let on, but Emmeline might have a point. Ivan decided he’d need to make an appointment with Petrocelli and get this cleared up.

“In light of all this, it’s good for you to have a benefactor, don’t you think, Ivan?”

Benefactor?

Ivan tensed up. He clammed up before he said something he’d regret later. “I have to run.”

He walked away to find Conductor Petrocelli, but heard Emmeline lob a final dart at his back. He was sure others heard it too.

“Tell me, did you play for her anytime she wanted?”

* * *

George Frideric Handelgreeted Ivan at the porch, a mellifluousThe Arrival of the Queen of ShebafromSolomonbroadcasting everywhere as Ivan unlocked the front door. The key was stuck. He jiggled the key in the lock and turned it with his good hand. The key came out but only after a considerable effort on Ivan’s part.I’ll get the WD-40 later.

His left wrist was hidden inside the barn jacket sleeve, but the pain had returned. It was time to take more acetaminophen. He slogged through the foyer and put the stack of mail on a narrow side table. There used to be a mirror above the side table, but it had broken.

“Well, SISO seems to be doing fine without me.” Ivan stepped into the family room, where he knew he’d always find Grandma.

“I’m not worried about them. How did your therapy go, dear?” Grandma asked.

“Like my arm’s going to fall off.” Vittorio’s boot camp might be good for him in the end—way in the future—but getting there could kill Ivan.

“That bad, huh?”

Ivan noticed that Grandma was knitting a rose-colored scarf of some sort. “Who is that for?”

“A special person.”

“Meaning you have no idea.”

Grandma chuckled. “I make them in case someone has a birthday or something. When’s Brinley’s birthday?”

“In the summer sometime.” Ivan rounded the coffee table and stretched out on the couch, one foot above an armrest and the other foot hanging over the couch. He looked up at the old paint on the ceiling.

“I can’t turn my wrist.” He lifted his left wrist above his head. “I can’t put my fingers in a supine position. Forget sliding on the strings.”

“Soon, Ivan. Soon. It has only been a week. You remember when I broke my hip? I had to get used to a titanium hip.”

How could I forget?“You have a higher tolerance for pain than I do, Grandma.”

“I was determined to walk again.”

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