Page 33 of Share with Me

Chapter Eleven

Nothing matchedon the long twin bed, not the pillowcase or bed sheets or the old thrift-shop blanket that Ivan had used since he was in high school. It kept him warm through cold winter nights when they turned down the heat to save money. With a roof over his head—not leaking now that it hadn’t rained in the last few weeks—there was no reason for Ivan to complain.

He sat down on the edge of his bed and swiped his iPad to get to his Bible app. At six o’clock the next morning, it would be his turn to teach in the Seaside Chapel Men’s Bible Study Group. He should have swapped teaching time with someone else, but it was too late by the time he realized it was the morning after the Thursday night SISO gig. He should learn to be more organized with his schedule.

Still, he was working off some talking points he’d discussed with Grandma Yun, so it wasn’t like he had to come up with a completely new exposition of the two verses in Proverbs. Besides, Pastor Gonzalez at church had preached on that verse when he challenged everyone to memorize it for the entire year.

This is a recap. Piece of cake.

He found the highlighted Proverbs 3:5-6 verse in the bookmarked page in his Bible ebook. There it was.

Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.

Ivan wondered if he had trusted God lately. Didn’t trusting God bring peace? Then why had he been feeling a lot of stress lately, especially in his financial shambles?

Everything he had done these years was to pay off the family debt and provide a decent life for Grandma Yun. He wondered if that singular focus—his own understanding of what he needed to do—was in line with God’s will for his life.

If it were, then why did he feel as if the bottom of this box he was trying to hold together would disintegrate and everything fall out? Any day now they could miss a payment and Grandma’s house would go into foreclosure. He’d have to sell Grandpa’s 1945 Chevrolet truck. His part-time SISO job only paid him whenever he attended rehearsal or a performance, nothing more. No healthcare. No 401(k). No retirement.

How was he qualified to teach other men about trusting God when his own life was falling apart?

As Ivan stretched his arm to put the iPad back on the side table, he heard a ripping sound. The underarm seam on his undershirt came apart. Well, considering there were other holes and rips in this old shirt, the new tear didn’t make any difference. In a few months the shirt would be a rag, anyway.

He shut off the light. He lay down on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. Through the rectangular windows, the grayish moon spilled some light into the room, creating geometric shadows in the room that still looked the same since his senior year in high school some twelve years ago now.

It had been an amazing ride, but it probably would never happen again. That four-year scholarship to Juilliard School had been a godsend. He’d made the best of it, even performing at Lincoln Center for Itzhak Perlman. That single encounter, a divine intervention, no less, had opened doors he hadn’t seen before.

After graduating from Juilliard, he had started Jade Strings with his pianist sister, Willow. Their crossover ensemble with orchestral accompaniment had toured the world for two years. Three CDs later, he had realized that he hadn’t taken full advantage of his classical training during the time Jade Strings had been on the road touting its showmanship to standing-room only audiences.

Then Grandpa Otto had passed away, leaving him and Quincy to care for Grandma Yun.

Ivan had scrambled home only to fall out with the other Jade Strings members, particularly his sister, Willow, who still hated him to this day for disbanding the group. Ironically, the timing of Grandpa Otto’s death had coincided with Ivan’s feelings of being worn out after two years of non-stop traveling across twenty-four time zones. He had welcomed the time off to help Grandma Yun through her grief.

Well, then she had gone and broken a hip getting down the front porch steps.

Six years later, Ivan was still here on St. Simon’s Island.

Stuck.

Life had changed. Someday he’d go back to being a concert violinist. For now, being the concertmaster in SISO and teaching violin seemed to be where God wanted him to be. It was certainly not his first career choices, but Grandma’s well-being was paramount. Taking care of Grandma was what Grandpa Otto would have expected him to do.

In a way, it seemed like Ivan had never left town, and that his world tour had been nothing but a dream.

Above his bed, the dark painted beams across the ceiling made the attic room look taller and more imposing. He remembered helping Grandpa paint this room.

He and Quincy were horrible painters but they had been good company for Grandpa, the consummate do-it-yourself type. The entire house had been in perpetual renovation year after year as Grandpa had always found something to fix or update with money he didn’t have, bankrolled on jobs he couldn’t keep.

If Grandma Yun’s music studio hadn’t been as successful as it was, they would never have been able to afford to keep this house.

All in all, it had been twelve years since high school and he was still nowhere near his dream job. Pushing thirty, he felt like he had never really left home.

So much for wanting to be a concert violinist.

With Quincy uninterested in keeping the McMillan Music Studio going, it was up to Ivan to take over the violin and piano lessons six days a week and juggle his hourly position as first violin in the Sea Islands Symphony Orchestra. He’d fought for that position and was good enough to get it, but his longevity there was tenuous and depended on his ability to play the violin well.

Two full-time jobs and yet they still couldn’t pay off the mortgages that Grandpa Otto had taken out to fund various harebrained “investment” projects, that was, after he’d raided their retirement funds. Grandpa had been a wonderful man but he had no head for finances.

Not that I’m doing any better.

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