Page 94 of Share with Me

Are Matt and Seb right?

Well, the difference between those summer dates with Emmeline—who was a nice Christian girl—and the winter introduction to Brinley—who was nice but not a Christian by her own admission—was that he had felt nothing for Emmeline. It was just that. A platonic fling, if it had been such a thing. Nothing happened between him and Emmeline.

Well, nothing’s happening between Brin and me, either, right?

Yeah. Except for two kisses and half a cookie.

Slowly, Ivan made his way to the practice room. They had left the door open and he could hear them now, starting without him. A Christmas medley.

One good thing about the SISO Christmas concert series was that they almost always played the same carols and same classical arrangements everywhere they went. Conductor Petrocelli was smart enough to make a big deal about their annual themes. The only deviation from that was Zoe’s birthday party, where she had made certain requests.

Speaking of Zoe, Ivan wondered how she and Quincy were doing in Paris. Ivan had been so preoccupied with SISO—and Brinley—that he hadn’t had a chance to email or text Quincy to see how he was faring, preparing to be a new father.

Can’t imagine being an uncle soon.

When he reached the practice room, he found Conductor Petrocelli standing there tapping his feet. Ivan nodded to him as he took off his backpack to get to his violin. Petrocelli motioned for him to follow him out of the room.

They turned down the hallway toward Petrocelli’s office.

This can’t be good.

Ivan prayed to God to protect him from whatever it was. His tardiness had done him in this time. He was sure of it. Warren Yamaguchi was going to take over as concertmaster. Ivan was going back to the second string. Forget ever trying for even the principal second string position. He’d better build up his music studio because SISO was coming to a close.

Ivan stopped at the door.

There was a man that he had never seen before in Petrocelli’s office. Thick neck. Thick arms. Thick chest. And probably thick thighs. He was built like a linebacker all the way. Even his cropped blond hair looked intimidating. Ivan had bounced off a few of those walls of bricks on the football field years ago. The pain had always been his to bear.

Whassup?

“Sit down, Ivan.” Petrocelli rounded the table to his side of the desk.

Ivan sat down at the only chair left in the office. The seat felt awfully hot.

Why am I sweating?

“This is Mr. Art,” Petrocelli said.

Art? Is this a joke?

“Nice to meet you,” Art said.

His hands were huge. Ivan almost didn’t shake it. Wanted to tell Art that even though both his own hands were insured, he still had to protect them from getting hurt.

“Art is here on a special delivery and he’ll be working with us for a while.”

“A special delivery?”

Petrocelli had always been a calm man, Ivan thought, except when he was yelling at the brass and woodwind. He hardly ever yelled at the string section, being a violinist himself who had duetted with Itzhak Perlman. Now Petrocelli seemed to be trying to keep it all in instead of jumping around in great expressive animation as he sometimes did when he had exciting news.

For that reason, Ivan was sure the news was bad.

Like I’m going to be fired and this bouncer is escorting me off the island.

“The auction last night was a great success,” Petrocelli began. “Netted millions of dollars for historic preservation.”

Whew. I’m not fired.

Thank God for the Sea Islands Preservation Society.

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