Page 97 of Share with Me

Not with Grandma Yun in tow.

Maybe his friends from his Bible Study were right. This seemed to be a dead-end relationship. Tragically, almost all his relationships the last six years had led nowhere. He could count on three fingers how many girlfriends he’d had. The last one, Emmeline, had parted ways with him amicably. He had been too busy for her. Now that he thought he had more time, Brinley was too busy for him.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Brinley asked.

“Charleston. We’ll be there two nights. Then I’ll be home for Christmas.” He sang the end of his sentence.

“You can’t carry a tune, Ivan.”

“That’s why I’m all instrumental. What are you doing the next few days?”

Brinley seemed to hesitate telling him. Then: “I’m buying a house on St. Simon’s.”

“A house? I’m confused. You said you don’t come to—I mean, go to—St. Simon’s much.”

“For now. I can’t keep staying at my parents’ house whenever I come to town.”

“What do you mean byfor now?”

Brinley hesitated again. “I’ll tell you later, okay? Family business and all that.”

“Okay. You can trust me.”

“Maybe.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“A million worker termites say I shouldn’t.”

Ivan groaned. “You’re not going to let me live that down.”

“Nope. Not until my dying day.”

“We’ll know each other that long?”

Silence.

“Brin?”

“I have to run,” Brinley said. “Aunt Ella is getting into things. Mom’s things.”

Ivan laughed. “May I call you again tomorrow?”

“You can call me anytime.”

The call over, Ivan looked out the window on the fifth floor of the hotel to overcast sky. Good thing they were playing indoors that night at City Hall. The next night they’d play at the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist. The two grand concerts in a collaboration with the Savannah City Orchestra should be fun. Word was that someone from ASO would be there, scouting for violinists.

If he did well, would Brinley be impressed?

Shouldn’t I be trying to impress God?

Well, God already knew all about him. Brinley knew little about him. Music seemed to be their common language. Perhaps if they did more music together, they could get to know each other more.

It was too bad that the SISO schedule was packed through Saturday and he would be either too busy or too tired to finish writingPleasant Days.

Then there was that Bach composition he had promised Brinley he’d play for her on her lost Damaris Brooks Strad, but it hadn’t been recovered. Would she be satisfied if he played it on the Schoenberg Strad instead? It wasn’t the Damaris, but it was a Stradivarius, nonetheless. Surely Brinley would approve.

Why would I want her approval?

In fact, why would she want to have anything to do with me?

He had nothing to offer Brinley. He was struggling to make ends meet, and would probably continue to struggle the rest of his life if things remained the same as they were. Why would she want to date someone as poor as he was? Look at that guy at the Oglethorpe Charity Dinner Monday night. That was the sort of date more suitable for Brinley.

I have nothing to offer her.

Except these hands.

Still lying on the bed, Ivan lifted his hands above his head.

Give me a violin and I can play anything.

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