Page 32 of The Matchmaker's Melody
“Emma…”
That was Gordon, and he did not sound happy. Too bad. He should be supporting her, anyway. But no, he was also on Ashleigh’s side. Special, perfect Ashleigh, who was so smart and so wonderful, and who couldn’t sing the right note at the right time. She ignored him.
“I think you should sit this out, Ashleigh,” was all she replied.
Ashleigh, by now, was as pale as a sheet, her face colourless and her eyes wide and haunted. She staggered backwards, then blinked rapidly, and ran from the semicircle of singers, forgetting her coat and everything, just dashing out into the hallway.
Gordon sent a quick, desperate glance to Randall, who nodded, and then abandoned his piano, chasing after Ashleigh. The rest of the choir were all muttering and shuffling their feet, some glaring at Emma, others trying to look anywhere but at her. To her side, she saw Janet frown, a wrinkle marring her perfect forehead, and behind her, she felt as much as heard Halli shift away.
Honestly. This was for them, after all.
“Quiet, everyone.” Randall called out. Then, after a moment, “Ladies and gentlemen… It’s quarter to the hour. I think we’re done for the night. Please all be ready exactly on time next week, and keep those voices golden.”
He glared at Emma, who glowered back.
“Don’t blame me,” she announced to anybody who would listen. “She’s the one who screwed up.”
“What the bloody hell was that all about?” Gordon was back, although she hadn’t seen him return. He did not sound pleased. At all.
He took her arm, almost grabbed it, and dragged her out into the hallway and around a corner where they wouldn’t be overheard.
“That was absolutely uncalled for, Emma. I’ve known you to be selfish or sometimes careless about how you treat others, but never mean. Explain yourself.” His eyes were a slash beneath furious brows, his jaw rigid.
“She was a disaster. You could hear it. All those missed entries and wrong notes? It couldn’t have been worse. She was messing up everywhere, and making us all sound terrible. And we’ve got the audition with that woman next week, and the concert the next weekend. Someone had to fix it. Since it wasn’t you or Randall, it had to be me.”
She kept her voice strong, but a little worm was starting to gnaw its way through her conscience.
Gordon didn’t see the worm. If he did, he was too angry to notice. “It was not your place. And when has Ashleigh ever been off before? Never, right? She’s always exactly on time, and perfectly in tune, and she’s one of the strongest singers in the section.”
Emma crossed her arms, a shield against this onslaught, and thrust out her chin. She could feign righteous indignation, even if that worm was getting bigger, gnawing harder. “Well, she wasn’t doing much good tonight. And that’s just unacceptable, especially with the audition next week.”
“It wasn’t your place to speak.”
“I’m the section leader. It’s absolutely my place.”
“You’ve just appointed yourself leader. Randall is the one in charge. If you really do want to lead, that’s not how to do it. You don’t yell at people or belittle them. That’s never worked. What you do is try to understand what’s going wrong and see how you can help. Suggest a new way to count the offbeats, or quietly—quietly, not so everyone can hear—suggest she take a moment to sing quietly until she’s got her concentration back. Not chastise her publicly.”
“Well… she shouldn’t have lost her concentration in the first place.” Should she? Was something up?
Gordon’s tone softened a touch. “You don’t know what’s going on in her life.”
“And you do?”
“I talk to her, Emma. She’s a good person, and a friend, and I’m genuinely concerned about her. She doesn’t say a lot—it’s not her way—but she’s said enough. She’s going through so much, I’m amazed she can function. Losing her focus for a few notes is nothing. Do you have any compassion at all? You know what she’s like. Even you should be able to tell she’s been under a lot of stress recently.”
Images of the drawn expression, the dark smudges beneath her eyes, flickered through Emma’s mind. Unaccountably, she found herself blinking back tears of her own, not at what she had done, but at Gordon’s chastisement. And then, perhaps, a bit at what she had done.
“She’s barely holding it together, Emma, and you called her out in front of everyone. You embarrassed her. You brought her to tears. Do you know where she is now? She’s in Elise’s office, waiting for the taxi I called for her, because I don’t want her going home by herself. She’s that upset. You did that. Are you proud of yourself?”
The tears that might have been borne of anger were now the bitter waters of self-recrimination. #JustAskEmma: Making people cry since… now.
Gordon’s voice was still hard and angry, his low tones more rebuking than had he been shouting. “It was badly done. I need to get back to her, see if she’s okay. You think long and hard about what happened, and about how to fix it. It was really badly done.”
He spun around without another word and stormed off, the sound of his boots echoing through the empty hallways. Emma collapsed against the brick wall as if it was the only thing holding her upright, tears streaming down her cheeks.
What had she done?
* * *
