Page 35 of Caught in a Storm
Billy is thrown. Maybe this is the sort of thing famous people do. They return to cities far away from their own to sign their names next to local authors and retired baseball players. But then Margot pushes the same bit of hair out of her face again.
“I’m joking. Can I come in? It’s windy out here.”
Chapter 20
“What are you…what are you doing here?”
Margot has had some time to think through the answer to this inevitable question. Two and a half hours on the train, plus fifteen minutes with a cabdriver who seemed to care very little whether they lived or died.
They’re tearing my ex-husband’s face down. I only went to college very briefly, but a metaphor like that can’t be an accident, right? Also, my daughter thought I should come find you, and she’s often right about things. I’m trying to prove to her—probably to myself, too—that I’m not a recluse. And I saw on the Internet how you made me smile, and the last time I smiled like that I was very, very happy. Oh, and I know this is weird, but I wanted to see the look on your face when you saw me. And now that I have, I’m pleased to report that you looked thrilled. And it’s nice when someone is thrilled to see you. Right?
She decides to distill all that, though, because it’d probably be too much. “I wanted to see you.”
“You did?”
Just then, Margot realizes two things. Billy’s apartment is packed up and barren, and there’s a little girl in a giant cardigan staring at them with her hands over the keys of the most gorgeous piano she’s ever seen.
“Should I start?” the girl asks.
“Oh,” says Billy. “No, actually, why don’t you chill for a sec, Soph? Margot, this is Sophia, my student. Sophia, Margot.”
“Hi,” says Sophia. “I like your boots.”
Margot looks down at her feet. She’s interrupted. Billy is working, and she’s just shown up to his weirdly empty apartment, assuming he’d be sitting here waiting for her. The bag over her shoulder seems horrendously presumptuous now. All that time for thinking, and she’s forgotten to work through the logistics of where exactly she’s going to sleep tonight. “Thanks,” she says. “I like your sweater.”
Sophia points at Billy. “It’s his.”
“Yeah, the Soph-meister was chilly, so I hooked her up.”
“We’re having a cardi party,” says Sophia.
Billy is wearing a cardigan, too, and Margot wonders how many of them he has. “I could come back. Maybe we could meet up or some—”
“No,” says Billy. “Are you kidding? Stay.”
Margot rubs her hands together. As lovely as it was to see the look on his face when he opened the door, this—the fact that he so adamantly doesn’t want her to leave—is even better. Maybe we’re all overthinking it, and everybody just needs someone who wants them to be there.
“Soph, how about we show Margot what we’ve been working on?” says Billy.
Sophia reaches for the keys. “ ‘Levitating’?”
“Nah. You’re killing that one, but let’s do the one I showed you last week, remember? The rockier one?” He shuffles through some papers and finds handwritten sheet music. “Okay, let ’er rip.”
Sophia shakes out her hands and starts playing. Margot doesn’t recognize it at first. The notes are too slow and careful. But then the girl relaxes, and her fingers start to flow across the keyboard.
“That’s it,” says Billy. “Keep going, Soph. Sounds great.”
He’s right. She’s never heard “Power Pink” played on a piano by a child, but it sounds fantastic, and Margot is very happy that she came.
Chapter 21
If there’s anyone in Baltimore who’s as happy as Billy, that person is Grady Edwards. He’s trying to play it cool, but his face is like Christmas morning as he hands Margot his Sharpie. “Right here, next to Ripken. It’ll be perfect.”
“Okay, if that’s what you want,” says Margot.
“Don’t worry if you mess up. We can paint over it with Wite-Out, and you can do it again.”
Margot puts the cap back on the marker. “Well, now you’re just making me nervous.”
