Page 1 of String Boys
Now
THE WINDhit Seth solid in the chest as he emerged from the back entrance of David Geffen Hall. Oh my God, the Hudson was unmerciful! Temperatures tonight threatened to sink to the thirties, with a healthy dose of sleet to seal the ice in any unwary traveler’s veins. It wasn’t even December yet—not even Thanksgiving.
It was Seth’s first winter in New York, and his heart felt as cold as the wind.
“Hey! Seth! Come on! You said I could crash on your couch!”
Seth looked up and smiled gamely. “Yeah. Sorry. Just not used to the winters, you know?”
“You look sad,” Caleb said perceptively. “You know, the offer still stands. I, uh, don’t have to sleep on the couch.”
Seth’s heart felt too heavy for Caleb’s usual flirting to even elicit a smile. “Definitely the couch,” he said, pulling the solid wool of his coat up to his chin and making sure the violin case he was cradling against his chest under the coat was secure.
“Your performance was good,” Caleb said earnestly, his pale face shining in the light from a nearby streetlamp. Together they were walking toward the 66th Street Subway Station. Seth’s agent had managed to find an apartment on the Lower East Side—tiny, cramped, and stifling, even in April when he’d moved. It still boasted just enough living space for one person.
Of course, in New York that meant Seth had a bunk bed that he shared with his friend Amara, who was alternate flute when they needed one. Caleb could sleep on the couch.
Amara was home in Sacramento, where Seth yearned to be, visiting her boyfriend and her family. But Seth had two more weeks of performances on his contract.
He had tickets to Sacramento in December.You’ve got to try, he told himself.Maybe if he sees you, he’ll remember we’re stronger together.It doesn’t matter if he told you it was done.Then, as he always did, he heard,You’ll never stop trying.The insidious little voice gave him hope, and he warmed up some.
“Thank you,” he said absently to Caleb. “That’s kind.”
Seth was a soloist, which was something he wasn’t supposed to be in his twenties—everybody had said that as he was coming up. You had to bereallygood to play solo, to be first chair, to get a job in an orchestra, to play in New York at all. Seth had lived his life assuming he wasn’t the guy who got to do those things special. It was always a shock to realize that every other violinist in the world didn’t get the same opportunities he had.
Kelly had always said Seth was meant to walk among the stars… but that had only seemed possible when Kelly was there.
“It’s not kindness,” Caleb argued. “It’s pure envy! My God—it’s like the only part of you engaged is the part that connects with your violin!”
Seth shrugged. Old news. His family all knew what was in his heart, and that had always been good enough for him. Without Kelly there to understand the things Seth didn’t say, it was like the good parts of Seth weren’t there at all.
As though summoned, Seth’s phone buzzed. He stiffened, there on the sidewalk as they approached the stairway to the subway station, because he knew. When it was Kelly texting, healwaysknew.
He pulled it out and read the message, biting his lip.
He’s got maybe a week. Please, Seth, for Matty. Please come home.
Seth stopped and shuddered, his heart finally converted to ice.
But that didn’t stop him from writing the message. Didn’t stop him from pressing Send.
Not for Matty. For you, Kelly. All you had to do was ask.
“What is it?” Caleb asked, sounding worried. It didn’t take a genius to see Seth was upset.
“I should pack,” he mumbled, trying not to lose his head. “And I have to trade in my ticket for one on standby. I need to go home.”
“Home?” Caleb sounded incredulous. “Seth, I don’t even know where you come from!”
Seth shook his head, trying to keep his breathing even. Always, always, that amorphous threat, the long arm of the law reaching for a moment Seth couldn’t remember—but it had never been enough to keep him away for this long.
“I come from a shitty school in a cow town,” he said, knowing his voice was sharp and not sure how to fix it. There was more to his home than that; there must have been. He’d risked so much to return, time and time again. The last time, though, the time Kelly had frozen his heart, had been the time he’d risked and lost it all.
“I never fucking left.”
Then
THE OLDschool multipurpose room let in the most terrific draft, and the parents in the audience shivered. Wrapped in coats, mittens, and scarves, the collective assembly of the inner-city school tried to exude as much goodwill as humanly possible, while the babies in the many carriages in the aisles all whimpered or grizzled from cold or tiredness, and the younger children fidgeted, anxious to get their little hands on the free cookies lined up on the folding table in the corner of the cafeteria.
