Page 16 of Wisteria Winds
Danielle watched her mother speaking with Clara in such an animated way that she was surprised. It was a side of her mom she rarely saw, that creative, passionate woman beneath the cool, professional exterior she showed everyone.
“I think I might need to rescue Clara,” Danielle said with a small smile. “My mom can be quite overwhelming when she gets excited about a project.”
She moved to join the others and felt a wave of gratitude wash over her. Just a few days ago, she’d been dreading her mother coming to visit Wisteria Island. She believed there would be an inevitable conflict about wedding plans, but now Cecilia Wright was actually working with Morty and Dorothy on gazebo designs and color schemes.
Life was funny. Wisteria Island continued to always work its special magic on people, bringing together the most unlikely folks and creating connections where none seemed possible before.
“So, Mom,” Danielle said, walking over to the group, “tell me about this gazebo vision of yours.”
“Well, darling, I’m thinking classic white columns with just a touch of maybe some decorative latticework. I’m not a big fan of lattice normally, but I could see it here. Nothing too ornate, of course, but we want to make it a focal point. The roof, of course, should have a graceful curve. And the perfect dome would be too formal, but maybe a slight pitch would look unfinished.”
She put her index finger on her chin as she looked up at the ceiling and thought about her plans.
Danielle caught Bennett’s eye from across the room. He winked at her before slipping out the door.
The gazebo, this permanent structure overlooking the beautiful ocean, would be more than a wedding venue. It would be a symbol of their life together. Built on a solid foundation, but open to the beauty around them and designed to weather any storms that might come their way.
CHAPTER 5
Clara sat at her beloved piano on Saturday morning with her fingers hovering hesitantly over the keys. After yesterday’s wedding planning session, she’d gone home with an unfamiliar energy she hadn’t felt in months. There was a restlessness that couldn’t be satisfied by her normal quiet reading or staring out at the ocean. It was almost as if her creativity was starting to fight with her grief.
For the first time since her husband’s death, she felt an urge to play the piano, not just to accompany the island’s ensemble, but to really play the way she used to when music was just as essential to her as breathing.
She put her hands on the keys and started to tentatively play a simple Bach prelude, one of the first pieces she had mastered as a small child. The notes came back to her with muscle memory, just like riding a bike, as her fingers remembered what her heart had tried to forget. The melody filled the cottage, and she closed her eyes, allowing the music to wash over her.
Yes, every note hurt—a reminder of Robert, of their shared passion, of all she’d lost. But there was something else there too, something she hadn’t expected at all.
Comfort.
It was like finding an old friend waiting patiently for her to return.
She transitioned into a Chopin nocturne as her confidence grew with each note. This one had been one of Robert’s favorites. It was timeless. He would often sit beside her on the bench as she played, with his eyes closed, occasionally humming softly to the melody. A tear slipped down her cheek, but she didn’t stop playing.
For so long, she had avoided anything that reminded her too much of her beloved husband. The grief would just consume her, she feared. But now her fingers danced across the keys like they always had, and she realized that music wasn’t a reminder of her loss. It was her connection to him, a way to keep him close to her.
The final notes of the song lingered in the air, and she sat motionless with her hands resting lightly on the keys. The silence that followed felt different from the grief-stricken, empty silence of recent months.
It felt full of possibility.
A knock at her door startled her. Wiping away a stray tear, she stood to answer it and found Danielle on her porch with a small white wicker basket.
“Good morning. I brought you some muffins from the bakery,” Danielle said, smiling. Then her expression shifted to concern. “Oh no, Clara, are you okay? Have you been crying?”
Clara touched her own cheek. “Oh, I’m just a bit emotional this morning. I played piano for the first time since… well, in a long time.”
“I thought I heard music as I walked up,” Danielle said gently. “It was lovely.”
“Thank you. Please do come in.” Clara stepped aside, aware that dust had accumulated on various surfaces. She hadn’t been particularly diligent about her house cleaning since arriving on the island. But Danielle didn’t seem to notice or care, and put the basket on the kitchen counter.
“Maxine’s blueberry muffins are absolutely legendary around here. I just thought you might enjoy some. I hope you like them.”
“That’s very kind,” Clara said. “Would you like some tea? I was just about to make a pot.”
Danielle nodded, and Clara busied herself in the kitchen with the kettle. She saw Danielle wander over to the piano.
“You play beautifully,” she said. “I love watching people play piano. The way their hands move over the keys is like watching a dance. I was never particularly gifted with musical talents.”
Clara smiled. “Music has always been my language. I think I express myself better through playing than words.”
