she eventually fell silent, and then he heard her cross the room and sit. After a fortifying breath, Nik guided himself around to the front of the piano, then motioned for Bryce to shift over.
“I’m going to walk you through scales. We’ll start with your right hand, and once you feel comfortable, we’ll move on to your left.”
Bryce sighed, but made enough room Nik had to wonder if he was nearly falling off. “I don’t want to do this, Mr. M.,” he said very quietly.
Nik bowed his head. “I know, Bryce. But we’re here, so let’s make the best of it, yeah?”
Bryce shrugged, his elbow brushing against Nik’s as he did. “I guess.”
“I promise to make it as painless as possible,” Nik vowed. It was easy then, to remember the boy was really just a pawn in all this, and that realization made it a little easier to move forward.
Catherine wasn’t the first parent who lingered in the practice room or for a cup of tea after. It was Nik’s trained habit to offer one so they could talk about the child’s progress, but he was regretting his habits now, since all he wanted was some peace and quiet. His throbbing temples were threatening to turn into a full-blown migraine, and it was only the fact that Bryce took his barely restrained energy to the front yard that kept him from wanting to cry.
“Thank you for this,” Catherine said from her place at the breakfast bar.
Nik shrugged. “I still don’t know that he should be in these lessons, but he is a good kid, Miss Peters.”
“You can call me Catherine,” she insisted, but Nik wasn’t sure he wanted to be on first name terms with her yet. Or ever. “And I know I’m…not an easy person to deal with. I didn’t used to be like this.”
Nik grit his teeth, not wanting to hear her divorce sob story. She wasn’t the first, and she wouldn’t be the last, but he just didn’t have room in him to care about any more people. And it was hard, really, to find sympathy for a person who so constantly insisted on making everyone as miserable as she was.
He busied himself with the tea tray, then managed something he hoped was a genuine smile as he brought it to the breakfast bar and slid it toward her. “I wasn’t sure how you took your tea, but there’s honey and milk.”
“Thanks,” she said. He heard her take the cup, the clink of the saucer, the stir of the spoon. He had his own mug, black and bitter and just enough caffeine to get him through the next little bit of time before he could call it a night. His fingers itched to play more, to write more. He thought about Adam, and notes bubbled to the surface in ways he hadn’t felt in years.
No more searching, and that…
That meant something.
“You’re good at that.” Catherine’s voice interrupted his thoughts, and he tilted his head up.
“Sorry?”
“The whole…” she said, and he assumed she made some sort of gesture with her hands. “I mean, you didn’t spill anything.”
He bristled, realizing what she meant. “Well, I’ve been blind my entire life. It just sort of comes with the territory.”
“I’m being rude again, right?” she asked. Her voice was prodding, a little simpering, like she wanted sympathy for her faux pas instead of just apologizing for being kind of a dick.
“I understand people are unfamiliar with disability. It’s natural to wonder.” That was his patented answer to children who wanted to prod at his soft eyelids and bang stuff with his cane. That was easier to deal with than this woman. “Anyway, Bryce doesn’t seem enthusiastic about the lessons, but he can get better if he applies himself.”
He heard the frustrated sigh rip from her throat, and the mug hit the saucer hard enough to make him jump a little bit. “I’d appreciate you not try to psychoanalyze my child.”
Nik slid his mug onto the counter, then folded his hands beside it. “My job as a teacher is to assess my students, especially my private students. Not just their skill, or the promise of skill, but whether or not they want to be here. He’s not going to get anything out of these lessons if he’s not interested in playing the piano. I’m expensive.”
“I’m aware,” she snapped.
Nik fought back a grin. “Your money might be better spent on something he enjoys.”
“I didn’t enjoy college, Mr. Mandroux. I didn’t enjoy graduate school