right?” When Mack nods, I continue, “Tony saw Ty at Dad’s memorial and left me alone with him. He wouldn’t have done that if Ty was the guy who threatened Dad.”
Putting his cap on and frowning, Mack says, “Could be that Tony didn’t notice your dad’s reaction to the kid. Like I said, it didn’t register with me until later when we talked on the phone.” He pulls a toothpick from his pocket and rolls it between his fingers. “I don’t know, honey. You could be right, but I’d feel better if your mom knew about this. Tell her to give me a call, okay?”
“Okay,” I say, not sure that I will. I refuse to believe Mack’s suspicions. He definitely has Ty confused with someone else, and I don’t want him telling Mom any of this. She’s already so wary of Ty, if she heard Mack’s story she’d fire him on the spot and forbid me to see him without even giving him a chance to defend himself.
After Mack leaves, I use my new keys to get into the workshop. There’s an expectant hush in the air that sets my nerves on edge. Leaving the door open, I make my way to the storage closet. I drag the shiny toolbox to the middle of the room, then drop to my knees and open it. I lift out the jewelry box, the hairbrush, and the stacks of clothing.
What am I looking for, Iris? I ask. If this was Mom’s stuff, I don’t see how it relates to you or me. Do you see something that looks familiar?
The violin, she breathes.
I reach for the case at the very bottom of the chest, set it on the floor, then replace everything else and put the chest back where I found it. Certain Mom will be gone for a while, I take the violin back to the cabin.
It’s warmer today, so I leave the door ajar. I lay the violin case on the couch, then check on Cookie sleeping steps away on his bed. He moans low in his throat when I touch him. Upset over his sadness, I return to the couch.
When I open the violin case, my breath catches. The instrument is beautiful, with its golden wood and smooth, graceful curves. I remove it from the case, and Iris sighs, Oh . . . , as a tingle radiates up my arm.
Shaken by emotions I don’t understand, I lift the bow, prop the violin on my shoulder, and settle my chin on the chin rest. I close my eyes and draw a deep breath, then exhale slowly.
Everything except the instrument in my hands disappears. I no longer smell the scent of this morning’s bacon or hear the tick of the wall clock or feel the softness of the couch cushion beneath my thighs. A rush of noise that sounds like applause surrounds me, then slowly fades to an expectant hush as one exquisite note—a quiet plea—stretches into a sweet cry of longing. The music swells until it’s all-consuming. White-hot and bright, it fills me up, spills out of my pores, and wraps around me.
The sound of my whispered name brings the world crashing back. I blink. Ty stands inside the doorway, his widened eyes darker than ever against his pale, shocked face. Surprised to see him, I set the violin inside the case and try to stand, but my legs are rubbery, so I slump back onto the couch. “I didn’t hear you come in,” I say.
He steps toward me. “Why didn’t you tell me you can play?”
“What are you talking about? I was messing around.”
Ty shakes his head, an amazed expression on his face. “You were incredible. Didn’t you hear yourself?”
I heard something. Breathtaking music in my imagination. Maybe a buried memory of Mom playing when I was very small, or some random orchestra performance I saw on TV once. “You’re teasing me,” I say with a laugh. “I must’ve been terrible.”
Sounding awestruck, Ty says, “You’re the one teasing. My mom’s best students don’t compare to you.”
“I’ve never touched a violin until today.” I close the case, nervous for some reason. “How could I pick up a violin for the first time and instinctively know how to play? That doesn’t make sense.”
“I know what I heard.” Reaching across my lap, he raises the lid on the case, takes the violin out, and lays it on his knees. “This thing’s a piece of art.”