Chapter Fourteen
Okay, everyone, listen up.” Nat clapped his hands together to get the hall’s attention, feeling horribly alone and exposed as he stood on the stage, the three music teachers down in the hall next to their classes, Linnea to one side, already seated at the piano. He slid his gaze over to the upright figure, hands poised above the keys, her forehead wrinkled in concentration and tried not to dwell on three nights ago. On a kiss, just one kiss—and yet more powerful than any relationship he could remember.
He dragged his gaze away from the piano and back to the rows of children. “Tonight things get real. It’s the fifth December so we have just over two weeks to get ready. But I know we can do it.” He smiled down at the kindergarten kids, sitting cross-legged at the front of the hall. “The key to most success is keeping it simple and doing it well. That’s my family motto. So, we are going to recreate Marietta Christmas through the ages.”
He paused and, as expected, there was a fluttering of excited chatter from the younger members of the choir and some well-rehearsed eye-rolling from the older kids. “Thanks to the drama departments from the schools and some very helpful seamstresses and tailors you younger kids will be in nineteenth century-style costumes. Older kids will be moving forward a few decades and we’ll be dressing you in a variety of forties and fifties outfits.” The eye-rolling was a little less pronounced this time, some of the teens actually looking interested at the prospect. “We’ll be issuing costume lists at the end of this rehearsal; we’re hoping you will all be able to supply some of the basic parts of your costumes, but if you can’t don’t worry. If you have any problems talk to your teachers, but earlier rather than later would be appreciated.”
He looked around and saw a few hands waving. He picked one, a girl in her early teens with short spiky hair dyed a vibrant blue. “Yes? Let me know names when you ask questions,” he added. “There’s a lot of you and I’d rather not keep calling you all ‘you there’.”
The blue-haired girl didn’t seem at all fazed as some of the younger kids giggled, her voice carrying clearly across the room. “I’m Carrie,” she said. “And I was wondering when we’ll know about solos?”
“Excellent question, Carrie, straight to the point. As you know, we’ve been learning traditional carols and a couple of classics from the twentieth century. Tonight we’re going to start working on harmonies and solos and those of you who will be given solos will know tonight. I will be dividing you into two groups, and those with higher voices will be singing descants—that’s when a second tune soars above the main tune. It’s very effective and guaranteed to get all the parents crying. Any more questions? No? Good. Now, I hope you all know the words to “Silent Night”? Yes? If you don’t, then there are lyric sheets being distributed. Ms. Olsen will play it through twice and then you will sing. I am going to walk round and listen to you, don’t be scared, it’s quite painless, and I will give you one of three cards. If you get a red card go to the back of the hall, a blue the front and a green go up on stage. Most of you will be red. Okay? Got that? Then let’s go.”
He nodded at Linnea and she began to play the age-old notes, the tune soaring through the hall. Nat waited until the children joined in, tentatively at first, and then with growing confidence and then he hopped off the stage and began to patrol the rows just as he had a week ago. He listened intently, before collecting the bag with the pieces of card in and handing them out. Most singers, whatever their tunefulness, were given red cards, those with clear, true and soprano or high alto voices he handed blue cards, and the few with a genuine gift he sent to the stage. He hadn’t wanted more than eight soloists, but in the end there were twelve children standing there of all ages, including Elsie and Carrie, the spiky blue-haired girl who had spoken up earlier.
Nat returned to the stage, holding his hands up for quiet. “Excellent. Now, I want you in rows, in your groups according to size, try and remember your places so you can return to them on Thursday. This week we are all going to run through all the songs together, then next week Mrs. Bloom is going to take the red group and I am going to work with the blues and the greens. Okay? Now, if you’re all ready, let’s get started.”
Ninety minutes later Nat felt wrung out. Teaching was exhausting, give him a tour bus through the night and a hostile crowd after a disastrous sound-check anytime. How did teachers do it? And he had to do it all again two more times this week—and then again next week. And the week after. Worse, he only had himself to blame, no one had forced him into this. He’d stood up and volunteered like a good boy scout. Not that he had ever been a scout.
As if drawn by a magnet, his gaze fell on Linnea, helping Betsy into her coat. She looked up, flushing as she caught his gaze, her own eyes soft, and his breath hitched in his throat. What would it be like to come home to a woman like Linnea every night? Nat couldn’t even begin to imagine it.
His dad had always said how lucky how was to have found Nat’s mom, a woman with the same goals and dreams as him, but Nat had seen far too many marriages fall apart, too many families split up by the demands of the road to ever want to take the risk. He’d never met a woman who wanted to travel with him. Never met a woman who made him want to stay put. Who wanted him to stay put. Who wanted him to be more than transition guy.
He looked over at Linnea again, her arms around her girls, anchoring them to her. She belonged right here in a way he never could but, for once, he ached for more. Maybe it was a good thing he was leaving in the new year.
The hall rapidly emptied until only Linnea and the girls remained. Nat walked over to meet them, high-fiving both girls. “Good job, Betsy. Beautiful, Elsie, well done. Nice accompanying, Linnea. What a talented family you are.” He grinned down at Betsy who giggled.
Linnea raised an eyebrow. “Your standards must be slipping, Hathaway. I was passable at best. I counted at least twenty wrong notes—and those are the ones so glaringly wrong even I couldn’t help but hear them despite doing my best to ignore them!”
“I didn’t notice,” he lied. He noticed everything about her.
“You don’t have to spare my feelings. Not with the piano anyway.” She looked around. “Betsy wanted to ask you something. Hurry up, sweetie, dinner will be ready and you need to get to bed as soon as you’ve eaten. This concert is going to mean a lot of late nights I think.”
“How’s Biscuit?” Betsy asked. “I wanted to see him yesterday, but Mommy said we couldn’t go bothering you every evening.”
“I didn’t say that exactly, I said Nat was probably working and…” Linnea stuttered to a halt under Nat’s amused gaze.
“I was working, but I’m sure Biscuit would have been happy to have seen you. He’s feeling a lot better and thinks he’s ready for a walk. Unfortunately for him, the vet disagrees.”
“Give him a pat from me?” Betsy asked. “And a treat? Tell him it’s from Betsy so he knows I’m thinking of him.”
“I will. I promise. Is your car outside?” he asked Linnea. “I’ll walk you out.”
“Mom dropped us off; she was on her way to her library meeting. I hope she’s done; these girls are tired and hungry. As am I,” she admitted.
They’d reached the parking lot, but there was no sign of Mrs. Olsen’s station wagon. Linnea pulled her phone out of her bag and sighed. “Oh no, Mom is running late, I knew I should have brought my own car.”
“I’ll give you a lift,” Nat offered. “I have something to give the girls anyway.”
“Come and eat with us,” Betsy looked up at Nat. “Mommy always makes lots, don’t you, Mommy.”
“I can’t, Betsy,” Nat said hurriedly.
He and Linnea hadn’t even had a chance to discuss the kiss yet and where—if anywhere—it left them. “I have to get back to Biscuit. He’ll be wondering where I am.”
Betsy pouted. “But I want to see Biscuit. You said we could help look after her, and I haven’t even seen her today.”
Linnea looked up at him. “I’m sure you have plans, but if not, both you and Biscuit are very welcome to come for dinner. It’s just mac and cheese, nothing exciting.”
It was just dinner. Dinner with two small chaperons and a sick dog. Mac and cheese around a kitchen table. And yet somehow the invitation felt more intimate than the most romantic of restaurants. Linnea had said she felt safe with him, but he wasn’t sure the reverse was true. Could Nat really cope with being her transition guy? There was only one way to find out.