Chapter 2
A week later, Shawna felt like she had the routine down.
“Ms. Woods! You’re here!”
Shawna smiled as she saw the beaming face in front of her.
She was early, and so was Ryan.
She wasn’t supposed to have favorites, but Ryan was fast becoming one, nonetheless. There was so much inside him, just bursting to pour out.
“I am. And I’m ready for our first attempt at the violin today. What do you think of that?”
Ryan whooped, showing more enthusiasm than she’d seen before, but he caught himself immediately, as if he were a dowager who’d been caught acting in an undignified manner.
Shawna grinned.
“Yes, that’s how I feel, too. Now, could you help me set the class up? I want us all in a circle today.”
Nodding eagerly, Ryan bustled about, helping.
It made him feel important and needed, Shawna had noticed, and that was important for all children.
Ryan looked like he needed it more than most.
Poor little rich boy.
“You’re doing that very well, Ryan. Did your mom teach you how?”
Ryan looked up, his eyes big.
“No. I don’t remember my mom.”
“Oh. I’m sorry, Ryan. But your dad must tell you about her. Sometimes, memories can hold you through times.”
Ryan considered that, with a serious look on his face.
“No. Dad is very busy.”
“So, you have a nanny?” asked Shawna, carefully, her heart breaking a little for this serious, sweet boy.
“Oh yes, Ms. Elizabeth is with me all the time. She’s my friend.”
He said that with pride, and Shawna’s heart broke a little more.
He deserved so much better.
“Good. We all need friends. My best friend is my sister, Layla. She’s a dancer.”
His eyes seemed to go even wider.
“I asked Miss Elizabeth if I could have a sister, but she said I couldn’t yet.”
Shawna smiled.
“I’m afraid friends can’t give you a sister, Ryan. That is a bit more complicated than that. But friends can give you a lot, and sounds like Miss Elizabeth is a good friend.”
“She is,” affirmed Ryan.
They still had time, thought Shawna, after checking her watch.
“Would you like to try the violin?”
Oh, his eyes lit up, and he bit his lip as if it was almost too much of an offer.
“Can I?”
The longing in his voice reminded her of everything she had felt when she heard music and yearned to create it.
She hadn’t known what it was, not back then, but she recognized it now.
She hoped the boy had talent to go with his need for music.
“Of course. Now, this violin is good for you. It will be gentle on your fingers. Let me show you how to hold it, and the bow, and then we’ll do a few notes, shall we?”
Shawna always felt at home when she had a violin in her hands.
She understood the instrument, and it always felt like that feeling was mutual. She didn’t care that people thought it was fanciful.
“All right, Ryan, this hand goes here, and you hold it firm like this… Excellent…”
She showed him how to hold it, placed his little fingers right, and helped him draw the bow.
Ryan, his face screwed up in fierce concentration, adjusted his fingertips minutely without her guidance and did it again.
And then again.
Shawna held her breath.
He looked up at her, those eyes so big and serious.
“Am I doing it right, Ms. Woods?”
“Have you done this before, Ryan?”
He tried to shake his head, gave up, and answered.
“No, Ms. Woods.”
“Well, then, you’re doing very well indeed. Now, let’s try this again, and this time…”
For the next ten minutes, Shawna felt like she could hardly breathe. It was like being taken back in time to when a man with a grizzled, gray beard had helped her, then let her find herself.
But the roles had changed. She was doing what her guide and teacher had done for her.
“All right, let’s not overdo it. There, the others are here.”
Shawna could hardly contain herself as she let everybody have their turn, taught them the basics of notes, let them all sing a bit, and finally, took the violin for a couple of minutes and played for them, by popular demand.
Some of them had talent – the kind that would make itself known after hard work, if they had the discipline to set themselves to it, and even make a living as a member of an orchestra if they so chose.
But Ryan…
Ryan had promise.
He had such promise, and that instinctive feel for the violin, for where the music needed to be played from, that could not be taught.
That was something you were either born with, or never found.
Shawna had been born with it. In another life, she might have been a concert violinist.
Ryan had it.
He needed more than even that elite school could provide. He needed private lessons where he could progress at what would be his own surprising pace, where he could be allowed to discover his signature with the instrument.
Music came naturally to him.
Lord knew he seemed to have the sadness to make it beautiful even now.
“Ms. Woods, I want to do it again.”
The little boy tugged at her hand as he said the words, almost unsure of whether he could ask that.
He wasn’t used to asking for much, realized Shawna, with another pang.
With that pang came a surge of anger for the father who gave him so little, even if he had so much. He had basically palmed the child off on the school and a nanny.
This was a child who was begging for affection and attention, and he was doing it by trying his best. With every day that went by without his father’s approval, he was learning that his best wasn’t enough.
What an asshole the father must be.
Not her place to judge, she told herself, but couldn’t help it.
“Miss Woods, can I play again?”
Shawna looked at the time and sighed.
“Not right now. But we’ll start early tomorrow, too, if you like.”
The smile that lit his face up was almost magic.
The gratitude that flowed from him made her want to cry.
“Thank you,” he said, and was gone with the rest of the kids.
Shawna chewed her lip as she set the room to rights and went on to her next class.
She kept thinking as she did her lesson plan, wrote up her reports, and chatted with the teachers, who were becoming friends.
At least, some of them were.
But as she left, she was feeling better. She was going on to the one thing that always made her feel better.
She was going to teach her kids – her rowdy teens who had magic fingers and voices so mellifluous that she could hardly believe it, sometimes.
The first lesson after starting her new job – she couldn’t give them a schedule, so she had a texting group to schedule them when they could – was going to be interesting.
But it would make her feel like herself again.
“Hey hey, look who’s here! You look posh, Miss Woods!”
Shawna laughed and saw that six of her most promising students were there. Two of them were definite smart alecks.
“As well I should, I teach posh kids. Not like you unruly ruffians.”
“She’s started to talk like them, too,” commented Josh, smart aleck number one, to his constant companion, Alex.
“As well I should. Now, have you been practicing scales? I made sure that you’d have access to instruments. And Maria, have you been singing?”
Maria, who was shy but had the voice of an angel, nodded.
“Then let’s see how those harmonies are coming along, shall we? Give me something to celebrate.”
They counted off, and then…
Then they sang.
Shawna’s jaw dropped.
“You’ve been practicing,” she said, finally, as the last, extremely well done notes faded.
“We thought we’d surprise you. Met for half an hour a day every day. Layla let us practice at your place when she was around.”
Shawna chuckled.
“Well, at this rate, you won’t need me anymore!”
Her students voiced their dissent, but she knew that they would outgrow her soon. She would help them apply for scholarships, and she would enter them in a couple of competitions if they kept improving like that, but music would always be a part of their lives now. Alex would always have that magical jazz voice, and Maria would always hit notes that threatened to shatter glass. Josh could be a composer if he wanted to be, and she would do everything she could to help him kick down a few doors.
By the time she made her way back home, Shawna was full of hope. It was compounded when she stepped in and smelled baking.
“Is this good news baking?” she called as she dumped her coat and bag, and walked to the tiny kitchen that would need very thorough cleaning up.
Layla looked up, slightly wild-eyed, from whipping what appeared to be frosting.
“I can’t believe it. I’m afraid to say it out loud, so I’m just…”
“Layla, spit it out.”
“I got the lead. The choreographer who came in – he gave me the lead. I’m going to be performing, as a lead.”
Shawna plucked the bowl and whisk out of Layla’s hands and pulled her into a hug that almost crushed her small bones.
“I’m not surprised. But I’m so happy. So happy, Layla. You deserve it. You worked hard for it. This is just the beginning. I promise you that things are only going to get better. Only better.”
Layla laughed, and grabbed the bowl and whisk again.
“So we’re having low-fat cupcakes.”
Shawna had to struggle not to roll her eyes at that.
Layla pouted when she obviously didn’t try hard enough.
“They’ll be good,” she declared, despite evidence of the past.
Shawna smiled.
They would be, because it was a good day.
It was a good day, when good things had happened.
She was suddenly taken by a desire to make something right.
She could do something to help Ryan. She could get his father to pay attention to him by telling him that his son was a prodigy, and should get special attention and lessons from a master. She could make his father proud of him.
Though he already should be.
Maybe this unfeeling and absent father would pay attention if his son’s music teacher told him about his son’s gifts. Maybe…
What did she have to lose?
After all, part of her job was to give input to parents of exceptionally gifted young people. Ryan was exceptionally gifted. She could see that.
Anybody with a musical ear could hear it.
“What?”
Shawna smiled and shook her head.
“Nothing. Just something about work. It’ll wait. Now, let’s hear all about this lead of yours. And the choreography. And the choreographer, too, because he sounded like a dreamboat. Just as long as you remember, young lady, that he’s much too old for you and you’re not supposed to date anybody until you’re at least thirty.”
Layla chuckled.
“I don’t have time for dating. Dating is for girls whose lives don’t revolve around the arabesque and the grand jeté. Apparently mine has really come along, and that’s why I got the lead.”
Shawna let her sister go on, but she was only listening with half an ear. Later, she would feel guilty about that – one of the biggest moments of her sister’s life, and she hadn’t been as involved as she should’ve been.
But in her mind, she was already composing the letter she would write to Ryan’s father, requesting a personal meeting about his son.
She’d have to make it very clear that there was nothing negative to be said. The last thing she wanted was for the father to pay the kid the wrong kind of attention.
But something needed to be done, and if nobody else would do it, then she would.
*****
“Yesterday,” snapped Elijah Rogers testily.
The older man who was standing in front of him flushed and nodded.
He’d made the mistake of asking Elijah when he needed the reports he’d asked for, and he really shouldn’t have. Everybody who knew Elijah knew he wanted everything done yesterday.
Sometimes, his employees wondered if he were a man or a machine. Possibly a cyborg, thought most executives, from the juniors who were dispensable to the most senior ones, who were also, Elijah reminded them through his demands for results if not in those words, dispensable.
Everybody was fungible.
But not many people complained about the standards Elijah demanded, because he demanded the same from himself.
At least, they didn’t complain to him.
It was six in the evening, and it wasn’t the end of the work day. The one concession that Elijah made for people who valued time with their families was that after they clocked out, he didn’t expect them to work. But he didn’t expect them to clock out until they’d done their jobs. They could clock out at home, from their systems, or they could finish their work at the office and go home.
It didn’t matter to him, either way.
But everybody was told what the expectations were, and they signed on knowing that he was a fearsome taskmaster.
Elijah hesitated, uncharacteristically, and reconsidered.
“It’s your niece’s birthday today.”
His memory was as fearsome as his work ethic. He remembered the good stuff, but boy, you knew he never forgot your mistakes, either.
“It is, Mr. Rogers.”
Elijah nodded.
“Delegate. Have it done by midday tomorrow, checked and confirmed personally.”
The man nodded, but didn’t smile.
Elijah didn’t inspire smiles.
But the gratitude was there, nonetheless, and it made Elijah uncomfortable. He didn’t like being in debt to anybody, and he didn’t like anybody feeling as if they owed him, either.
“Thank you,” he said, dismissing the man who had at least twenty years on his own thirty-one, and who had done excellent work for the last few years.
Elijah made a mental note to make sure that his appreciation for his employee’s excellence would be reflected in his next check.
He didn’t need to put it down in writing. He would remember.
Elijah never forgot – at least, not if it was work.
It wasn’t like he forgot in his personal life. It was just that…
Sometimes, remembering was not worth the pain.
He shut it away.
He was as good at shutting it away as he was at making shrewd investments and reading people.
Still, he had to bite back an oath at the thought of going home – home, which should’ve been so much more.
Home to his son, who would be waiting there, for him, as he always did, with his eyes wide and his face turned up to his daddy’s.
His son, who looked absolutely nothing – nothing like him.
Elijah ran his fingers through his dark hair, already threaded with shots of silver, and narrowed his gray eyes.
He didn’t like thinking of that.
So he didn’t.
Elijah Rogers had the kind of discipline that monks would consider taking things a bit too far. So, as his routine, which did not waver unless he had a scheduled meeting with a good reason, dictated, he shut down his laptop, got his case, and made his way out.
He made the long ride down the elevator alone, as he always did. It was no coincidence.
Nobody got on with him.
If he were asked – not like he was likely to be asked, but still – he wouldn’t have considered himself intimidating.
All things considered, he would’ve described himself as a reasonable person.
But there was an aloofness about him that kept people away.
It was also something that invited attention from women who thought him to be something of a brooding hero from a gothic romance.
But they were almost invariably disappointed by his lack of inclination to open up to them and let them heal all his hurts.
That amused curl of his lips, the disdain in his eyes, could send them scuttling off soon enough.
Nobody ever stood up to Elijah Rogers.
Perhaps that’s what he needed – somebody who would stand up to him and tell him that he was wrong. But then, Elijah was also sure that he wasn’t wrong, most of the time. His decisions were usually considered and deliberate, and he didn’t have the time or room for mistakes.
Like personal relationships.
They were usually mistakes.
He’d learned from his mistakes and moved on. He didn’t repeat them.
His car was waiting for him as he stepped out of the very tall building where his business enterprises took up two whole floors.
Sliding in, he dug his tablet out of his case and got some more work done.
Elijah had his priorities all worked out. He worked.
That’s what he did.
He’d made most of his fortune himself, though not too many people were privy to that fact. His background made people assume that he’d been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and had always had somebody to feed him with that silver spoon.
The truth had been quite different. His family’s fortunes had dwindled, thanks to a grandfather who had married five times, and a father who was on his fourth wife at the moment. They’d picked women who were better at spending than thinking, and they’d been thoroughly indulged.
The men in the family had made bad investments in other things, too – like ill-fated casinos, oil wells that never existed, horses that had forgotten how to run, and so on.
By the time Elijah had taken over the family holdings, they’d been barely treading water. There had been talk of filing multiple bankruptcies and downsizing, though all very hushed.
Elijah had, instead of listening to that, rolled up his sleeves and gotten down to work.
Many people had been fired. Most of them had been shocked to find that the great-grandfather’s business acumen and sharp judgment of character had skipped two generations, but definitely not a third.
Elijah had diversified their holdings, borrowing dangerously, but he had made it work. After five years, he was richer than their family had ever been, and he had no intention of stopping. There had been many murmurs about how he had come out of nowhere to do it all, and how he was a cold fish.
Elijah pretended not to hear much of it.
But he heard, and he filed it away. And took a little extra pleasure when he drove particularly hard bargains while dealing with those particular people.
Soon, they’d started looking at him with grudging respect.
But he hadn’t been after that, either.
What, exactly, drove Elijah on to work like he did?
There were many people who’d asked that question. Being unable to answer it unsettled most of them.
Elijah Rogers couldn’t be ‘handled’.
This had been a discomfiting realization for many people, among so-called allies and among rivals.
He didn’t seem to have a weak spot.
The man was not sentimental nor greedy when given excess in wine, women or song. He lived one of the most orderly existences possible, and he did not seem to have a real passion for anything, except for making his company – the company his great-grandfather had set up – do well.
And when it was doing well, he made it do better.
It didn’t feel like ambition or pride. It was just what he did, and his motivations were inscrutable.
Those who had tried to handle him had found themselves handled deftly, in turn, and had been shown out, never to be welcomed back.
Even stranger was the loyalty he inspired in his employees, even if it was tinged with fear. There were no spies in his organization, and part of the reason was because nobody wanted to spy on him. Even if they spoke with slightly agonized awe, the admiration was real.
They knew one thing, for sure: Elijah Rogers was a fair man. He treated his employees well. He did not use unfair practices to cut their pay, or give them fewer hours, or try to roll back their insurance.
He took care of his own, as long as they were his own.
When he got home, and stepped out of the car, a pair of bright, serious blue eyes peered out from a window. They watched Elijah stride up the path and the small ears strained for the sound of the door as it closed behind him.
Daddy was home.
He would come up to say good night, thought Ryan.
The little boy had so much to say to the father he idolized, but he wouldn’t, because he knew his father was a very busy man.
But he would come up to say good night, and that was the highlight of Ryan’s day.
One day, Ryan promised himself, his father would be so proud of him that he’d swing him around and around until they were both dizzy.
One day.