“I wasn’t traumatized forever.”
“But for years, touching anything I wasn’t already good at made me anxious.”
“I connected being a beginner with being somewhere I didn’t belong.”
Karen looked down.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
Naomi said it gently.
Karen looked up.
Naomi continued.
“You apologized then.”
“You changed.”
“That matters.”
Karen’s eyes filled.
“Do you forgive me?”
Naomi smiled.
“I think I did years ago.”
“When?”
“No idea.”
That was enough.
They finished coffee.
No hug.
No dramatic photograph.
They attended separate panels.
Life.
At forty, Naomi married.
Not another musician.
A civil engineer named Caleb Morgan.
Danielle found this hilarious.
“Your father sent him.”
“Mom.”
“Civil engineer.”
“That is a job.”
“Suspicious.”
Naomi laughed.
Caleb could not distinguish a harp from a large decorative triangle when they first met.
This improved him in Naomi’s estimation.
Their wedding was small.
Evelyn attended.
Lucia attended.
Karen did not.
Not because of resentment.
Because she was not part of Naomi’s life.
Good.
Naomi and Caleb had one child.
A son, Marcus, named for Naomi’s father.
Marcus loved drums.
Of course.
Naomi bought ear protection.
Danielle laughed for several weeks.
At forty-five, Naomi returned to the Harrington Center for the festival’s fortieth anniversary.
She had become one of its education advisors.
Lucia was retiring officially.
This time, the concert harp on stage belonged to the Collaborative.
Purchased through donations.
Used by dozens of students.
No longer rare enough to feel mythical, though still expensive enough that Naomi worried constantly about insurance.
Before the program, she walked across the stage.
A little girl stood beside the harp.
Maybe nine.
White.
Pink sneakers.
Hair messy.
No badge visible.
Naomi stopped.
For one second, the old scene returned.
Karen’s hand.
Please don’t.
Then Naomi smiled.
“Hi.”
The girl looked up.
“Hi.”
“Are you playing today?”
“No.”
“Are you waiting for someone?”
“My brother.”
“Cool.”
The child looked toward the harp.
“Can I touch it?”
Naomi thought.
Then:
“Yes.”
The girl’s eyes widened.
“But one string.”
“Gently.”
Naomi showed her.
The girl plucked middle C.
A clear tone rang across the empty hall.
She smiled.
“That’s pretty.”
“Yes.”
“Is it hard?”
“Sometimes.”
The girl plucked again.
“Can I do another?”
Naomi laughed.
“One more.”
She chose G.
Then ran back toward the wings when someone called her name.
Naomi stood alone.
Lucia approached.
“You did that on purpose.”
“What?”
“Middle C.”
Naomi smiled.
“Maybe.”
Lucia looked toward the harp.
“Remember the first day?”
“Yes.”
“You were furious.”
“Yes.”
“You hid it badly.”
“I was twelve.”
“You hide it badly now.”