When I was six, I decided I wanted to play the fiddle. I had a bit of a crush on Benjy, a fiddle guy my dad knew from when he was young. Benjy was at our house a lot. He was like a teddy bear with a smile as big as his belly and a beard I thought was magical. It was the way it moved when he talked, and when he laughed, it was like the damn thing was alive.
Benjy didn’t ignore me like the other guys in Dad’s band. He listened to me and told me jokes and said I looked like a little princess. I suppose it’s why I developed a crush on him, and one of the reasons I wanted to play the fiddle. I wanted to impress Benjy because he made me feel good about myself. But more than that, I wanted to impress my father.
The problem with a kid wanting to play an instrument like the fiddle is that it takes a lot more time and perseverance to master it than, say, a guitar. There are no frets, so notes are pulled by knowledge and feel. You need to know where to place your fingers on the strings. You need to know how to use your bow correctly. You need to listen to the instrument and let it your emotion sing through it.
But how can you listen when you don’t know how?
And thing was that at that age, I knew none of this. In my little six-year-old mind, learning this instrument would bring me into my dad’s orbit and it would make Benjy’s beard laugh and smile. So one night, I snuck out of my room and went down to the parlor where Dad used to practice. It was before he built the studio, and he’d always liked the acoustics of the room, with its high ceilings and wooden floors.
Benjy’s fiddle was there in its case, and I grabbed it before heading outside to the secret place by the edge of the pond. I remember the moon was full and that fireflies lit up the bushes that crept along the bank. There was a log there, a big old thing that had fallen the year before. I sat on it and placed the fiddle under my chin the way I’d seen Benjy do. I took the bow and ran it across the strings, wincing at the godawful sound it made. And then I tried it again, using my fingers as well. I had no idea what I was doing, but I kept at, and after a good, long while, I didn’t sound as bad as when I first started.
I was feeling pretty damn good and got up onto the log. In my head, I was an adult and Benjy was my prince, my father the king. I danced along that log, whirling in circles as the fantasy played out in my head.
So when I lost my footing and fell into the pond, fear wasn’t the first thing I felt. It was confusion. In my head, I was still up on that log. I was still dancing and playing and singing. But in reality, my boots were heavy and my long nightgown tangled around my legs. I began to panic. I didn’t care about the fiddle anymore. I cared about breathing. About keeping my head above water because the pond was deep and I was only six and I couldn’t touch the bottom. My teeth chattered, and my voice grew weak, and the water was everywhere.
I don’t remember much else from that night except it was Marta who found me. I remember her carrying me into the house. I remember the relief in Benjy’s eyes when he saw me and the disappointment when he realized his prized fiddle, an instrument handed down from his grandfather, was at the bottom of the pond, most likely ruined forever.
I remember my father coming into my bedroom and staring down at me. He said nothing of my near drowning. Nothing about the fact that in the blink of an eye, he’d almost gone from three daughters to two. I stared up at him through my tears, wanting his forgiveness and craving his love. But all he did was shake his head and say that it was a damn shame about the fiddle. And before he left, he told me never to touch another instrument again. Ever.
I shook off the memories and walked into the hotel via the back entrance. Tim was amazing. He listened to me ramble on the drive back from the pub. He called ahead and cleared the way for security to meet me out back. He even gave me a hug, and though he had no way of understanding my situation, he told me things would be okay.
I don’t know if it was the tone of his voice or the look in his eyes, but I believed him.
I got my key card and rode the elevator up to the fifteenth floor, tucked back in the corner to avoid eye contact with the elderly couple who’d gotten on with me. I didn’t have to worry. It was obvious they had no clue who I was. When I got to my suite, I let myself inside, tossed my Gucci bags onto the bed, and took exactly three steps before I realized I wasn’t alone.
I stared at the shadow, there by the windows, and felt that sick feeling come back. I wasn’t prepared. I wasn’t even close.
“How did you get in?” I asked, trying my best to sound as nonchalant as possible.
“Girl at the desk is a fan.”
His voice was low, the Southern drawl he’d never been able to get rid of rolling underneath his words. I hadn’t seen my father in months, maybe close to a year, but he never changed. His features were well defined, with soft dark eyes, a strong jaw, and wide forehead. His hair was on the long side, just touching the top of his black collared shirt. I wasn’t sure if it was the lighting or not, but I saw a few strands of silver. His long, lean legs were jeans covered and boot clad, and in his hand was a tumbler of what I assumed was whiskey.
He spoke first, and I nearly jumped out of my Fendi’s.
“You know, I was thinking on my way over here about that time when you dropped Benjy’s fiddle into the pond.”
I think I might have laughed. Or choked. Or something, because how ironic and how sad that this was the memory we both reached for when things were so unsettled. He took a step forward, and I was able to see him clearly. He looked…broken.
My heart squeezed so tightly, it hurt, and I concentrated on breathing, because no way was I going to faint or do something equally stupid in front of my father. I had to be stronger than that.
“I suppose I could take some time to tell you a few stories of how much of a bastard my dad was, or how I grew up without the gentle touch of a woman, but you’d know that was a lie. I can’t explain why I am the way I am. I’ve been a selfish bastard, a distant father, and a prick with a chip on his shoulder that someone should have knocked off years ago. If I wasn’t so damn good at what I do, someone would have, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” He drained his glass and set it down on the table next to him, and then closed what distance there was between us.
“I’m not going to apologize for being who I am, because there’s no point. I’m not going to say I’m sorry I didn’t win any Dad of the Year awards, even though right now, standing here in front of you, I kinda feel like I did. The only thing I will say is that you three girls are mysteries I never felt I could crack, and it was easier to leave you alone than get in your face about anything. I’ve done a lot wrong, and I don’t know if I have it in me to get anything right moving forward, but the one thing I want to be perfectly clear about, is that all you girls are miracles who managed to thrive in the long shadow I cast.” His voice was rough now, as if he’d just smoked a pack of cigarettes.
“I told you once not to ever touch an instrument again. Do you remember that?”
I couldn’t answer him because the lump in my throat was too big. Instead, I nodded and tried like hell not to cry.
“I’m glad…” His voice broke, and it was no use. The tears fell down my face. He blew out a long breath and it was a few moments before he could get out his words. “Echo, I’m so damn glad you didn’t listen to me.”
He pulled me into a fierce embrace and released me just as quick, clearing his throat before stepping back.
“I’m heading down to the ballroom. I promised Lyric I’d be there, and she’s damn relentless when she wants something.” His eyes slid from mine as if he was afraid to see my reaction. “I’ll see you down there.”
I wanted so much more from him, more words, more touch, more understanding, more love. But I guess this was what they called baby steps, and for now, it had to be enough. Besides—I glanced at my watch—there wasn’t time for any of that. I had to get ready. I had to face my fears. All of them. As I pulled on the clothes Ali had left for me and used makeup to cover the emotions that had been carved into my skin, I hoped like hell I had the strength to do what I needed to do. Because after all this, these last few months, the last few days with Boyd, I finally knew what it was I wanted.
But wanting and doing were two totally different things. I stepped in front of the mirror. I wore plain black skinny jeans tucked into Doc Martens. The top was a deep blue, very feminine, with billowing sleeves and an open neck, though fitted at the waist. My hair was simple. I’d left it long and loose, and my makeup was on point.
I looked ready to face anything, but I knew it was an illusion carefully cultivated by clothing and products. It was one of the reasons they were billion-dollar industries. Partly because some women were looking for a way to tell a different story from the truth that resided inside them.
I took one last, long breath and reached for the door. It was time for me to live my truth. Time for me to tell my story. I headed for the elevator. I smiled at the same elderly couple who’d come up with me—they were headed down for dinner, celebrating their fiftieth anniversary.
I sailed through the lobby and took the elevator down to the ballroom. The room was full, the meal had already been served, and a young man was on the stage talking about how important art and music and dance were to the local communities.
I stood at the back, there in the shadows as Lyric crossed the stage and grabbed the microphone. She talked with passion about volunteering in some of those underprivileged areas, and how one simple beautiful note can bring a smile to the face of a child who never smiled. She thanked everyone for coming out and then introduced Boyd Appleton.
The crowd erupted, and I watched him walk across the stage. In his left hand, he held an acoustic, the Hummingbird from the Catskills. He was dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt, and his hair was damp as if he’d just walked out of the shower. His eyes glittered under the lights, and when a smile curved his generous mouth, I felt weak in the knees.
He cleared his throat, and for several seconds, there was silence as he looked out over the room. I held my breath and waited.
“I came here to support a friend without thinking much on what exactly it was she was supporting. But over the last few days, I’ve realized something that I guess I’ve known all along. Music brings everyone together. It takes hold of a person and bridges the gap between fear and pain and hope and love. It says the things we’re too scared or too weak to say out loud. You can play one note and make the person to your left cry, while the one on the right smiles. You can play a chord and sing words that will spark a revolution.”
Cheers went up in the crowd, and Boyd centered the guitar and adjusted the strap. He looked stage left, and Malcolm appeared, his bass in hand, while in the other was an acoustic. Zach walked onstage to more cheers and whistles, his steel guitar at the ready.
“I’ve had a revolution of my own these last few weeks. Did some growing up. I learned that life is never black and white, and that the most interesting place to play is in the gray. I’ve learned that anyone can grow and change. And more than anything, I learned that the woman I love has depths to her no one knew about until yesterday.”
He looked straight out at the crowd as if he could see me standing along the back wall, and it took everything in me to keep my knees from buckling.
“I’m hoping she’ll join me and the boys up here so we can you show you all something real special.”
Hundreds of eyes looked my way, and for one panicked moment, I wanted to run and hide. But then my dad was there, right beside me, and just behind him were my sisters. Axel gave a nod and then stood back, and suddenly, it became that moment…the one where you either grab hold of something amazing or fall away into the shadows and regret what you lost, what you were too afraid to take.
The world fell away from me, then. I squared my shoulders, took that first step…
And remembered to breathe.