It was somewhere close to 7:30pm. Lionel was closing up the shop for the day when he looked across the street at the law practice’s cottage and noticed a light on in the front window.
Sonya must still be there.
“What is it, hon?” Ruth inquired, noticing her husband as he lingered by the shop window.
“Oh, nothing,” Lionel replied. “It looks as though Sonya is putting in another long day.”
“That girl is working harder and harder,” Ruth said worriedly, shaking her head as she finished counting out the day’s take from the register. “It’s not healthy for her.”
“I know, I know,” Lionel agreed wearily. “She works much too hard. But it’s not our place to tell her what she should and shouldn’t be doing.”
He rolled his eyes out of view of Ruth. They’d had this discussion many times before.
Ruth checked the counter behind her. The two large black soup pots there were still switched on. She hadn’t yet emptied them.
“Do you think you should take a meal across to her, Lionel? She’ll have skipped dinner again, I am sure of it. It’s not right for someone so busy as her.”
Lionel baulked at her suggestion, aware of where Ruth’s mind was heading.
“Look, I don’t think we should go meddling. She’s a very private person and fiercely independent. Sonya doesn’t take kindly to any sort of interference.”
Ruth had already fetched out a sealable container and was ladling piping hot pumpkin soup into it. She took a herb bread roll from a nearby basket.
“Ruth…” Lionel started, but she held up her hand defiantly.
“Lionel, I’ll not have that poor child wasting away in that office all alone at this time of night without at least something in her belly. She may not be our daughter, but I feel an obligation to look out for her.”
Ruth gathered up the items - the soup and bread, a coffee, some items of fruit - into a basket and came out from behind the counter.
“Take this over to her, darling,” she pleaded. “At least encourage her to have something.”
Lionel frowned and shook his head. But he took the basket from her anyway and inspected its contents.
“Well, I suppose it can’t hurt to at least offer,” he conceded before leveling his eyes at Ruth. “Just don’t you watch me from the window. Sonya has got a sense like a bloodhound for nosy neighbors.”
Lionel turned on his heel and stepped out of the shop, walking the short distance down the street towards the practice.
***
Sonya was sitting at her desk before an open laptop - a mountain of paperwork, manila folders and old invoice slips stacked messily on either side of the machine - when she heard a knock at the door.
“Hallo?” Lionel called out.
Sonya smiled at the sound of his familiar voice and glanced up from her screen.
“In here, Lionel.”
Simon glanced up from his basket momentarily, then flopped back down, closing his eyes and growling pathetically in the pit of his throat. Apparently, he hadn’t lost his man-hating instincts this evening.
Lionel appeared in the doorway holding the basket in both hands. Sonya tilted her head to one side.
“What have you done?”
Lionel blushed.
“We, ahhh - saw a light on from the shop. Ruth thought you might like something to eat.” Lionel set the basket down on the chair and began depositing the items from the basket onto the desk. The smell of the rich homemade soup hit Sonya’s nostrils and her stomach grumbled.
“Well, she must be psychic. I’m starving,” Sonya said with a grin, as she fished her purse out from her desk drawer and began to take some notes out for Lionel.
“Oh no,” Lionel said holding up his hand to stop her. “This one is on us. Consider it our treat.”
Sonya hesitated, eyeing him curiously before closing the purse again and setting it down.
“You didn’t have to do this.”
“I know,” Lionel said. “And that’s why we did. We can’t have you fading away on us. This town needs you too badly.”
Lionel nodded at the chaos on her desk.
“That looks to be quite a - challenge?”
Sonya threw her hands up in mock exasperation, then made some room on the desk.
“I’m trying to organize all of Harry’s old clients who’ve indicated they wanted to come back to me. I want to streamline everything into an electronic system, but I can only do it at night, after hours.”
“Have you thought about getting a secretary to help you with all of this? It seems an awful lot to try to negotiate on your own.”
Sonya nodded through a mouthful of soup.
“Mmm-hmm. I wish I could, Lionel, but I don’t have quite enough spare cash right now to afford one. Most of the money went into getting this old dame up to scratch again.”
Lionel looked around at the work Sonya had done to renovate her grandfather’s cottage, changing it from a dilapidated old wreck that masqueraded as a law practice into a smart cottage with a modern office interior. He nodded admiringly.
“Well, there are people around the town who would gladly help you. You only need ask.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” Sonya agreed. “But this is something I have to do on my own. Besides, there is enough fodder in this disaster zone to keep the Hambledown gossip mill running for the next decade.”
Lionel chuckled as he made room for himself on the chair and sat down.
“I met that fellow from Melbourne the other day,” he said, venturing a change in subject. “He seemed like a decent man.”
Sonya nodded noncommittally. “He was,” she said.
“He mentioned he was the director of that festival,” Lionel continued.
“Mmm-hmm,” Sonya eyed him from behind the bowl of soup. She sensed where this was heading.
Lionel steepled his fingers together and looked down, feeling increasingly uneasy.
“Did he - enjoy his visit?”
Sonya placed the soup bowl down on the desk with an expression of mock exasperation and smiled.
“You don’t do prying very well, Lionel.”
His shoulders relaxed and he looked at her apologetically.
“Evidently not. I’m sorry.”
“He came to ask me to present an award at the Festival. In memory of Denny. But I told him I couldn’t go.”
“Why ever not?” Lionel almost gasped.
Sonya hesitated, suddenly feeling as though she had to search for a reason.
“Because - I have too much to do here,” her response came out much too harshly and she blinked, immediately regretting it. She continued more calmly. “I couldn’t possibly leave the practice for a whole week when I’ve got this to contend with.”
She gestured expressively at her desk for effect.
Lionel considered her predicament and tilted his brow.
“Well, I can appreciate the work you’ve committed yourself to in order to make all of this work. But Sonya, you haven’t had any time off in over a year. Surely the practice could survive without you for a week.”
Sonya rubbed her brow wearily. He had a point - not that she was prepared to admit it, however.
“I just can’t, Lionel. It’s just too much.”
Lionel wasn’t convinced. Though his conscience told him he should back away, something else overtook him.
“What about Denny?” he ventured cautiously. “This seems like a wonderful opportunity to do something, you know, special. To celebrate his life.”
Sonya stiffened. She lowered her head.
“Lionel, you’re going too far,” she warned him. Even though she wasn’t entirely serious, Sonya maintained a cautionary tone to her voice.
Lionel took the hint. He stood up out of the chair and looked at Sonya sympathetically.
“You’re right. It’s none of my business at all. I’m - I’m sorry I even mentioned it.”
Sonya remained seated, unable to speak. Her eyes darted between him and the floor, and though she held on to the soup bowl, she’d stopped eating from it. She could feel herself shaking with the familiar sensation of threatening grief.
Lionel stood there, his features etched with concern. His inner voice told him “no more,” and this time he listened.
“I should go. I’ll see you tomorrow. OK?”
Sonya nodded brusquely and closed her eyes.
Lionel backed out of the office, quietly closing the front gate behind him. He glanced back at the front window of the cottage, feeling awful for having been so interrogatory. Clearly, he had upset Sonya. Ruth was right: she was like a daughter to them both, and right now he felt as though he had trampled all over her.
Lionel stepped off the curb to cross the street towards the shop.
“Why does everybody think they have a right to interfere?”
Lionel spun around to find Sonya standing at the cottage gate. Her expression was cold, her face ashen.
“No one is trying to interfere, Sonya,” Lionel said evenly.
“Bullshit, Lionel!” Sonya retorted angrily, her voice shaking. “This entire bloody town wants to wrap me in cotton wool. Everyone thinks they have to protect me from falling apart.”
Lionel shook his head sympathetically.
“That’s not true,” he said gently. “We just want you to be happy, Sonya. And some of us, who care about you very much, can see that you’re not.”
Lionel stepped toward her, proffering his hands, as though he was trying to diffuse her molten anger, but Sonya baulked. Her cheeks flushed red. She crossed her arms defiantly across her body to protect herself.
“What are you protecting yourself from, Sonya? Why do you feel you need to cocoon yourself here - working long hours, holing yourself up in that old house, not mixing with anyone?”
“I don’t have to justify myself to you!” Sonya spat. “What I do here is my own business! I don’t have to mix with anybody!”
“No. No, you don’t,” Lionel paused, considering his words carefully. “But if you keep yourself from living in this world, Sonya, you’re going to miss out on the wonderful possibilities of it. Denny wouldn’t have wanted that for you. He would have wanted you to go on. To live and to love. You have your whole life ahead of you.”
“I have responsibilities!” she stammered impotently, swaying between her anger and her anguish. “My practice is too important to just step away from whenever I feel like it!”
“That’s not it,” Lionel challenged her, shaking his head with pity and grief. “What is it, really?”
Sonya blinked at him incredulously, wiping furiously at her eyes.
“Because here is where I feel safe, Lionel!” she shouted angrily, feeling herself slipping once more. “Because ... here I feel as though he never left - that he’s still with me!”
There it was, Lionel thought sadly. The truth that she had held on to for so long.
Sonya’s eyes glazed over. The tears streamed freely down over her face. Her features contorted into a mask of raw anguish and she began rocking from side to side.
“Why did he have to leave me, Lionel?” she cried. “Why?”
Lionel immediately went to her and wrapped Sonya in his arms as she went completely to pieces. Burying her head into his chest she wailed. The edge loomed before her and she could not stop herself from falling over this time. She tumbled into the abyss she had fought so long and hard to avoid.
“Why?”
Lionel closed his eyes and held her close, recognizing what was happening; his own heart was breaking.
“He couldn’t hold on any longer, dear child,” he whispered into her hair. “You know that. It was his time. He knew that. Denny wouldn’t want you to hide away forever.”
Sonya sobbed and sobbed, so hard she could no longer hold herself up, but Lionel held her close, supporting her, allowing her emotions to carry her. All those long months of holding herself together, of concentrating on just keeping going, of denying the ever-present grief just under the surface. All of it tumbled forth like a tidal wave now, swamping her. The wall finally crumbled and collapsed, and she was exposed.
“I don’t want to go on without him, Lionel! He was my best friend, my - best friend. I loved him so much.”
Ruth appeared in the doorway across the street, her own eyes swollen with grief. Evidently she had overheard the exchange from inside.
Lionel looked over at her and nodded, mouthing, “It’s all right.”
Ruth crossed the street, and gingerly put a hand upon Sonya’s shoulder. She dropped down onto her haunches and surrounded Sonya’s small frame with her arms and held her.
“I’ll make up the spare bed,” Ruth said. “Sonya, you can stay with us tonight, my dear. I’ll not let you go home to that empty house like this.”
Sonya was too numb to protest. Lionel gathered her up in his arms, carried her into the shop and through into their house, where he gently deposited her onto the sofa in the sitting room. Ruth followed, having retrieved Simon and his blanket from the practice, and switched off its lights.
Moving a camera tripod out of the way, Ruth folded Simon’s blanket into a mat of sorts at the foot of the sofa, where the dog sat down and looked up at Sonya mournfully, whimpering softly. Ruth brought in a quilt from their room and laid it over Sonya as Lionel sat on the sofa, cradling her.
“Here will be good enough,” he whispered to Ruth as she pulled up a chair and sat down beside her husband. She nodded. Together they remained with Sonya until she cried herself to sleep.
***
By the time the international leg of his journey was underway - a full day and a half later - and the flight was far above the Pacific Ocean, Andy had settled in to the rhythm of the aircraft. Though they had been delayed for an extra hour in Los Angeles, time had passed by quickly, such was his excitement now. It was after midnight, and the passengers were beginning to settle in for the 15-hour journey to Australia. Some were watching in-flight entertainment, many were napping. Andy had taken out the literature for the festival from his shoulder bag and sat back, quietly reviewing it.
The festival was a week-long event that was to bring the cream of international artists to Melbourne. There would be a showcase of concerts covering a multitude of musical genres - not only classical, but culturally diverse world music, blues and roots, rock, a smattering of country and jazz. Headlining the Festival were artists and composers from all around the world whom Andy had long admired and was eager to see. This was the other dimension to being here that made him feel so privileged - the opportunity to be among real artists, exceptional practitioners of the instrument.
The program for the emerging talent concert series was laid out over the week. One hundred delegates from conservatories all across the world would compete over five days in a series of heats. Each day, two delegates would be selected from a field of twenty and they would progress to a semifinal round on the Saturday. Ten delegates would then compete for five positions in the final on Sunday. The prize was considerable: a $10,000 cheque and an invitation to record on a prestigious classical label in Australia. The resulting album would be distributed worldwide.
Andy’s heat had been set down for the Tuesday afternoon just after lunch. It was as good a position as any, he reasoned. He wouldn’t have to wait too long to perform, and he would be relatively fresh. It would give him an opportunity to view the other contestants and get a feel for the competition.
He had two pieces in mind for his performance: the second movement of a famed “Sonata Prima” by Fernando Sor and “The Sounds Of Rain,” the piece Andy had performed that very first time in The Pub. It was the more obscure of the two, but it was no less enchanting.
Sor’s second movement had an orchestral flair that lent itself well to a concert performance, and it required considerable attention to technique in order for it to be carried convincingly. Of all the great guitar composers, Andy felt a particular affinity with Sor because his works suited the solo style, with which Andy felt most comfortable.
Andy was, however, leaning towards “The Sounds Of Rain.” The William Lovelady piece wasn’t as long, but it was a complex arrangement with rich atmospherics and a unique flamenco feel. “The Sounds Of Rain” evoked vivid imagery that really did capture the rain in its form and movement. It was the first piece that he had mastered with the guitar. In fact, he wasn’t sure now if it was himself or Denny who had happened upon it; regardless, his knowledge of the piece was intimate.
It was a risk bringing a less well-known composition with him into the competition, but he believed firmly that it would best showcase his technique. It would challenge him to find the emotional heart he had long searched for. He knew this duality was the key.
He did not want to think too much about the final, fearing he would jinx himself. But he had a piece in mind for that, as well: a concerto that would require an orchestral accompaniment. The second movement in the famed Concierto de Aranjuez by Joaquin Rodrigo was an incredibly tender and emotive piece that had taken on a life of its own in popular culture. Though Andy was wary of just how prominent the “Adagio” was, he felt that he had what it took to make the piece his own for this particular gathering.
He had recordings of the compositions on his cell phone and he listened to them over and over, memorizing their unique form and texture, their tones and harmonies. He practiced the fingerings, making mental notes of where he would need to apply his most intense concentration. He emptied his mind of almost everything else.
Almost everything.
She was never far from his thoughts. It took very little for her face to center itself in his mind’s eye. He had already considered what he was going to do once the festival was finished. He would find his way north to Hambledown. Somehow, he would explain himself and convince her of the truth of his survival beyond the cancer. He was going to have to feel his way through it. There were no rules for this. For now, though, he tried to bring his thoughts back to the concert series and the immediacy of that.
Andy closed his eyes and drifted, letting his thoughts meander beyond the confines of the quiet cabin. He touched the presence of Denny within him and felt a sense of joy, of anticipation to be returning to the place where Denny had lived and where he had died. All the disparate memories and recollections of his life had become a coherent stream - a whole rather than many fractured parts. Andy opened, then closed his eyes. He could see her in his mind, Sonya as Denny had known her and loved her. It was powerful, this love. His longing to find her again was as equally potent.
***
In the dead of night, Sonya awoke with a start. She blinked in the near-darkness, looking around her anxiously and seeing only Simon sleeping curled up at her feet on the end of the sofa. Her heart thumped and she lay back, staring up at the ceiling. The dream had left her before she’d had a chance to remember what it was, but the sensation accompanying it lingered. It was warm and comforting. It was a sense of peace.