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WHEN KATRINA RETURNED to the Winter Grove Assisted Living Home, Mrs. Porter was the only one from the church still in the lobby.
“Here you are,” she huffed impatiently. “Well, come on. The kids were getting restless so I told them to go ahead and get started. I’ll take you to where they’re singing, and you can join them there.”
Since the children could obviously perform Christmas carols without accompaniment, Katrina wondered why she’d bothered to race back home to get her violin at all, but at least she’d reconnected with Miles, even if only for a few seconds. What was it he so badly wanted to tell her, and why did she feel guilty about making plans to meet him at the church tomorrow without asking her husband first? It wasn’t like Greg was her parent and had to give permission for every little thing she did. Besides that, Greg knew that they were planning on meeting each afternoon at the church anyway, so it wasn’t even as if she’d made any new plans her husband didn’t know about.
“I’ve always said that by the time I get up to the age of the residents here,” Mrs. Porter was saying as they sped down one of the hallways, “I hope God spares me this unnecessary and prolonged suffering and just takes me right on home to glory.” She gave a dramatic shiver. “I’m the last person on earth to go around believing in ghosts, but I’ve already told my children that if they even think of putting me in a home like this when I’m an old woman, I’ll come back after I die and haunt them forever.”
Katrina didn’t think she was expected to respond, and soon she and Mrs. Porter arrived at a door with some handmade paper snowflakes taped beneath a sign labeled Recreation.
“Right in here,” Mrs. Porter shoved Katrina through the door and into the rec room where the kids were in the middle of singing We Three Kings.
“Get your violin ready,” Mrs. Porter nudged her in the ribs. “I hope you’re already tuned up or whatever it is you musical types call it.”
Greg was standing against the far wall and gave Katrina a small nod, just enough to acknowledge that he’d seen her enter. What was he thinking? Was he mad she was late? Did he suspect she’d seen Miles?
Katrina set her case on an empty chair and knelt to take out her violin.
The kids had already finished their song by the time Katrina was ready to play. They were on the second verse of Silent Night in a key that was halfway between D and D-sharp. There was technically no such thing as quarter position, but Katrina would have to do her best. At least for the next song, she would get to choose the starting note.
Katrina had been plunking out these Christmas carols from her earliest days on the violin, which unfortunately allowed her mind to wander. Why hadn’t Miles been able to answer her question simply when she asked if something was wrong? It had been hard for her — no, impossible — to make any progress with her singing after he disappeared, so why did she experience so much foreboding and dread at the thought of meeting him tomorrow? And why was she disappointed that he’d chosen the church when she was the one who’d asked to stop meeting at the school?
She had to think about something else. She’d already been playing for nearly twenty minutes, but the audience gave no sign of wanting the performance to end.
When the residents’ eyes weren’t focused on her, Katrina studied their faces, trying to imagine what history was etched into each wrinkle. She thought about Mrs. Porter’s disparaging remarks about nursing homes, but for what it was, Winter Grove was pleasant enough, with a staff that obviously took pains to maintain a cheerful atmosphere, at least from what Katrina could tell.
Most of the residents were what she would have expected at a place like this. Old men in wheelchairs. White-haired ladies smiling and tapping their feet to the beat. But there was one woman who seemed far too young for a place like this. There was more brown than gray in her hair, and her skin was free from wrinkles save for a few creases around her eyes that appeared like echoes of happiness on an otherwise tragic face. She stared into the distance with eyes half glazed, and she sat in her own corner somewhat removed from the rest of the group. Katrina couldn’t pinpoint what it was that made her so intriguing, but — if for no other reason than her youthful features — she seemed so out of place.
She didn’t belong in a home like this.
It wasn’t until they’d fully exhausted the children’s Christmas carol repertoire that the concert was declared finished. They would give two other repeat performances in the other wings of Winter Grove. By the time they finished, it would be past sunset.
Oh, well. If Katrina lived at an assisted living home, she’d want some music to listen to around Christmastime. Playing along on her violin was simple enough that maybe it would even pull her out of the little musical funk she’d been in for the past few days.
And besides, it beat sitting around a cluttered home worrying about whatever it was that Miles wanted to tell her tomorrow afternoon.