Promises of Forever, page 15
Koa: I will not share my past with you.
Jersey: I’ve never asked and respect if there are things you can’t tell me.
Days went by.
One evening, after smacking my thumb with a hammer during banister repairs, as I was nursing my wound with an ice pack and shot of bourbon, my phone chimed with Koa’s latest argument.
Koa: You can do far better than me. I’m damaged goods.
Jersey: We all have scars.
Then, a few days after that.
Koa: My work schedule leaves me terribly busy. I don’t have time to dedicate to building new friendships.
Jersey: Now you’re making excuses. Besides, don’t the summer holidays start at the end of June?
It was the last Monday in May, three weeks and two days since I’d kissed him in the parking lot at Pestle & Mortar when Koa broke.
Koa: Niles’s spring concert is this Friday night. Would you like to attend with me?
I smiled at the message as I stood outside the therapy room, a patient waiting on the other side of the door. I typed a quick reply.
Jersey: I’d be honored.
The concert was at seven, so I rescheduled my last two appointments on Friday afternoon so I could get away from the office with enough time to race home, change, and drive to Timber Creek Academy. Koa and I planned to meet at the school. He’d turned down my offer to pick him up, explaining he was staying after class to help Niles organize the affair.
I pulled into the school parking lot at six thirty. With the bustle, I had to drive around twice to find a spot big enough to accommodate the Gladiator. Dozens of parents spilled out of cars, arriving to see their children perform. Several students gathered in the courtyard, socializing and watching the commotion.
The concert was to take place in the school auditorium. I didn’t know where it was, so I followed the crowd, listening to the buzz of proud parents discussing their genius children and their futures.
Koa had promised to meet me in the foyer at quarter to seven. I made my way there and found a spot near the wall to linger as the flow of parents continued through the double doors into the auditorium.
It had been a long time since I’d been inside a high school. Albeit, Timber Creek was no ordinary school. It was an elite academy, and its prestige showed. Plaques of students’ achievements lined the walls, showing past scholarship winners, honors students, and specialty awards for insanely high accomplishments. Framed newspaper clippings talked about those who had gone on to make a difference in the world.
I scanned a few articles, feeling small and unimportant in comparison. These kids were brilliant. They became specialized surgeons and researchers. They discovered cures for diseases or wrote for influential magazines about topics I couldn’t begin to understand. One article talked about a former student, Dr. Calvin Gerbert, a nuclear physicist, who had been hired by one of the top research hospitals in the country to take charge of their nuclear medicine department. A girl named Kassie Valdai, who had also earned a Ph.D., was making strides in some kind of gene study.
Koa appeared beside me as I puzzled over the next article in line. “You made it.”
“I did.” I motioned at the wall of honors. “Christ, these kids are smart. I can’t understand half of these article write-ups. The words are too big. Me and my B average wouldn’t have made it a day here.”
“They aren’t all successful. A handful make something of themselves, and the rest drown under the pressures of university. Sex, drugs, and no more parental guidance is a bad mix. A recipe for disaster in many.”
Abandoning the newspaper clippings, I turned to face Koa for the first time, taking him in.
He meekly smiled, tight, tense, and uncertain. “Hello, Jersey.”
“Hey. You look incredible.”
“You flatter me.”
“It’s true. I’ve wanted to say it since the day I showed up at your house.”
The cable-knit sweater was absent. In its place, Koa wore a brown tweed jacket and matching vest, a pale-blue checkered shirt underneath, and a brown tie. Paired with dark jeans and a leather belt, he looked every inch the high school English teacher. The soft waves of his hair were gelled and orderly, falling in an easy sweep to the side over his forehead. Long-buried secrets lived behind his amber eyes, mixed with a hint of nervous energy today.
Koa touched the front of his vest self-consciously. “I didn’t dress up or anything. This is how I came to work this morning.”
“Well, I guess you always look incredible then.” I winked, and Koa cut his gaze to the double doors of the auditorium.
“Thank you.” He cleared his throat and offered a smile and wave to a student who raced by.
“Have you ever attended a high school musical performance?” he asked.
“No. So far as I know, Derby isn’t a band kid. I believe he plays on a few sports teams, but I’ve never been invited to watch. Will it be terrible? I know our concert band in high school was frightening, but this place is for gifted students, isn’t it?”
Koa returned his attention to me, a tiny smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “They’re not bad. Niles is a stickler for perfection. He works them hard. If they’re horrible, which is unlikely, we’ll refrain from telling him, deal? Trust me, he’ll be insufferable otherwise.”
“Deal.”
A man and woman interrupted, saying hi to Koa, commending his teaching, and commenting on the content of the unit his class had recently finished. Koa thanked them but didn’t encourage further engagement, letting the parents talk their fill and move on. The reservation he portrayed was not strictly for me. It seemed he was like that with everyone.
Once the man and woman headed inside the auditorium, Koa turned an apologetic look in my direction. “I’m sorry. The parents have little contact with us outside our monthly phone calls to discuss progress reports or our biannual parent-teacher night. At events like this, they tend to swarm.”
“No worries. I’ll happily share you.”
He gestured to the doors. “If we hide, they won’t bother us. Shall we?”
“Lead the way.”
I followed Koa as he guided us through the double doors and to the back row of gradient seating. Most of the students’ friends and family occupied the front half of the auditorium, so the rear was mostly vacant. We sat dead center, side by side, the armrest providing an awkward barrier I could have done without.
I scanned the stage where risers had been positioned in a half-moon along the back. Chairs and music stands sat at intervals, some on the lower level, others above, enough to accommodate at least thirty musicians.
The timpani and other percussion instruments had a spot behind the chairs to the left. A shiny black grand piano waited down front on the right.
“Are you familiar with classical music?” Koa asked, his leg bumping mine when he angled his body toward me.
“I’m about as familiar with classical music as I am with classic literature, which we both know starts and ends with The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.”
Koa chuckled. “Fair enough. I shan’t bore you with specifics then.”
“Shan’t? Do people say that? You’re cute. Please do bore me with specifics. What do I need to know before delving into a spring concert?” Adjusting, I leaned closer to Koa, keeping our legs pressed together. Balancing my chin on an upturned palm, elbow on the armrest, I grinned, aiming for playfulness. “And remember, I’m not scholarly, so go easy.”
I earned a shy smile and sensed Koa didn’t give them out freely. “The concert band has four pieces they’re playing tonight. It will be interspersed with solos and duets. You can expect to hear Vivaldi, Bach, Debussy, Mozart, Tchaikovsky, and more. Have I lost you yet? Those are the bigger names, and I should hope they’re familiar.”
“So far so good. You start naming composition titles, and I’ll probably glaze over.”
“Noted. Although I’m sure many of them will be familiar to the ear.” Koa glanced at the stage, nodding to the grand piano. “What you should know is Niles is a bit of a diva. His concerts start and end with his own piano solos. He likes to ensure the parents are aware their children are being taught by an accomplished musician.”
“Kind of arrogant.”
Koa hummed acknowledgement. “True, but he’s sore about the fact that he never acquired a Ph.D. It makes him unnecessarily defensive, especially with the parents. To be fair, several written complaints to the school board concerning his qualifications have been made. The parents feel they are paying for a superior education for their children and should, therefore, get the most qualified educators. The thing is, Niles is the best they’re going to find anywhere. They just can’t see past credentials.”
We sat silently for a while, listening to the buzz of conversations and watching the influx of parents rushing to find last-minute seats.
Koa sat stiffly, but his leg remained nestled against mine. Not once had he attempted to move it. It was something. Recalling his adamant attempts to derail this friendship—or whatever we were calling it—I trod carefully, keeping things light.
“Thank you for inviting me. I know you have reservations about this”—I gestured between us—“but I’m glad you’re giving it a chance.”
Koa glanced at his hands, where they were folded in his lap. “I haven’t agreed to date you, Jersey. I’ve merely agreed not to shut you out of my life.”
“Good enough for me.”
“I don’t have anything to offer. Nothing worthwhile anyway.”
“How about you let me be the judge of that.”
“Very well.”
“Did you get a chance to grab dinner earlier?”
“No. Niles and I were too busy setting up.”
“Can I offer to take you out when this is over?”
Koa stared from his hands to the stage, fine creases appearing on his forehead. “Are you suggesting a date?”
“Yes, but if that doesn’t suit you, we can call it a meal between old friends.”
He turned, gaze sweeping my face. “Okay. It can be a date, provided you don’t set your expectations too high. I’ll disappoint you.”
“You keep saying that, but I doubt it.”
“And I’m not putting out.”
I snorted, and the corner of Koa’s lip twitched.
“Will that be an issue?” he asked, amusement still on the surface.
I was about to respond, about to reach out and brush aside a stray piece of hair that had fallen over his forehead, when the lights dimmed.
“We’ll revisit that,” I whispered.
Koa smirked and turned to the stage.
The momentum of our conversation might have been lost due to the commencement of the concert, but his words and the tiny taste of future possibilities stayed with me all throughout.
A spotlight came up, and Niles appeared in its center. He was sharply dressed and full of mirth.
“Good evening. It’s wonderful to see so many faces tonight. Nothing brings me joy like our annual spring concert. These young men and women have worked hard all winter and are eager to take to the stage and show off their accomplishments. I won’t hold them up too long. A few quick reminders. If you could please ensure your cell phones are silenced or turned off, it would be much appreciated. Nothing throws off the mood more than your cleverly selected ringtone. Also, in accordance with school policy, we ask that you not record the concert this evening.
“There will be a short intermission a little over the halfway mark, during which time we will have students in the lobby, serving refreshments. We ask that you please refrain from bringing food or drink into the auditorium itself.” Leaning into the microphone, he whisper-added, “Our custodial staff will have a fit.”
The audience laughed.
“Now, without further ado, let’s begin.”
Niles moved to the grand piano, the spotlight following. He sat, back straight, fingers poised over the ivories, chin high. A held breath hung in the air for a beat before he began.
I may not have known the first thing about classical music, but I could recognize talent when I saw it, and Niles was exceptional. His fingers danced with grace, confidence, and ease. The room swelled with crisp notes, captivating everyone.
I stole a glance at Koa, who watched and listened with a faraway look in his eyes. The music gained pace with a sudden crescendo before falling back into a lumbering, haunting melody. It whispered to the audience, seeping into the cracks and pores of every person present. It was impossible not to feel the deep, resonating tones on a cellular level.
Niles’s entire body swayed and moved with the long, flowing sentences. He was lost to the music he created; eyes closed as he played whatever piece it was by heart. I turned my attention back to Koa and monitored his reactions, curious about his feelings toward his ex. The distant, glazed expression remained, and I got the sense Koa wasn’t hearing the music any longer and was trapped in one of those blank fits I used to see in childhood.
Concerned, I moved my hand to his thigh and squeezed. He startled, inhaling sharply, then snapped back to the present. He didn’t object to the touch or pull away. Glancing at me in the dark, he offered a sorrowful smile. It cut deep. It spoke of wounds buried under ancient scars, ones he hid from the world. The broken boy from Camp Kawartha wasn’t gone. He lived inside the grown-up version of Koa, carefully concealed but still very much alive. The broken boy trusted no one. He’d lost faith in humanity long ago.
I hadn’t understood his troubles in our youth, but as an adult who had seen horrors on the news, who’d read countless articles about the war in the Middle East, about inner-city murders, campus rapes, and child abuse. I could imagine what Koa might have suffered. Whatever it was, it was bad.
Koa settled in his seat and remained present as Niles finished his solo with a flourish. The man stood and bowed as people respectfully clapped. The concert band took to the stage next, and there was a commotion as they got situated with their instruments and music. Niles stood in the conductor’s role up front, motioning to his students as they got organized.
Koa leaned in and whispered, “The first piece they’re going to play is Vivaldi. ‘Spring.’ It’s part of The Four Seasons.”
“Never heard of it.”
Koa bumped his shoulder into mine. “Yes, you have. Just wait.”
He was right. As they began and the familiar tune filled the air, I grinned. In fact, I knew it well enough I could have hummed along.
“Told you,” Koa said, still glued to my side, still whispering close enough to my ear I could feel the warmth of his breath.
I squeezed his knee in acknowledgment, keeping my hand in place, wondering what he might do if I offered a light caress. I didn’t.
The band played another piece, something Koa called ‘Triumphant Fanfare,’ not something I recognized, before the solos began. Most sounded decent. A few tripped up. Niles accompanied a flute player on the piano. Throughout the concert, Koa continued to lean against me, allowing my hand to remain on his thigh. After a time, I caved and stroked a thumb over his knee, a tiny nudge forward to see how he’d react.
Again, he didn’t object or move away.
I closed my eyes and let the music wrap around me. Koa sat close enough that I caught his scent each time I inhaled. Wool, candle wax, and a hint of almonds. He smelled like an old library, like solitude and loneliness.
I’d been alone for many years, and although there was a thirty-year gap between Camp Kawartha and now, time hadn’t changed how Koa made me feel. I had always been drawn to him. These feelings weren’t new, but they were more mature, more recognizable, and I couldn’t dismiss them.
Intermission came and went. Niles briefly appeared in the foyer and was thrilled to see I’d come. Upon hearing about Koa’s invitation, he grew smug and self-satisfied, like it had been his doing all along. Niles didn’t linger, informing us he had wild students backstage, riding waves of adrenaline, and who would fast lose control of themselves if he didn’t instill order.
The second half of the concert was shorter but no less engaging. Koa put distance between us, and I never found the right moment to rest my hand on his leg again.
After Niles played the closing piece and the event ended, I waited as Koa spoke with a few parents and checked in with his ex to be sure he didn’t need help packing things up. He returned a short time later and announced we were good to go.
“So, dinner?” I asked.
“I could eat. Thoughts?”
I wasn’t familiar with the Timber Creek area, so I suggested somewhere I knew well. “Do you eat fish and chips? It’s not classy, but I know a mom-and-pop joint in Lakefield. Won’t find better.”
“Sure.”
“They don’t have much of a dining area, but we could get takeout and go to my parents’ house. It’s empty, but I haven’t gotten rid of the patio set around the back yet. It’s a nice evening. We could eat outside.”
Koa agreed, albeit he wore the same mask of reluctance he’d worn at the bistro a month ago. He’d agreed to this date, but he didn’t trust it.
We drove separately, meeting at the old-fashioned seafood restaurant on Water Street along the Otonabee River. It was one of the few places where you could order decent fish and chips. Nautical Nibbles had been around since my childhood and was a spot my family had frequented often. Dad used to have a habit of stopping there on our way home from games or late practices, and I would eat my weight in fish bites and french fries.
Koa and I ordered the standard two-piece meals with chips and coleslaw, and once they were ready—wrapped in newspaper and boxed like they’d been doing for thirty years—we took the food back to my parents’ house.
17
Koa
Jersey led us into the empty belly of the house. Without furniture, the cavernous space echoed. He walked with familiarity through a living room, down a hall, and into another area, all without hitting a switch to illuminate the way. Since the sun had gone down, casting the world and house into a void of darkness, only the faint streetlights shining through the uncovered windows guided us.
