Swelling—that’s what Andy felt. A swelling in her heart.
Pride. Joy. Confusion. Euphoria.
Andy’s emotions matched the look on her mother’s face as the music went from solemn to dramatic to thrilling, then back again. Every note seemed to be reflected in Jane’s expression, her eyebrows lifting, her eyes closing, her lips curled up in pleasure. She was absolutely enraptured. Confidence radiated off the grainy video like rays from the sun. There was a smile on her mother’s lips, but it was a secret smile that Andy had never seen before. Jinx Queller, still so impossibly young, had the look of a woman who was exactly where she was meant to be.
Not in Belle Isle. Not at a parent–teacher conference or on the couch in her office working with a patient, but on stage, holding the world in the palm of her hand.
Andy wiped her eyes. She could not stop crying. She did not understand how her mother had not cried every day for the rest of her life.
How could anyone walk away from something so magical?
Andy sat completely transfixed for the entire length of the video. She could not take her eyes off the screen. Sometimes her mother’s hands flicked up and down the length of the piano, other times they seemed to be on top of each other, the fingers moving independently across the white and black keys in a way that reminded Andy of Laura kneading dough in the kitchen.
The smile never left her face right up until the ebullient last notes.
Then it was over.
Her hands floated to her lap.
The audience went crazy. They were on their feet. The clapping turned into a solid wall of sound, more like the constant shush of a summer rain.
Jinx Queller stayed seated, hands in her lap, looking down at the keys. Her breath was heavy from physical exertion. Her shoulders had rolled in. She started nodding. She seemed to be taking a moment with the piano, with herself, to absorb the sensation of absolute perfection.
She nodded once more. She stood up. She shook the conductor’s hand. She waved to the orchestra. They were already standing, saluting her with their bows, furiously clapping their hands.
She turned to the audience and the cheering swelled. She bowed stage left, then right, then center. She smiled—a different smile, not so confident, not so joyful—and walked off the stage.
That was it.
Andy closed the laptop before the next video could play.
She looked up at the window behind the couch. The sun was bright against the blue sky. Tears dripped down into the collar of her shirt. She tried to think of a word to describe how she was feeling—
Astonished? Bewildered? Overcome? Dumbfounded?
Laura had been the one thing that Andy had wanted to be close to all of her life.
A star.
She studied her own hands. She had normal fingers—not too long or thin. When Laura was sick and unable to take care of herself, Andy had washed her mother’s hands, put lotion on them, rubbed them, held them. But what did they really look like? They had to be graceful, enchanted, imbued with an otherworldly sort of grace. Andy should have felt sparks when she massaged them, or spellbound, or—something.
Yet they were the same normal hands that had waved for Andy to hurry up or she’d be late for school. Dug soil in the garden when it was time to plant spring flowers. Wrapped around the back of Gordon’s neck when they danced. Pointed at Andy in fury when she did something wrong.
Why?
Andy blinked, trying to clear the tears from her eyes. Clara had disappeared. Maybe she hadn’t been able to handle Andy’s grief, or the perceived pain that Jane Queller experienced when she watched her younger self playing. The two women had clearly discussed the performance before.
That green dress!
Andy reached into her back pocket for the burner phone.
She dialed her mother’s number.
She listened to the phone ring.
She closed her eyes against the sunlight, imagining Laura in the kitchen. Walking over to her phone where it was charging on the counter. Seeing the unfamiliar number on the screen. Trying to decide whether or not to answer it. Was it a robocall? A new client?
“Hello?” Laura said.