I smile at his gentle words. My grandma's death has been difficult on Davis too. He'd known her since he was a kid first learning to play the cello.
After her retirement, she'd become one of the most beloved private music teachers in Chicago. Her schedule was always full, a smile permanently on her face. Music was her passion and she'd passed that, and many other things, on to me.
"She would have been so proud of you too." I tap his hand. "You are one of her greatest success stories."
"Me?" He takes a step back to nudge his father's elbow. "Did you hear that, dad? Isla is singing my praises again."
I laugh out loud.
"I'm going to miss you like crazy when you go to Israel." I close my eyes, trying to curb my emotions. "Who is going to call me late at night to ask if I've practiced?"
His smile brightens. "I'm going to call you every day and you're going to keep practicing. Not that you need to practice. You were the star of the show tonight, Isla."
"I have nothing on them." I motion towards the main stage. Watching the Philharmonic perform tonight had been our gift for volunteering to be part of the benefit arts' event. Along with a classical guitarist, a pianist and a horn duo, we agreed to participate as a way to showcase young talent.
When Davis got the call asking our quartet to take part, he didn’t hesitate to say yes. It's not only an amazing opportunity; it's also our last chance to perform together. The new cellist, a woman slightly older than me, will step into his place late next month when we are booked for a dedication ceremony at city hall.
"You're going to be on that stage one day."
Davis looks down at the worn violin case in my hands. "I'll be sitting front and center watching."
"We both will," Mr. Benoit says through a smile. "It's your birthday tomorrow, isn't it, Isla? Let's go for a drink. It's my treat. It's not every day that you turn twenty-one."
I should point out that I'm not going to be twenty-one for another hour and I left my fake ID at home. In fact, I haven't used it since that night at Skyn. I'm still debating whether I'll ever go back there.
"I think I'll just head home." I look back at the now vacant concert hall. I had hoped to see Mr. Foster again but that hasn't happened.
"There's a car for us to use." Davis raises both brows. "It's mainly so I can take my cello back to my hotel."
"Fancy," I drawl. "I have to carry this with me on the bus."
"You'll come with us." Davis extends his hand towards me. "We'll drop you on our way."
"That won't be necessary." I hear the unmistakable growl of Gabriel Foster's voice just as his hand touches the small of my back. "I'll be taking Isla home."
***
I look at the back of the seat in front of me yet again. The driver had placed my violin case on the front passenger seat before he held the back door open for me.
"I'm guarding it with my life, Isla." Mr. Foster's smile is soft and inviting. "It's a treasure. I had no idea you played the violin."
I had no idea he'd insist that I accept his offer for a ride home.
At first, I refused, telling him that I wanted to spend time with Davis before he moves, but he'd been charming as he persisted. I'd finally agreed when I saw Davis giving me a thumbs-up behind Mr. Foster's back. He may think that the man has ulterior motives for inviting me into the backseat of his chauffeur driven sedan, but I know better. He's curious about my music. It caught him off guard.
"You're remarkable." He presses a button on a console in front of us that brings up a barrier of privacy glass separating us from the driver. "How long have you played?"
"Forever," I say honestly. "I've been playing most of my life."
"You studied violin?"
"I took music classes," I go on quickly, "general music classes that all kids take in school but it was my grandmother who taught me."
"Your grandmother?" His dark eyes slide over my face. "She's a music teacher?"
I rake my hand through my hair before I scratch my chin. "My grandmother was the most talented violinist in the world. She ended her career in Chicago. She taught music after that until..."
He adjusts himself on the seat, bending his knee so he's facing me. "Is she gone, Isla? You speak as though she's passed away."