Read (Blue Notes 2)The Melody Thief for Free Online

And I really should be going. The doctor was just worried about last night.”
    Her expression was almost wistful, as if she were disappointed to hear this. “I’m sure he would want you to stay,” she said. “At least until he comes home.”
    “That’s really nice, but I’ll leave him my number. I’d like to thank him.”
    And I have some great ideas about how I can do that, if he’ll let me.

Chapter 5

    O LD H ABITS , O LD H AUNTS
     
     
    I NTHEend, Francesca insisted he take a cab back “home.” She sent him off with more Euros than he needed to pay for it, in part because Cary lied about living much further out of the city, in a less expensive neighborhood. He would pay it back as soon as he saw Antonio again—and he had every intention of seeing Antonio again—so he brushed off his guilt and took the money.
    Roberta met him in the doorway of his apartment, her palpable relief replaced a split second later with a look of horror as she took in his bruised face and the cast on his left wrist. “Oh, Signor Redding! What will you do?”
    Her genuine and unexpected concern had him shifting awkwardly on his feet. He was even more surprised when she launched herself at him, taking him in her arms like he was a wayward child who had finally come home.
    He winced as she hugged him tight. “It’s nothing. I’m fine, and the cast will come off in six weeks. The doctor said I might need a little physical therapy, but it’ll be fine.”
    “I was worried about you.” She frowned at him, and he managed a wan smile.
    “Thanks.” He loved that she thought of him as a surrogate son, but it also made him uncomfortable. He felt undeserving.
    “Signor Duhamel called this morning,” she said as she shooed him inside the apartment. “He says you should call him. Maestro Somers had a cancellation on this season’s schedule, and he needs to know by tomorrow if you’re interested.”
    “Thanks, Roberta. I’ll call him.”
    She raised an eyebrow and said, “You haven’t told him yet, have you? About what happened?” He scowled at her as she clucked like a mother hen. “And you haven’t been eating enough, have you, stangone ?” He opened his mouth to protest the nickname—“beanpole”—but she just laughed and headed for the kitchen.
    The apartment was, as always, immaculate. Roberta wouldn’t have it any other way. The simple linen curtains were open to the bright sunlight, the colorful Japanese silk pillows lined up in a neat row on the sofa. Like the pillows, Cary had bought most of the artwork that adorned the walls and tabletops on his trips abroad. A Thai silk weaving hung above a collection of three Hopi kachina dolls he’d found in New Mexico. Two abstract paintings he’d discovered in Paris were strategically placed over the couch, and the rest of the surfaces sported glass bowls, wood carvings, and other objects that had caught Cary’s eye.
    He walked into the living room and past the open doorway to his practice studio. It was a brightly lit room with a baby grand piano and his favorite chair to play in. In the corner was his cello, safe in its white fiberglass case. As with the rest of the apartment, the walls here were also covered in artwork. His favorite artwork. A collection of masks in various sizes and materials, each unique.
    Cary didn’t step inside the room but just stood in the doorway and forced himself to breathe. He had expected this would be difficult, seeing this place and knowing he couldn’t play. He just hadn’t realized how difficult it would be.
    Cary Taylor Redding , his mother’s voice echoed in his mind, you must practice every day. Even if it’s just for an hour or two. Music isn’t like a book that you put down and forget about. It’s part of you. Always.
    This time, it wasn’t just an ache that stirred in his soul. It was something else. Guilt. He knew the feeling well, although it had been years since he’d felt it quite so keenly. He closed the door to the