Chapter 4 - The Secret Sanctuary
Bryer arrived at my house at four-fifteen.
Her shoulders were hunched, her eyes cast downward at her worn sneakers. She looked like a girl who had spent twelve years apologizing for taking up oxygen. Jaren stood behind her, looking hollowed out, dark circles bruising his eyes.
"Hey, kiddo," I said, stepping aside and opening the door wide.
My daughter, Maya, immediately bounced down the stairs. "Bryer! Come up, I set out the new sheet music you wanted!"
Bryer looked hesitatingly at her father. Jaren nodded gently. "Go on, sweetheart."
Once the girls were upstairs and the door clicked shut, Jaren slumped onto my kitchen barstool as if his bones had turned to lead. Theron poured him a tall glass of ice water and slid a plate of warm roast beef sandwiches toward him. Jaren ate like a man who hadn't seen food in two days.
"Tamsin got the notice from the landlord an hour ago," Jaren said between bites, his voice trembling. "She lost her mind, Maren. She threw a coffee mug against the drywall."
"Did she hit you or Bryer?" Theron's voice was dangerously low.
"No. Bryer was in her room. But she screamed that you were trying to make us homeless. She called your mother. Mom is convening an emergency family dinner this Sunday at her house. She told Tamsin that everyone is going to sit down and force you to sign an agreement."
"An agreement?" I laughed out loud. "To force me to pay her rent?"
"Tamsin told them you promised our grandmother on her deathbed that you would take care of her forever," Jaren said miserably. "Your mom believes her."
"Grandmother died when Tamsin was six," I said dryly. "She barely remembered her name."
Upstairs, the faint sound of a cello scale began, followed by hesitant, muffled crying.
"I need to show her something," I said, standing up.
I retrieved the carbon-fiber case from my study and carried it upstairs. When I opened Maya's bedroom door, Bryer was sitting on the edge of the bed, her face buried in her hands while Maya gently rubbed her back.
"Bryer," I said softly.
The girl lifted her red-rimmed eyes. "Aunt Maren... I'm sorry my mom posted those things about you. I told her not to. I told her I didn't care about the violin anymore, but she wouldn't stop..."
"Bryer, look at me." I set the case on the desk and unzipped the velvet shroud. "You never apologize for someone else's cruelty. Do you understand me?"
I lifted the Romanian violin into the light.
Bryer stopped breathing. Her hands hovered over the instrument, trembling, not daring to make contact. "Is that... is that Maya's?"
"No," I smiled. "Maya plays the cello, remember? This is an instrument meant for an artist. But because of your mother’s behavior, it cannot enter your house right now. If it does, she will use it as leverage. So, this violin stays right here, in Maya’s room. Every single day after school, Jaren will bring you here. You will practice here. You will prepare for your state audition here."
Bryer touched the polished scroll. Tears spilled down her cheeks, dripping onto her sweater. "Can I... can I hold it?"
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"She’s yours to play, sweetheart. Pick her up."
When Bryer drew the horsehair bow across the D-string, a rich, velvety resonance filled the room. The tone was warm, aching, and pure. For the first time in months, Bryer smiled.
