LITMIR.BIZ

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heard Claire’s car in the driveway. Seconds later her sister burst into the house. She was pale and wild-eyed.

      “I have to play,” she said as she headed for the stairs. “I have to play. I said yes. What was I thinking? I can’t do this. It’s too soon. I’m never going to get better. I should just face it. I can work in retail, right? Like the bakery. Do people make much doing that?”

      Claire raced up to the second floor and dashed into her room. Nicole followed her. By the time she’d made it to the landing, she could see Claire kneeling on the floor flipping through what looked like hundreds and hundreds of pages of sheet music. Who traveled with sheet music?

      “What are you talking about?” she asked Claire glanced up at her. “Amy’s school. She told her teacher I play piano. She put it together with my name. The principal asked me to play for a few of the teachers. Today.”

      She flipped through dozens of pages, looking at them once and flinging them over her shoulder. One fluttered to Nicole’s feet.

      She looked at it, at what looked like thousands of notes. How could anyone make sense of that?

      “What’s the big deal?” Nicole asked. “You play all the time.”

      Claire sat back on her heels. “Wyatt didn’t tell you?”

      “Didn’t tell me what?”

      Claire rolled onto her butt, then dropped her head to her hands. She hated having to confess the truth to her überpractical, confident sister. “I’ve been having panic attacks when I play. It started a few years ago. I faked a panic attack to get Lisa off my back. But somehow I lost control and instead of me controlling them, they’re controlling me.”

      “Panic attacks? Like what you had at the bakery?”

      Claire nodded. “Only worse than that. I collapsed the last time I performed. They practically had to carry me off stage. It was horrible.” She shook off the memory.

      “Is that why you wanted to come here?”

      “What? No. It’s why I didn’t have to cancel performances to come here.”

      “Okay. So what happens now? Are you in therapy or something?”

      “I have been. I know what’s wrong, I just don’t know how to fix it.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Music is who I am. It’s my life. I’ve been so empty without playing. I’ve tried to enjoy my time off, but the truth is I miss playing. Last night instead of reliving my date with Wyatt, I found myself imagining Mozart. I lay there in bed, playing the piece in my head.”

      “Not anything I would do,” Nicole muttered. “Do you want to go back to playing?”

      Claire looked at her. “Every minute of every day. But I’m terrified. Worse, I doubt myself.” She put her hand on her chest. There was a feeling of tightness. Adrenaline poured through her body. “I can’t breathe.”

      Nicole crossed the floor and sank down on the bed. “Of course you can. Take a breath and focus. In, out. In, out. You can breathe.”

      “It doesn’t…” She gasped. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

      “That doesn’t matter. You can breathe. You’re talking. You’re not turning blue.”

      “Okay. Okay. You’re right. I’m fine.” Claire’s eyes filled with tears as she tried to convince herself. “It doesn’t feel fine. What if I can’t do it? What if I can’t go back?”

      “I’d probably give you a job in the bakery. I hear you’re terrific on the cash register.”

      Claire started to laugh. Nicole joined her. They laughed and then Claire was crying.

      “I hate this,” she admitted, wiping her face and wishing her emotional weakness involved getting hives or throwing up. Anything but this awful sense of dread and panic. “I feel so weak and stupid. I want to be able to do what I love.”

      “Look, we’re talking about a bunch of regular people,” Nicole said. “Teachers can’t afford to go to the symphony every week. They won’t know if you’re playing well or not. They’ll just be excited to see you. You’ll be the biggest star they’ve ever seen.”

      Claire wiped her face. “They have CDs. They’ll know if I mess up.”

      “Oh. Yeah. Good point. But you’re playing on some school piano. My point is they’re not going to judge you.”

      “Probably not to my face.”

      “Does the rest of it matter? Do you think the people who pay to hear you play aren’t being critical.”

      Claire winced. “I so didn’t need to think about that.”

      “Have you played for anyone since you’ve been here?”

      “Amy. She stood with her hands on the piano, feeling the vibrations.”

      “And you were okay with that.”

      Claire rolled her eyes. “She’s deaf.”

      “I know. You didn’t answer the question.”

      “I was fine with it.”

      “Then have Amy stand where she stood before and play for her. Ignore the rest of those bitches.”

      Claire’s mouth twitched. “They’re really nice women.”

      “Probably, but for the purposes of this conversation, they’re bitches.”

      Claire nodded, trying to be brave. Knowing she was going to be emotionally eviscerated, she pushed up to her knees, slid over to the bed and put her arms around Nicole.

      “I’ve missed you so much,” she breathed, holding her tight. “Please don’t hate me anymore. I can’t stand it.”

      Nicole hesitated, then hugged her back. “I don’t hate you,” she said, hugging Claire back for the first time in over twenty years. “I couldn’t.”

      “But you tried.”

      “Okay, yes. I put a lot of effort into it.”

      “You need to stop.”

      “I will.”

      Claire straightened. “Promise?”

      Nicole smiled. “I promise.”

      CLAIRE HAD TROUBLE finding parking at the school that afternoon, which was weird. There had been a ton of spaces that morning. Not sure what was causing the problem, she finally found a spot by the far fence and turned in.

      The sense of pending disaster hovered just at the edge of her consciousness. She could feel it and taste it, but she refused to acknowledge it. Maybe she would totally freak out and start frothing at the mouth. Maybe she would get through with scary foam. Either way, she was going to play the piano because that was what she’d been born to do. And because it would make Amy happy.

      She collected the music she’d chosen and walked into the school. After finding her way to the main desk, she smiled at the receptionist.

      “Hi. I’m Claire Keyes. Could you direct me to the music room?”

      The woman stood up. “Oh, you’re here. Everyone will be so excited. Principal Freeman asked me to take you to the auditorium.”

      Claire swallowed. “Excuse me. I’m playing in the music room.”

      The other woman laughed. “Not anymore. Word got out and we’re full to capacity. A lot of the parents came to hear you play. You’re totally famous.”

      The woman kept talking, but Claire couldn’t hear the words. She couldn’t hear anything except a loud buzzing sound.

      “H-how many people?” she asked.

      “About four hundred.”

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