Accidental Notes: A Novel

Chapter 11

Where Things Get Buried

Not sure what this story is? The synopsis is available here.

Catch up on chapter 10 here.

I’m still staring out the window as the sun goes down, lost in my thoughts, when my phone buzzes in my pocket.

Riley: I shouldn’t have to check Google to find out it is SNOWING. Right now. Where my BEST FRIEND is.

Adaya: Sorry, Riley. Got distracted. …family stuff.

And sheet music I should want to tell her about, but don’t. I’m not ready to turn what happened today into words. Especially not to Riley. Usually I like the way her excitement balances me out, but not right now. Not yet.

Riley: You’re not even gonna deny it? It IS snowing?

In fact, it’s falling harder now, coming down in a blur so strong I can’t even see individual flakes. Everyone came inside for the sing-along that ended up being more like Liam’s concert, but a silhouetted blur of fur pushes through the snow and I grin. Something about that golden retriever reminds me of Riley. Before I know it, I’ve moved to the sliding glass door and opened it so I can take a short clip of Harmony frolicking in the snow before the light fades.

About two seconds after it sends, Riley’s typing again.

Riley: Omg I’m FLAILING, Daya. That dog is so cute. Please tell me it’s your dad’s???

I didn’t think about having to explain about Harmony. Oops.

Adaya: short version — it’s not.

Adaya: so remember the boy I would tell you about sometimes? Beat me at my first piano competition? And laughed about it?

Adaya: Apparently he lives next door to where my grandmother lived.

Adaya: which is where we’re staying btw, not dad’s apartment but Grandma’s house

Adaya: anyway this boy who laughed at me has the cutest dog in the history of cute dogs. It’s annoying.

Riley: dang with the spam, Adaya. But… this boy? What’s going on?? Obviously you’ve seen him again.

Adaya: tell you soon. Dad’s trying to get my attention, sorry. I’ll send snow pics later to make up for it??

Riley: you’ll send deets later is what you mean.

Riley: And also snow pics. Love youuuuuuu

I look up from my phone. I wasn’t lying to Riley. Dad really is trying to get my attention. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it. Why aren’t you out there?”

“I don’t have any snow-friendly clothes, Dad.”

He breaks eye contact and stands beside me instead, looking through the glass door as the snow piles up. “We’re about the same height. You can borrow some of mine. Wait a minute and I’ll pick something out.”

“Dad, not now. It’s getting late.” It won’t be worth the time, even though I’m glad he’s trying.

“I’ll find it anyway, so it’s ready for tomorrow. This snow should be here a while.” He turns away without waiting for my answer.

Soon Dad is back with a bundle in his hands. “I think these should fit. Maybe the jacket will be a little big, but with a sweater underneath…”

He shoves the clothes at me with an eager look in his eye.

I don’t want my first time in years playing in the snow to be in the dark, but I can try them on tonight. Maybe that will be enough to appease Dad. I go into the downstairs bathroom just off the family room behind the stairs and pull on the snow bibs over my jeans. I hate that they fit me. I hate that his boots fit. Even his jacket, fastened over everything else, fits me. When I go outside, people are going to mistake me for this man I hardly know.

I grab my phone from the bathroom counter and take a mirror selfie.

Adaya: I look ridiculous, Ri.

Riley: you look adorable. ALSO does this mean I’m getting more snow pictures now? (And deets?) It’s like 75 degrees here

Adaya: Ugh. Don’t remind me. I’m just trying Dad’s snow gear on. It’s almost dark.

Riley: You’re already dressed for it. Go. Have fun. This is not a request.

Adaya: I’m cold just thinking about going outside.

Riley: Too bad. Outside. Snow pics in the dark. Now

Adaya: [eyeroll emoji]

I put my phone in my pocket and step outside. Wind immediately sweeps around me and I tug my beanie tighter over my ears. Even covered almost head to toe, I feel exposed. Even in these warm clothes I want to shiver. This place is so beautiful in winter — I can’t ignore that — but the beauty is sharp. Exacting. There’s a biting sting whenever this idyllic-looking snow lands on my cheek. And it buries everything: below me it buries the ground, and the clouds above me cover the stars.

I send Riley a few pictures and promise better ones when it isn’t dark, but talking to her is making me miss my mom, and realize I haven’t caught her up on the details of the new plan. I needed time to think through what happened with Mr. Gutierrez before I could tell her, and then today got away from me.

After I’ve put Dad’s winter clothes in a pile in the downstairs bathroom and everyone goes home, I curl up on the couch with my phone.

Adaya: Hey mom. How’s it going?

Mom: Wonderful, but I miss you. How is everything?

There’s no way I’m texting her all of this. It’s too much to have to articulate and I’d rather see her. I request a video chat that Mom cancels so fast she must have pressed the wrong button. But before I can retry, she calls me, voice only. I try not to be disappointed. After all, it’s only been a few days since I saw her.

“What’s wrong? Is everything okay? You and Dad? He’s… doing all right with you?” The worry in her voice surprises me. She’s hardly given me any of her time since I got here. She cuts every conversation short.

“The best he can. Sometimes I think he’s pretty sure I’m still ten. Other times I’m not sure he sees me. But that’s not what I’m calling about.”

Mom returns to a more carefree, less worried tone. “Your audition, right? I know how much you were hoping to get in.”

“Yeah, and also, at the funeral before I played — ”

“At least you have a new audition to look forward to. I think a choral accompanist would be a great fit for how you play. Have you picked out a new audition song?”

I lean back against the corner of the chair. I didn’t expect her to bring it up. I thought I’d get to choose my way in, but I don’t. This is it. “I found this sheet music in the spare bedroom at Grandma’s.”

“At… Grandma’s? Grandma Nancy’s?”

“Yeah. We’re staying here.”

Mom doesn’t say anything at first. Finally, tentatively, she says, “Well then. Tell me about this music.”

“It’s this handwritten thing, in this dusty box that has to be decades old. I haven’t had the chance to play it yet, but I think it’s going to be perfect if I can figure it out. The thing is, I don’t know where it came from, who wrote it, nothing.”

“Your grandmother’s whole family plays, right? It could be anyone’s. What makes you so sure it’s right for this audition?”

What makes her so certain it’s wrong? She hasn’t even seen it. “I need something complicated. Something that can prove how good I can be. This piece does that, Mom. And it’s here. I can learn it in time if I practice enough.”

Shoes on the hardwood floor. I turn around. Dad looks down at me, his face drawn up tight enough I know he’s heard our conversation. “Let me talk to your mother.”

“You want to talk to Mom? When you haven’t had a conversation since — Whatever.” I forgot about the call arranging this whole thing. Maybe they’ve been talking behind my back for years. I hand over the phone.

Mom’s voice comes through muffled. I strain to understand her but can’t parse out a single word.

“No, Christina, I had no idea she — I’ll talk to her when I can.” A pause. “It’s … good. Different than I expected, but good.”

I shift sit up straighter and curl my feet the opposite way, trying to get closer without looking like I’m eavesdropping. It doesn’t work. I still can’t hear what Mom says.

“Maybe it’s a better idea if we — if you think so. Right. Okay. Here she is.”

He hands the phone back without ceremony.

“Mom?”

“Have a merry Christmas, Adaya. If you want to talk more about your audition, feel free to text me.”

She hangs up but I keep playing her last words in my head. She only wants to talk about my audition, not the sheet music, not anything else. Not the funeral. She changed the subject when I mentioned it. And usually she says I should feel free to call. Not text.

“Come on. I’ll grill some hot dogs,” Dad says. I follow him in a daze and sit through a silent meal.

There’s nothing to do after dinner. The house is too big without everyone here. If there’s anything I want from this trip, it’s to understand the music I found. So I grab the sheets from my room and arrange it at the piano. I play through an F major scale to warm up, but I don’t take the time to warm up any other way. Dad turns on the television in the other room, but it’s fine. All I want is to hear these notes for the first time. These pages have haunted me all day.

Three times through the first few measures and I’m starting to get it, but creaking floorboards in the kitchen distract me.

Dad leans on the threshold between the kitchen and the living room.

“This is the music you found?” His voice is tentative, like he isn’t sure how to speak.

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t say anything else. Instead, Dad rests his head on the wood of the frame and I twist around toward the Yamaha again. Note after note until I’m so tired the notes twin on the page and my fingers are too heavy to play.

Even then, what must be hours later, Dad’s still there, his eyes closed. Maybe even listening.

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