Accidental Notes: A Novel

Chapter 32

Keys

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

Catch up on chapter 31 here.

By afternoon the next day, the storm has fully dissipated and the snow is melting. Riley’s words poured through every dream I had, and if she’s right and I get second chances, I know exactly which ones I need first. First thing in the morning, I texted Mr. Gutierrez.

Adaya: The 30th at 3pm?

Mr. Gutierrez: Can’t wait.

I can; there’s still a lot I need to figure out. But that’s part of why I’m trekking across the backyard right now. Despite the calm weather, the storm left chaos in its wake. Slush that turns brown beneath my feet. A wind that bites when it hits the cracks in my skin, since I still don’t trust my scabbing hands in a glove.

When I reach Grayson’s house, I knock on the back door and a golden snout nudges it open for me, tongue searching even before she can see who I am. “Hey, Harmony,” I say as I crouch beside her. She licks my face, and then my hands, searching out my wounds like she knew they were there. “Scootch over and let me in, will you? It’s getting warmer, but it’s still no California.”

Harmony nudges against my hands one more time before stepping away. I go inside to the West family kitchen. Grayson’s mother immediately hovers over me, hugging me for half an instant, then backing up to squeeze my shoulders and look me over, then pulling me in one more time.

“After yesterday afternoon, I wasn’t sure you’d be okay. I’m glad to see you up and about.” Then she notices my hands. Takes them up in hers and inspects them with this worry on her face Dad didn’t have when he saw me. Not that he’s really seen me. Not that he ever has.

“The ice,” I say. It’s a non-explanation, but she fills in the blanks herself.

“You must have fallen hard. I’m glad you trusted Grayson enough to text him. If we hadn’t been there — ” She shivers and closes her eyes for an instant longer than a blink before opening them again. “Anyway. You’re safe now. And I’m guessing you’re not here to see me.”

I take in a deep breath. “Thanks. For all of it.”

“Go, Adaya.” She smiles. “Grayson’s in his room. From what I can tell, he’s been sitting at his keyboard for hours.”

Soon, I knock on Grayson’s door. He doesn’t answer me. I don’t think he knows I’m here. I can’t hear any music, but I do hear the quiet click of keys, like his headphones are plugged in and his fingers are rushing through the notes, whatever they are. I creak open the door. Huge over-ear headphones block my view of his face and take away any noise, but I know what each note is supposed to sound like. It looks like a beautiful song. I should let him be, text him from the hallway or something.

But as I turn to go, he notices me. “How long have you been there?” Grayson asks, sliding his headphones around his neck and smiling at me.

“Not long. Just before the key change, I think.” I take a step back again. “You were in the middle of something. I can come back later.”

“No, stay. Please. I was at a stopping place anyway.”

The air between us crackles. “I’m sorry.” I take a breath. “That’s what I came to say. I owe you an apology. And a second one because I really should have apologized yesterday.”

“Adaya. You were halfway to hypothermia and making no sense. It’s fine. What do you even have to apologize for?”

I’ve kept a list of things I’ve screwed up for my whole life. It’s long, especially after the time I’ve spent in Bend. “For not telling you as soon as I knew my flight changed. For trying to hide how upset I was and making you think I was fine with it. For that weird text I sent yesterday.”

“About hiding what happened and your emotions? Fine. About hurting yourself? Please be sorry. But you don’t get to apologize for texting me. If you hadn’t — ”

I wrap my arms tighter around myself. My sweater snags on the raw skin of my hands and I wince. Neither of us can admit he might have literally saved my life.

“If you were so cold, how did you even manage to text me?”

“Honestly? I thought I was dreaming. Even delirious, I knew I wasn’t going to be okay. So… I improvised. And of course I thought of you first.” My cheeks heat. I don’t want to elaborate. “What song were you playing?”

“One I wrote.” A glance behind him, almost embarrassed, but I realize he’s looking toward a flyer hanging on the wall for the music summer camp. “I’ve been working on it for about a week. It wasn’t coming together, though. I tried everything, and then yesterday it clicked.”

“Do you have the score written down?” I stand up, make my way around a pile of well-worn books on the floor so I can be near him. If I could see it, I’d be able to hear what he played. I know I would.

“Not yet. But… I did record it into the keys. If you want to hear. It’s still a work in progress, but it’s something.”

This isn’t what I came up here to talk about, but it still feels right. I take the headphones. Grayson doesn’t get up from his chair, but slides over a little bit. There’s enough room for about three quarters of me, the rest of me pressed against and on top of his leg. It’s hard to concentrate so close to him, but our very closeness is a peace offering.

Once the headphones are over my ears, he presses a button off to the side of his keys. I close my eyes.

Snow begins to fall, flake by flake, magical across my ears. Then the introduction moves into a refrain I recognize. The melody he was playing on Grandma Nancy’s piano. Back to the snowflakes, and then a storm picks up, and so does every emotion I’m feeling with it. He sweeps me along, taking me through anger and worry and hope before resolving with an echo of the first few notes that hit my ears.

“I still have work to do with some of the countermelodies, and — ”

“You’re planning this song? Not improvising it?”

He grins, but it’s sheepish. “I am. Every note.”

“It’s brilliant. The snowstorm, the wandering, everything. You created a score for what happened to us yesterday.”

His fingers wind around the hem of his shirt, and he won’t meet my eye. “That’s where you’re wrong.” I don’t like being told I’m wrong, not about anything. Especially not about things I know are true. But he doesn’t contradict me. Not really. “What happened yesterday tied it together. But the refrain? That got stuck in my head the moment I saw you again.”

The melody plays through my mind and I realize I’ve heard bits of it before. Several times. “You were never just messing around at my grandma’s piano.”

He shakes his head. “I was trying to capture you. It wouldn’t be you if it wasn’t planned. And I thought maybe, if I could finish it, this could be the one for camp. But I’m scared to death. I’ve already been told my music is fine, but not good enough. What if I fail with this song, too?”

I lean into his side instead of being scared of it. Feel the weight of him beside me. “All I’ve done since I got here was fail at things that matter to me. At playing for Grandma’s funeral. Dad should’ve had you play. You were her student more recently and it’s obvious you’re better at this than I am. Then I failed my audition. I failed at being enough of a daughter for Dad. At being a part of my family in Bend. I failed you. I failed my brother’s music.” Once I start, I can’t stop. “Did you see what happened to the Yamaha? That was me, Grayson. I did that. I threw a bottle of wine at the piano. It shattered. Glass was everywhere. Who does that? Who breaks the only place in her family where she felt she belonged?”

Tears well at the corners of my eyes. They spill out, landing on the keys of his piano. Leaving wet splotches on his jeans. I hate crying in front of other people, but I let them fall until I can control my breathing enough to speak again.

“Then Liam asked me to sit at the piano I ruined. He asked me to play with him. And you came to get me. Over and over again, I would screw up and run away and you would come to get me.” I pause. It’s hard to admit this. “I haven’t done a single thing right since I got here — ”

“That isn’t true, Adaya.”

“ — and yet you’ve proven to me that I didn’t need to. Even if I don’t get the accompanist part, either. Even though the piano is gone. Even… even if Dad and I never talk again. So maybe you share your music with the camp and you don’t get in. But you try. You hit the wrong notes. You screw up. You get forgiven. You — ”

This time, Grayson doesn’t cut me off to contradict me. He reaches a hand to my cheek and pulls my lips to his. We’re getting better at this. I know where to place my hand along the back of his neck to deepen our kiss. We figure out how to stand together out of the chair we’d been sharing, still kissing. We figure out how to breathe.

By the time we’ve stood and kissed and walked to the bed and kissed and sat down beside each other and kissed, I feel like an expert. Not in kissing, but in kissing Grayson West.

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