"Your mother said you have hands," Alvarez said. "Show me. Don't show off. Show me."
Nia played the Bach from memory, standing the pedal work as well as she could on an instrument she had just met, the sticky C catching her once. She corrected it. She did not stop. When she finished, the storefront was quiet except for a guitar student in the front room missing a chord change and pretending he had not.
Alvarez nodded. "All right. Tuesdays after school and Saturday mornings. You sweep before you play if the floor needs it. You help the little ones carry chairs. If you break a string you tell me immediately and you do not try to be a hero with a string. Heroes make it worse. You will learn the pieces correctly, not approximately. Approximately is how people stay almost good for their whole lives."
"I don't have money for lessons."
"I didn't ask you for money. I asked you for sweeping and accuracy. If a grant comes through, we'll pretend this is a program and give it a name. Until then, it's a favor that you will repay by becoming undeniable. Do you know what undeniable means?"
"It means people can't pretend they didn't hear you."
Alvarez's mouth did a small, unwilling smile. "Your mother really did talk to you. Yes. That."
June came the first Saturday and stood with her arms folded exactly as she had stood in Denise's doorway, listening as if the music might ask her a direct question. Afterward she said to Alvarez, "If this costs her something she can't see, I need to know."
"It will cost her time and pride and some loneliness," Alvarez said. "Those are real costs. I won't lie. It will also give her a place to put her mother that isn't only a corner with no harp in it. I can't promise the world will clap. I can promise the work will be honest."