Eli sat on the bench to put his backpack back on. Sarah sat beside him. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to play?” He stared at the frayed zipper pull.
“Because you would’ve said no.” “I might have.” “You would have.” She sighed.
“Fine. I would have.” Eli glanced at the piano. “I just wanted to hear if my hands still knew.”
That sentence dismantled Sarah more effectively than tears could have. She looked away toward the departure board until the blur in her eyes cleared. “They know,” she said. Eli nodded.
He had known that after the first measure. The deeper fear had never been that he had forgotten where notes lived. It was that months without an instrument might slowly turn music into something that happened to other people. “Excuse me,” a woman said behind them.
Sarah turned, expecting another traveler. Instead she saw a woman in her sixties wearing a long charcoal coat over black trousers, silver hair cut neatly at her jaw, and a slim leather portfolio tucked beneath one arm. She had been standing near the coffee kiosk for most of Eli’s second piece, though neither Sarah nor Eli had noticed her. “My name is Evelyn Shaw,” she said.
“I’m sorry to interrupt.” Sarah’s protective instincts rose automatically. “Can I help you?” “I think I may be able to help him.”
Eli looked up. Evelyn smiled slightly. “Only if he wants it.” She handed Sarah a business card.