The top line read EVELYN SHAW, DIRECTOR OF YOUTH PROGRAMS, HARTWELL CONSERVATORY OF MUSIC. Beneath it were an office number, email address, and the name of a nonprofit scholarship initiative Sarah had never heard of. For a second Sarah assumed it had to be some kind of scam. Her skepticism must have shown because Evelyn said, “You should verify me before calling.”
“Please do. The conservatory website lists my office.” She nodded toward Eli. “Your son has real training.”
“Not just facility. Someone has taught him phrasing, voicing, and restraint.” Eli sat straighter.
“Mrs. Alvarez.” Evelyn smiled. “Then Mrs. Alvarez knows what she’s doing.”
Sarah looked at the card again. “We can’t afford a conservatory.” “I didn’t ask whether you could afford it,” Evelyn said. “I said I may be able to help.”
That distinction would become important. Sarah did verify Evelyn Shaw before the train arrived. She searched the conservatory website on her cracked phone, found Evelyn’s photograph under faculty leadership, then clicked through three pages because motherhood had trained her to distrust anything that arrived too conveniently. Hartwell Conservatory was real.
So was the youth outreach program. The scholarship fund was specifically designed for students between eight and sixteen whose musical study had been interrupted or limited by financial circumstances. Sarah read the description twice before letting herself believe even the possibility of it. Eli pretended not to watch her face.
“Is she real?” he asked finally. “She’s real.” His expression did not become joyful. It became careful.