Sound Carries

9.

I was wondering about Colin's secret. Rather, I was wondering about anything other than Oliver, which led me around in circles back to Colin.

Out of pure boredom, I had called the boy's room at Conolly just to see if he was there, but he hadn't answered, so I had to assume that he was either with Hannah and Cecily or sequestered somewhere in the depths of the library. It had occurred to me that maybe Colin was just drunk, and there was no secret, but something about the earnestness of his tone even while inebriated had convinced me that he was keeping something under wraps so huge that it had taken a drinking game to get it out of him.

It was my last day at home. For some reason this seemed to make my mother nervous. She was like a ghost in the house, moving from room to room soundlessly, moving porcelain figurines and wiping the surfaces, though they were already free of dust.

In the afternoon I made myself a cup of tea and sat on the deck, even though it was below freezing, hoping that the cold would numb everything, not just my body. I felt, after my conversation with Oliver, that something had fractured in me, irreparable. Would it be different when we went back? Would all of our conversations for the rest of the year be ghosts of last night?

At the dinner table that night, my father cleared his throat. "So." He sounded like he was preparing himself for a difficult conversation. "Leah. What are your plans after graduation?"

It was our last dinner before I returned to Conolly, and I wasn't sure why, but it felt imbued with formality. My mother had used the fine china, which I wanted to find amusing, but instead it filled me with overwhelming nostalgia.

I blinked at him. "Um." The truth was, my plans were vague. "I'm going to perform."

"We know that." My mother nodded. "We're just curious about the specifics."

I realized then that the two of them had talked about this, planned this conversation. The idea made me bristle. "If I get a good role in the winter production, I'm pretty much guaranteed a position with an opera company, or a performance league of some kind."

"Where?"

I shrugged. "I'm not quite certain."

Though nothing about the conversation was aggressive, there was a tension in the air, its origin untraceable.

I continued. "I'll go wherever I get called, I guess. Could be Paris."

My mother began to cry.

I stared at her, jaw slack. My mother did not cry.

My father put a hand on hers.

"We knew it was coming." She wiped hastily at her eyes. "I guess I just didn't realize that you wouldn't be moving back this year."

I smiled thinly. "You can have a sewing room."

For some reason, this did not cheer her up.

My father was staring me down. "What if you don't get an offer?"

I frowned. "I will. It's Conolly."

"But if you don't?"

Realization dawned, an ugly sunrise. "You don't think I have what it takes, do you? You think that because I got a small part for this production, I won't make it in the real world?"

"I'm just being practical." My father raised his hands in surrender. "I'm asking you to consider what would happen if you didn't get an offer. What would your job prospects be?"

I gaped at him, open mouthed. "I'll... stay at Conolly. I'll work part time jobs, whatever I can get."

"But you're not coming back."