Sound Carries

29.

The last blurry days of January bled out into a dismal February. Every day felt weighted, ugly, marked by long rehearsals, late nights, sleep ripped from eager hands. I was starting to get used to the rigorous schedule that a lead role demanded, but found it odd that somehow, that had started to mean that I was spending most of my time with Gabriel. I'd known that last semester he and Audra had participated in extra rehearsals, but I hadn't understood how precious those hours were until they were taken up. Often those rehearsals blended into independent study sessions, which I knew Oliver wasn't thrilled about, but Gabriel was a patient tutor with French pronunciation, and besides, both of us were too tired to even talk about anything that had transpired between us, let alone leave room for anything illicit to take place. The pressure was starting to get to me, or maybe it was the lack of sleep, or both. I was irritable and grouchy, overloaded with extra work, and underneath it all the same urgency whispered that Hannah's death was more important than any of the rest of it.

I didn't realize how paranoia would play into it. If it had really been a murder, if I wasn't blowing things out of proportion, it could have been anyone. I found myself evaluating motives, alibis, trying to figure out why. That was the problem. It just didn't make sense. Hannah was lovely – who would want to kill her?

I'd told Oliver the truth. He really was the only one I trusted.

Even Cecily, who I'd talked to about the very issue was acting erratic and strange, and I couldn't help sometimes wondering if she had lied to me. Something felt off. She had information I didn't, I knew it, but I couldn't imagine what it would be. And so even though we'd had that conversation, neither of us brought it up – even if we wanted to, where would we have found the time? Life was pushing us all to our breaking points.

Even private lessons had taken on a new urgency. Dr. Davis pushed me hard, asked for more than I could give, was strict, firm, and persuasive. No matter what it was she asked, we both knew I'd try, and I think that was all that matter. But when she asked for something and I couldn't do it, I felt it deep inside me.

The winter gala was coming up. We knew it was important, and that I needed to do well, but it felt impossible to add another difficult piece into the mix. Maybe if I hadn't been balancing a full opera, Verdi's Merce dilette amiche wouldn't have felt like the end of the world, but as the situation stood, it was overwhelming in it's impossibility.

I couldn't support the final high note. I'd almost – almost – made it through the piece, and was preparing myself for the last note, fingers pressed lightly against the music on my stand, but when I opened my mouth, the sound came out strangled.

Dr. Davis stopped playing. "Leah. Are you alright?"

I was most decidedly not alright, but even I was surprised when I burst into tears.

"Let it out." She didn't try to comfort me or come put a hand on my shoulder or anything like that, for which I was grateful. She just stood there and let me feel it. "You'll feel better if you do."

I cried. I hadn't been able to at all in the two months since Hannah died, and it came out in a glorious rush, ugly and hiccuping.

She sighed heavily. "It's been a tough semester for all of us."

I swiped furiously at my eyes, suddenly aware that she was a teacher and I was crying in front of her, annoyed and a little humiliated that I'd let the emotions out in such a visible way. She was right, though. There was a catharsis of sorts to it, and I did feel better.

"Actually, it's been a tough year." There was something in the set of her jaw that suggested weariness. "First, the incident with the Kennedy girl, and now this. Makes Conolly seem a little..." She trailed off, seeming to be unable to find the right words to explain the problem of it.

My attention had been caught, though, by the first half of the sentence. "The Kennedy girl? Do you mean Mariah?"

She sighed. It was a harsh sound, rough and rasping. "I shouldn't be talking about that."

"I didn't know there was an incident."

Dr. Davis looked down at the piano, played a few haphazard notes from a Handel piece. Her fingers rested lightly on the keys. "She left halfway through the semester."

"Yes, I know that." I said, beginning to feel rather impatient with her. "I thought it was for health reasons."

She tilted her head as she considered this, then she nodded, though it wasn't the kind of nod that suggested she agreed. She looked at me and then cleared her throat, propelled by something she must have seen in my face. "Look, I can't tell you much, partly for confidentiality reasons, but mostly because we don't really know anything ourselves."

"But you know there was an incident."

She looked pointedly out the window. "It seems that way, yes."

"What sort of incident?"

"I really shouldn't be telling you anything." She tugged a hand through her hair, then messed with the sheet music on the piano. "I shouldn't have said anything at all."

"Was it with another student?"

"Miss Kennedy never said." Dr. Davis didn't meet my eyes. Then she sat down very abruptly, played a somber minor chord. "We'd better try that ending again if we're hoping to stay on task."

I stared at her. "But –"

She shook her head. "We've got to stay on track."

I couldn't tell whether her reluctance was really due to her sense of urgency or because she didn't want to talk about Mariah, but either way, something about it didn't sit right with me.

No matter how it bothered me, there wasn't time to push her for answers. That was just how it was that semester. I'd feel like I was right on the edge of learning something important, and then just as soon as I'd had the sensation, I'd be jarred into thinking about something else. There wasn't room to puzzle anything out under the weighted blanket that was the production.

When I told Oliver and Cecily about our conversation, Cecily turned very somber.

"Hannah said something about Mariah to me, once." She ran her thumb across her bottom lip. "After Mariah left."

Oliver frowned. "I thought you and Hannah hated each other."

Cecily's eyes flashed. "That's what she told you, did she?"

"What? No." Oliver's eyes widened as he raised his hands in surrender. "I just thought –"

"You don't know anything." Cecily hissed, then before I could even attempt damage control, she turned on her heel and stalked away.

Oliver watched her go, looking befuddled. "What's that about? What does she know that we don't? Were they secret friends?"

"I don't know." I said, watching her bright hair flash as she disappeared around a corner. "I think everyone has secrets."