He made sure the concert hall door closed gently behind him, then walked out the front entrance and to a little garden he knew was nearby. The sky was about fifteen minutes from twilight, the west showing a tinge of pink as if someone had scrubbed rose chalk on the clouds.
The symphony was supposed to be a break, take their minds off of Lou for a while. But the piece--something by Faure--was making him fidget. He whispered to Aggie that he'd be outside near the fountain, and would she find him at intermission? He knew she'd say yes, but if her eyes had said "No, I need you here," then he'd have just gone to the restroom and returned. She seemed to understand, smiled and touched his forearm once, then turned back to listen.
The air was moist more than hot, around eighty degrees, not quite a typical June day where the temperature normally got above ninety. He walked to the right side of the building, onto the lawn, then a path covered in loose shale. The garden wasn't large, and had a fountain in the center with some cherub, probably Cupid, spouting water into the air. He sat on one of the stone benches around the fountain and stared into the water. There were no goldfish or koi, but there were pennies, dimes and nickles. He wondered if they used the money on the concert hall, or gave it to charity, or just bought a bottle of champagne occasionally, not caring how people meant the money to be used.
Something caught his attention, out of the corner of his eye. He turned and saw a mashed up Coke can just under a bush. Suddenly aggravated, he strode to the bush, picked up the trash and then tried to remember where the nearest garbage can was.
"I was just about to get that, myself. Thank you! I don't know why anyone would want to litter here, with a trash can right in front of the building."
He snapped his head around. He hadn't heard anyone approach, but then again he wasn't noticing things very well lately. A brunette woman stood ten feet away, smiling at him. She wore a pale, red dress and pearls, and was a little heavy. She was holdling an ivory colored purse that was larger than the clutch style most women took to a concert.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to surpise you. I came out here to wait for the second half. I just got here and they won't let you go in until intermission, unless you've already been inside. That's too bad, because I love the little pieces in the first half, especially the Dvorak. But the Stravinksy is going to be wonderful, since they're doing the original 1910 version of the Firebird. Most performances are of the 1919 version."
"Oh," he said, and smiled politely.
"I'm sorry. I'm disturbing you, aren't I? I can leave. I'll even take that ugly can with me."
"No, no. I apologize. There's no reason to leave. I'm just waiting for my wife."
"You mean she's inside, and you're out here? Are you not a concert goer?"
He didn't really want to talk to anyone...and yet, this was better than waiting for his phone to ring with news from the hospital.
"I like concerts just fine, but I just needed a break. What did he change in the other version?"
"Stravinksy? Oh, not much. He changed it again in 1945, but that was so he could keep his copyright. Smart guy. I always think of him as the musical Picasso. What were they playing when you left?"
"Faure something."
Her eyes lit up. "The Pavane! I absolutely love that piece. So lyrical, not quite sad, not quite happy, you couldn't really dance to it, but would like to try. I just love the way the melody gets passed from the flute to the violin to the orchestra and back. Oh. There I go again. And you left because you didn't like it. I'm sorry, I'm kind of a talker."
He smiled. "That's okay. I'm sure it's a nice piece. Too quiet for me. Is the Firebird quiet?"
"In some places, but it's hugely loud in other places. Do you know much about reading music? Do you know about beating in four or three?"
"A little. My wife insisted I and the kids learn to waltz."
"I like her already. My name's Vicki." She held out her hand, which he shook. "Martin," he said, "Do you want to sit down?" He gestured to the bench.
"Oh, thanks. This fountain is one of my favorite places in the whole city."
Martin was still holding the can, and set it beside him so he'd remember it. Vicki took out a quarter, mumbled something and threw it into the fountain with a splash.
"There. That should help pay for a french horn."
"Is that what they do with the money?"
"Hmm? Yes, there's a fund for buying instruments for the poorer schools. It's not much, but every bit helps since music programs get so little funding."
"That's better than champagne," said Martin. Vickie looked at him, puzzled. He shrugged. "I thought maybe they just had a party with the money."
"Oh. No. I'm on the board, and if that started happening I'd have something to say about it."
I bet you would, thought Martin, then he said, "So, what about four and three?"
"Oh!" Vicki laughed, "What a good memory! Well, toward the end of the Firebird there's this great section that's all in seven. I mean, you have seven beats per measure, like this..." and she sang "one two three four five six seven one two three four five six seven" to what he assumed was the music he'd be hearing in about twenty minutes. "Isn't that wonderful?"
"I'll listen for it, but to be honest I probably won't know it even happened."
"Ah," she said with a wise smile, "but that's just the beauty of it. You won't notice. It sounds exactly the way it's supposed to. It sounds easy."
He nodded and looked at the rippling water in the fountain. Vicki was quiet...something Martin had begun wondering if it were possible. He noticed the traffic sounds nearby, and again marveled that the concert hall shut out the world so well. Aggie had once tried to explain the design and some of the accoustic theory. He finally said that he was just glad it worked. She teased him for months about knowing more chemistry than anyone within three states, but having no room in his brain for anything else. He always corrected her, saying "There's room for my family." That earned him a kiss each time.
"You keep playing with your phone," said Vicki. "But you don't strike me as the nervous type. If you need to call someone, I can leave."
Martin realized he'd been turning the phone over and over, putting it in his suit jacket pocket and taking it out again. It was set to vibrate, and sometimes he wouldn't notice it if his jacket wasn't against him.
"I'm waiting for a call."
"Oh. Well, if I'm in the way, just tell me. I don't get offended easily. I always say I should either be a politician or an umpire."
Martin muttered, "Or a doctor."
"Hmm?"
"Oh, nothing. I said 'or a doctor'. That's who I'm waiting for. I was just remembering that I was kind of hard on him today, and he just took it. Like water off a duck's back."
"What's wrong, if you don't mind my asking?"
He didn't mind. He just didn't want to talk about it. But there was no reason not to say what was going on.
"My son was in a swimming accident. He slipped and hit his head, and now he's in a coma. It's been four days. The doctor--the one I mentioned--said we should get away for a few hours, that they'd call the minute there was any change. I told him...well, I used what my wife likes to call 'rainbow phraseology'."
"Colorful language," said Vicki.
"Right. Not many people get that. Anyway, cooler heads prevailed and I know he was right. So, here I am. Getting away."
"I'm sorry. I hope your son gets better soon. Have they said--anything? Do they know what to expect? I...this is terrible, I'm getting tongue tied. Here you are worried about your boy and I'm thinking about my daughter and how I'd feel in your place. I suppose I'd go to a concert, too, if I had to go anywhere."
He nodded, then remembered she'd asked him a question. "They say he's in no danger from a clot or hemorrhaging. This happens a lot more than I thought. He could come out of it any time...or never. The longer it takes, the more likely there's brain damage. I can't believe how well Aggie's held up. We've called our little girl every day. Thank God there's a friend we trust to take care of her."
"How old are your daughter and son? Just those two?"
He nodded. "She's five. He's nine."
"My Amelia is twelve."
"My kids' names are Rita and Lou."
They were silent again for a few minutes. The western sky was turning that muddy gray that's only beautiful in sunsets.
"I told him not to run," said Martin.
Vickie nodded, saying nothing.
"You worry something like that will happen, but you don't think you'll see it just a dozen feet away. It was...instant. He was running. I looked up and noticed and was about to yell at him again, and then his whole body just crumpled into the pool and I saw his head hit...I heard it...."
He began taking deep breaths. He wasn't going to do this in front of a stranger. He needed Aggie. Just five more minutes.
"Lou," mused Vicki, as if she hadn't noticed. "I don't hear that name often. It reminds me of Lou Gehrig. I've always like that name."
"Thanks," said Martin tightly. "He was named after my father. Louis. Aggie changed her mind at the last minute. She was going to name him Arthur."
"Like the king?"
Martin laughed--finally--and wiped from his eyes the beginning of what waited for his wife. "No, not the king. The Dudley Moore character."
"You're kidding."
"No. My hand on a stack of Bibles. She loved that movie. I tried to talk her out of it, but she was the one with a baby growing inside her, morning sickness, and all the rest of it. You don't argue with that, you know? She stuck with her guns, though, the second time."
"Let me guess. Rita Hayworth?"
"That's right."
"Aggie's star rises in my horizon. I like her. You're very lucky."
"Yeah. You're right, I am. But I don't feel so lucky, right now."
"No, I wouldn't either."
He glanced at her. "You just reminded me of something. About a week ago, Lou asked me, while we were out on the deck, how many stars I could see in the sky. It was overcast, so I said none, they were hidden by the clouds. Then he looks at me as somber and serious as a baby Buddha and says, 'Well, how many stars can a cloud see?'"
Vickie chuckled. "What did you say to that one?"
"I said I'd have to do some research and get back to him in a couple of days. Then he had the accident and...well, I'm just waiting for him to wake up...so I can tell him the answer."
Vickie nodded and said quietly, "I bet he's anxious to find out."
Martin smiled at her. "Yeah. Thanks. We're anxious, too."
Her eyes focues beyond him. "Well, speaking of, this must be Aggie."
Martin felt his wife's hands on his shoulders. Again, he hadn't heard anything. He turned his head and saw the question in her eyes. He shook his head. She kissed him on the top of his head, then reached her hand out to Vicki. "Thanks for keeping my husband company." Aggie shook her hand and said, "I'm sorry to hear about your son. I hope he recovers right away. I think your husband has been waiting for you, anyway, so I'll just leave you two alone."
This made things right with Aggie, who, though never jealous, was as protective as the next woman.
"No," she and Martin said simultaneously. They laughed, then Martin said, "You stay, Vickie. I need to go inside, anyway. It looked like they had some good chocolate treats."
"I can vouch for them," said Vicki. "I hope you both enjoy the Firebird."
"Yeah. Thanks for the music lesson."
Martin stood and walked away with Aggie, arm in arm. Vickie could see that she was supporting him this time, but that he'd be doing the same for her later. The circles under her eyes showed she hadn't slept well.
The sun had almost set. A half dozen white points of light--the first stars--shown through the hazy clouds. Vickie pulled another quarter from her purse, whispered a new request, and tossed it into the fountain. She then picked up the can that Martin had forgotten and left the garden.