Vocalise - Chapter 2
Title: Vocalise
Rating: PG13
Warning: Established character death. T__T
Pairing: Andy/Miranda
Length: 3000 words (this chapter)
Prompt: based on a prompt by amles80
Summary: A/U - Miranda is a choral director and Andy is a journalist who enjoys singing. Miranda has a painful past and Andy has to learn to believe in herself. Miranda is 47, Andy is 26 in this story.
Disclaimer: I don’t own The Devil Wears Prada.
Chapter: 1
A/N: This chapter is a bit shorter but I will be gone for a few days and did not want to leave you guys hanging. Writing the last part made me cry. It's really sad and I feel so bad for leaving a chapter with that emotion, but just keep in mind that, although the path may be long and hard, in the end I love my happy fluff. So I promise. It will come! ^_^;
Chapter 2
On Sunday Andy arrived in the auditorium at two forty-five. Nigel was just setting up by the piano and turned around to greet her with a smile.
“Well, hello there. You’re here early.”
She smiled back and gave a short wave. “Hi Nigel! I’m not that early. I’m actually surprised that nobody else is here yet.” She dropped her jacket and bag on a chair, took out the sheet music and proceeded to walk up on stage and take position next to the pianist.
“Did you have a nice weekend so far?” she asked the bald man while spreading out the papers on the shiny, black surface of the instrument.
Nigel raised his eyebrows. “Well, if you consider spending Saturday evening alone, watching Project Catwalk reruns in my pyjamas ”nice” then yes, Honey. Plenty!”
She snorted at him. “I hear ya. I was so bored that I reorganized my entire closet.” Nigel gave her a look which said he didn’t normally leave that kind of stuff to moments of desperate boredom, so Andy smiled and patted his shoulder.
“Anyway. I guess Friday counts as a night out, but, you know, it doesn’t really fill that spot,” she looked down at her hands.
“It should have been nice, because I was with my friends, but I still felt like I was missing something, and returning to an empty home afterward is not really the best end to a night.”
The pianist sighed and nodded.
Andy looked around the empty auditorium. “You know, I was actually looking forward to rehearsal today. It gives Sunday a purpose.” She smiled at the pianist whose eyes twinkled back at her.
“Come on, let’s do some warming up,” he grinned and began playing.
Nigel’s voice was a pleasant and warm baritone and he closed his eyes as he sang.
“Why do I feel... discouraged... and why do the shadows come... ”
“Why does my heart feel lonely,” at this he raised his lids and gazed at Andy with a sad light shining in his eyes.
”And long for heaven and home.”
He gently shook his head as his fingers travelled soulfully across the keys. The sound of the piano rose to the ceiling and cascaded back down all around them as he indicated for Andy to sing the next part.
“When Jesus is my portion... My constant friend is he...” she closed her eyes to truly feel the music, whether she believed in a god or not. “His eye... is on... the sparrow, and I know... he watches me.”
“I sing,” At this point Nigel chimed back in and they continued in harmony, “because.... I’m happy. And I sing... because I’m free...” Andy felt the melancholy take hold of her, and she wondered if maybe she should start believing in a god, to fill part of the emptiness inside of her.
“For his eye... is on... the sparrow, and I know... he watches me.”
Nigel smiled at her as he played the short interlude and Andy took a deep breath to sing the refrain one more time.
“I sing, because I’m happy... and I sing... because I’m free,” she carefully played around with the high note, letting it roll up and down a full step. “For his eye... is on... the sparrow,” she glanced back at Nigel, the words of the song binding them through their common loneliness. “And I know, he watches... me...”
The muffled sound of heels on carpeted floor broke them out of the song and Andy stared in horror as Miranda approached the stage with an unreadable expression on her perfect face.
“Hi, Miranda,” Andy squeaked out, too embarrassed for having been caught singing solo by a stranger.
The conductor nodded her head while she shrugged out of her indigo, suede coat, placed it over the back of a chair, and then leisurely strode up to join them.
The brunette found herself speechless as she studied the tight, black skirt the older woman was wearing. It reached just above her knees and was complimented by a tight, off-white shirt which was bound at the waist with a silk band, and sporting a V-neck that exposed a generous amount of skin without being vulgar.
Pure class, Andy thought and tried to pry her gaze away from the conductor’s chest and up to the raised eyebrow and annoyed look on the older woman’s features.
“Your singing was unsatisfactory,” Miranda stated bluntly and it hit Andy in the gut, which had already been in turmoil. Defeated, she hung her head and exhaled sharply.
“I know. I’m not very good,” she mumbled as she collected the sheet music from the top of the grand piano. The conductor’s even voice made her stop.
“Nigel go back to the refrain.” She briefly lifted her chin at Andy.
“And you... what was your name again?”
The brunette looked at Nigel for help, but the pianist only raised his brows and rolled his eyes to indicate that she was on her own.
“Um, Andy... Andy Sachs.”
The older woman looked her up and down and her expression was that of disbelief and slight mockery.
“Well, um... it’s Andrea, actually, but everyone calls me Andy,” she stammered.
Why was she so nervous? Being shy around strangers was a trait she thought she had shaken off somewhere during her senior year in college. You could not call yourself a journalist and choke up during interviews with somebody famous. However, for an inexplicable reason this woman’s intense gaze turned her into a babbling idiot. Maybe it was the authority that radiated off her. Andy realized that despite the condescending way Miranda seemed to talk to everyone, one still felt the need to acquire her approval.
Yes, that’s it, Andy thought. Their new conductor just oozed professionalism, something Andy had missed in the past years with the choir. Judith had been a sweet, friendly director, but in all honesty, Andy had learned absolutely nothing from her.
“Andrea,” Miranda said evenly, putting emphasis on the second syllable instead of the first. “Sing again.”
Dazed by the exotic way her name had rolled off the older woman’s lips Andy nearly missed that Nigel had begun playing. She quickly scraped together the last functioning bits of her brain and squared her shoulders.
”And I sing... because I’m happy...” she knew it came out all wrong, too timid and without volume, and she closed her eyes and mentally steeled herself for another verbal onslaught by the white-haired conductor. Her heart skipped a beat when she felt two hands gently pressing down on her shoulders.
“Relax.” Miranda spoke from behind her. “Your posture is all wrong. You’re too tense.” A pair of thumbs dug into Andy’s upper back just above her shoulder blades and the journalist felt that relaxing was the last thing she would be able to achieve at that very moment.
”And I sing... because I’m free...”
The conductor loosely pulled Andy’s shoulders back. “Stand straight. Chest out, chin low.”
”His eye... is on the spar...”
An invisible brick wall hit her across the length of her entire body when she felt the hands sliding down and two palms joining each other flat on her belly.
“Sing from your abdomen, not your chest.”
The brunette could no longer find her voice and Nigel had to continue playing the same part over and over again in a loop while the warm palms pressed against Andy more firmly.
“Push against my hands.”
The subtle perfume she had noticed the previous Friday, seemed to reach for her with seductive little tendrils and she felt the heat from her middle sink lower. Oh my god, you gotta be kidding me, she chided herself.
“Andrea? Begin again.”
The low almost-whisper travelled the short distance to the back of her neck and sent a shiver down her spine. She felt so vulnerable and exposed that her inner defensive mechanisms kicked in with a rush of adrenaline and she took a deep breath and tensed her stomach muscles against the warm pressure.
”I sing... because I’m happy...” The words left her with conviction and she was surprised at how powerful she all of a sudden sounded.
”And I sing... because, I’m free...” She felt how she now utilized more than just her lungs and she finally understood how the sound was built up inside her entire body and not just her chest and throat.
“Yes, that’s it,” Miranda whispered and withdrew her hands to step away.
Andy immediately covered the empty, tingly spot on her stomach with her own hand.
”His eye.... is on... the sparrow,” she took a chance at singing the last word with a high note instead of going down low, and the clear tone she produced even forced Nigel to look up at her with a pleasantly surprised expression.
”And I know... he watches,” she glanced sideways at the conductor who had the hint of a sparkle in her dark blue irises.
”Me...” She ended the last note with an even decrescendo as she looked out over the auditorium, picturing the path the sound waves of her voice were taking.
Nigel removed his fingers from the keys to ball them against his hips in astonished appreciation and Andy beamed back at him.
“Well, well, Little Sparrow! That was... new,” the pianist said with a smirk.
The brunette tried to get her own huge grin under control and looked at the conductor for signs of approval. However, there were none.
Miranda merely narrowed her eyes at her watch and said, in a calm and even tone, “Where is everybody? Is it too much to ask for people to be punctual?”
Andy apologetically furrowed her brows but before she could incite the conductor’s wrath by delivering excuses for her absent friends, hurried footsteps were heard from the hallway and the door swung open. Seven choir members swarmed in, including a red-faced Emily and Douglas. They quickly shed their coats and bags and hurried on stage.
“I thought you had to work, Dougie,” Andy whispered, the relief at seeing her friend betraying her stern voice.
He gave a sheepish grin and shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t want to seem too eager in front of Nate and Lily. I did have to work this morning, but I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” he whispered while nodding at the white-haired conductor.
Andy smiled at him, determined that she would not share what he had actually just missed. She wasn’t even sure herself about what had happened. Still feeling the faint buzz of Miranda’s warm hands on her abdomen, a mix of giddiness and confusion raced through her. She watched as the older woman crossed her arms and took position in front of the few choir members.
“Well how nice of you to finally grace us with your presence,” the conductor said, the voice leaving nasty gashes on everybody’s self-esteem . Andy wondered if Miranda really meant to be so harsh, or whether she just had the habit of directing anger from the actual target, to those who actually did something right. In this case someone else would have been pleased with the few people who had actually shown up, and only displeased with those, who had not. A quick look at her watch told her it was only one minute past three.
“One of the conditions, which Mr. Ravitz placed on this choir’s continued existence, involved giving concerts,” the white-haired woman spoke while striding slowly back and forth in front of the singers.
“You will perform at a Christmas event on December 24th. This means we will have to build a sufficient set-list in just one month.”
Excited gasps travelled through the group and Andy felt very nervous at the thought. It would be her first ever concert and now she’d have to sing much higher and more complicated sections. Trying to get something decent together in only one month, of course, also meant that she’d spend a lot more time at rehearsal and in the presence of Miranda. Hmmm, suddenly it didn’t sound so bad anymore.
------
A cold breeze stole inside and rattled the collection of wind chimes above the entrance as Miranda stepped into the store. She closed the door with a slight shiver, welcoming the relative warmth away from the dreary evening.
“Hello, Ms. Priestly.”
The corners of her mouth twitched briefly in her own version of friendly acknowledgement and she walked up to the clerk.
“The usual?” the kind, old man behind the counter asked.
“Yes please.”
The man nodded and walked to the back of the shop. Miranda took a deep breath, inhaling the distinctive variations of flower fragrances that enveloped her. She closed her eyes and let the scent calm her, easing away the tension of her day.
Working again had turned out a lot more complicated than she had imagined. Somehow she found herself with the impossible task of making an inexperienced and mediocre casual choir sound good enough to perform in a church on Christmas Eve. The old ‘her’ would have embraced the chance to mold and guide a group of singers, and bring them to new heights. She had loved teaching when it came to music. It had always tremendously excited her to discover hidden talent and see the smouldering fires of passion another person’s eyes when they finally discovered their true love for the art.
That young woman, Andrea, had tickled some of those old feelings in Miranda today. Her large, insecure eyes had completely changed once the brunette had found her real sound. The brown orbs had flooded with sudden understanding and she had sounded raw but beautiful.
Miranda had startled herself with touching Andrea. It was something she had done all the time in the past, after all it was a normal method of teaching proper breathing and posture. However, she hadn’t placed her hands on anyone outside her family in the past five years and somehow her impulse to reach out and help the young woman discover herself this afternoon, had won from her carefully constructed defenses.
“There ya go,” the clerk had returned and placed the bouquet in front of her.
She handed him a twenty dollar bill and picked up the flowers. Pink lilies. Like every week. “Thank you.”
“Oh, and, Ms. Priestly, remember that next Sunday we won’t be open. I’ll be up state with my children for the Thanksgiving weekend.”
She nodded, too stricken to offer another smile and turned around to leave. The cold air slammed into her body as she left the small cemetery flower shop and walked down the main gravel path between the rows of headstones. She would have loved to spend the coming holiday with her two children, but that was no longer possible. Her chest tightened and she took faster steps, determined not to give into her ever lurking depression.
She approached the familiar spot under the balding weeping willow and sucked in the icy November air through her nostrils to try and prepare herself. Careful not to kneel in the moist grass she leaned down and removed the previous week’s bouquet. She placed the fresh flowers and then tenderly trailed her fingers along the engraved letters on the marble stone.
“Here lies Cassidy Priestly. 1992-2002. Beloved daughter, grand-daughter and sister. You will forever be in our hearts.”
“Hello Bobbsey,” she whispered gently, “sorry, that Mommy’s a bit late today.”
She rocked back and carefully balanced on her heels, placing both hands in her lap and studying her fingers.
“Your sister’s operation went well. Your grandparents are confident that this time it will...” she swallowed hard, “... will have the desired effect.”
She sat in silence for a while and watched the little flames of the graveyard candles dance behind their red covers.
“I will visit them this Thursday. It’s Thanksgiving already again,” she continued after a while, the coldness of the earth below grabbing at her ankles and seeping up her skirt. Wrapping her arms tightly around her midriff she unsuccessfully tried to suppress the shudder from claiming her body. There had been days where she had gladly wished to let go, where she had wanted to just be taken by the freezing harshness beckoning for her. She had come very close to give up on life once, but thankfully that thought seemed alien to her now.
She knew her punishment was to keep on living, with the pain and guilt she carried as her burden. She had lost one daughter in this world, and the other was physically marked for the rest of her life. A constant, brutal reminder of Miranda’s failure to protect her children.
She aimed her glistening eyes at the darkened sky, seeking out the first stars and revelling in the stinging sensation of the night air softly blowing against her wet cheeks.
------
To be continued...
Rating: PG13
Warning: Established character death. T__T
Pairing: Andy/Miranda
Length: 3000 words (this chapter)
Prompt: based on a prompt by amles80
Summary: A/U - Miranda is a choral director and Andy is a journalist who enjoys singing. Miranda has a painful past and Andy has to learn to believe in herself. Miranda is 47, Andy is 26 in this story.
Disclaimer: I don’t own The Devil Wears Prada.
Chapter: 1
A/N: This chapter is a bit shorter but I will be gone for a few days and did not want to leave you guys hanging. Writing the last part made me cry. It's really sad and I feel so bad for leaving a chapter with that emotion, but just keep in mind that, although the path may be long and hard, in the end I love my happy fluff. So I promise. It will come! ^_^;
Chapter 2
On Sunday Andy arrived in the auditorium at two forty-five. Nigel was just setting up by the piano and turned around to greet her with a smile.
“Well, hello there. You’re here early.”
She smiled back and gave a short wave. “Hi Nigel! I’m not that early. I’m actually surprised that nobody else is here yet.” She dropped her jacket and bag on a chair, took out the sheet music and proceeded to walk up on stage and take position next to the pianist.
“Did you have a nice weekend so far?” she asked the bald man while spreading out the papers on the shiny, black surface of the instrument.
Nigel raised his eyebrows. “Well, if you consider spending Saturday evening alone, watching Project Catwalk reruns in my pyjamas ”nice” then yes, Honey. Plenty!”
She snorted at him. “I hear ya. I was so bored that I reorganized my entire closet.” Nigel gave her a look which said he didn’t normally leave that kind of stuff to moments of desperate boredom, so Andy smiled and patted his shoulder.
“Anyway. I guess Friday counts as a night out, but, you know, it doesn’t really fill that spot,” she looked down at her hands.
“It should have been nice, because I was with my friends, but I still felt like I was missing something, and returning to an empty home afterward is not really the best end to a night.”
The pianist sighed and nodded.
Andy looked around the empty auditorium. “You know, I was actually looking forward to rehearsal today. It gives Sunday a purpose.” She smiled at the pianist whose eyes twinkled back at her.
“Come on, let’s do some warming up,” he grinned and began playing.
Nigel’s voice was a pleasant and warm baritone and he closed his eyes as he sang.
“Why do I feel... discouraged... and why do the shadows come... ”
“Why does my heart feel lonely,” at this he raised his lids and gazed at Andy with a sad light shining in his eyes.
”And long for heaven and home.”
He gently shook his head as his fingers travelled soulfully across the keys. The sound of the piano rose to the ceiling and cascaded back down all around them as he indicated for Andy to sing the next part.
“When Jesus is my portion... My constant friend is he...” she closed her eyes to truly feel the music, whether she believed in a god or not. “His eye... is on... the sparrow, and I know... he watches me.”
“I sing,” At this point Nigel chimed back in and they continued in harmony, “because.... I’m happy. And I sing... because I’m free...” Andy felt the melancholy take hold of her, and she wondered if maybe she should start believing in a god, to fill part of the emptiness inside of her.
“For his eye... is on... the sparrow, and I know... he watches me.”
Nigel smiled at her as he played the short interlude and Andy took a deep breath to sing the refrain one more time.
“I sing, because I’m happy... and I sing... because I’m free,” she carefully played around with the high note, letting it roll up and down a full step. “For his eye... is on... the sparrow,” she glanced back at Nigel, the words of the song binding them through their common loneliness. “And I know, he watches... me...”
The muffled sound of heels on carpeted floor broke them out of the song and Andy stared in horror as Miranda approached the stage with an unreadable expression on her perfect face.
“Hi, Miranda,” Andy squeaked out, too embarrassed for having been caught singing solo by a stranger.
The conductor nodded her head while she shrugged out of her indigo, suede coat, placed it over the back of a chair, and then leisurely strode up to join them.
The brunette found herself speechless as she studied the tight, black skirt the older woman was wearing. It reached just above her knees and was complimented by a tight, off-white shirt which was bound at the waist with a silk band, and sporting a V-neck that exposed a generous amount of skin without being vulgar.
Pure class, Andy thought and tried to pry her gaze away from the conductor’s chest and up to the raised eyebrow and annoyed look on the older woman’s features.
“Your singing was unsatisfactory,” Miranda stated bluntly and it hit Andy in the gut, which had already been in turmoil. Defeated, she hung her head and exhaled sharply.
“I know. I’m not very good,” she mumbled as she collected the sheet music from the top of the grand piano. The conductor’s even voice made her stop.
“Nigel go back to the refrain.” She briefly lifted her chin at Andy.
“And you... what was your name again?”
The brunette looked at Nigel for help, but the pianist only raised his brows and rolled his eyes to indicate that she was on her own.
“Um, Andy... Andy Sachs.”
The older woman looked her up and down and her expression was that of disbelief and slight mockery.
“Well, um... it’s Andrea, actually, but everyone calls me Andy,” she stammered.
Why was she so nervous? Being shy around strangers was a trait she thought she had shaken off somewhere during her senior year in college. You could not call yourself a journalist and choke up during interviews with somebody famous. However, for an inexplicable reason this woman’s intense gaze turned her into a babbling idiot. Maybe it was the authority that radiated off her. Andy realized that despite the condescending way Miranda seemed to talk to everyone, one still felt the need to acquire her approval.
Yes, that’s it, Andy thought. Their new conductor just oozed professionalism, something Andy had missed in the past years with the choir. Judith had been a sweet, friendly director, but in all honesty, Andy had learned absolutely nothing from her.
“Andrea,” Miranda said evenly, putting emphasis on the second syllable instead of the first. “Sing again.”
Dazed by the exotic way her name had rolled off the older woman’s lips Andy nearly missed that Nigel had begun playing. She quickly scraped together the last functioning bits of her brain and squared her shoulders.
”And I sing... because I’m happy...” she knew it came out all wrong, too timid and without volume, and she closed her eyes and mentally steeled herself for another verbal onslaught by the white-haired conductor. Her heart skipped a beat when she felt two hands gently pressing down on her shoulders.
“Relax.” Miranda spoke from behind her. “Your posture is all wrong. You’re too tense.” A pair of thumbs dug into Andy’s upper back just above her shoulder blades and the journalist felt that relaxing was the last thing she would be able to achieve at that very moment.
”And I sing... because I’m free...”
The conductor loosely pulled Andy’s shoulders back. “Stand straight. Chest out, chin low.”
”His eye... is on the spar...”
An invisible brick wall hit her across the length of her entire body when she felt the hands sliding down and two palms joining each other flat on her belly.
“Sing from your abdomen, not your chest.”
The brunette could no longer find her voice and Nigel had to continue playing the same part over and over again in a loop while the warm palms pressed against Andy more firmly.
“Push against my hands.”
The subtle perfume she had noticed the previous Friday, seemed to reach for her with seductive little tendrils and she felt the heat from her middle sink lower. Oh my god, you gotta be kidding me, she chided herself.
“Andrea? Begin again.”
The low almost-whisper travelled the short distance to the back of her neck and sent a shiver down her spine. She felt so vulnerable and exposed that her inner defensive mechanisms kicked in with a rush of adrenaline and she took a deep breath and tensed her stomach muscles against the warm pressure.
”I sing... because I’m happy...” The words left her with conviction and she was surprised at how powerful she all of a sudden sounded.
”And I sing... because, I’m free...” She felt how she now utilized more than just her lungs and she finally understood how the sound was built up inside her entire body and not just her chest and throat.
“Yes, that’s it,” Miranda whispered and withdrew her hands to step away.
Andy immediately covered the empty, tingly spot on her stomach with her own hand.
”His eye.... is on... the sparrow,” she took a chance at singing the last word with a high note instead of going down low, and the clear tone she produced even forced Nigel to look up at her with a pleasantly surprised expression.
”And I know... he watches,” she glanced sideways at the conductor who had the hint of a sparkle in her dark blue irises.
”Me...” She ended the last note with an even decrescendo as she looked out over the auditorium, picturing the path the sound waves of her voice were taking.
Nigel removed his fingers from the keys to ball them against his hips in astonished appreciation and Andy beamed back at him.
“Well, well, Little Sparrow! That was... new,” the pianist said with a smirk.
The brunette tried to get her own huge grin under control and looked at the conductor for signs of approval. However, there were none.
Miranda merely narrowed her eyes at her watch and said, in a calm and even tone, “Where is everybody? Is it too much to ask for people to be punctual?”
Andy apologetically furrowed her brows but before she could incite the conductor’s wrath by delivering excuses for her absent friends, hurried footsteps were heard from the hallway and the door swung open. Seven choir members swarmed in, including a red-faced Emily and Douglas. They quickly shed their coats and bags and hurried on stage.
“I thought you had to work, Dougie,” Andy whispered, the relief at seeing her friend betraying her stern voice.
He gave a sheepish grin and shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t want to seem too eager in front of Nate and Lily. I did have to work this morning, but I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” he whispered while nodding at the white-haired conductor.
Andy smiled at him, determined that she would not share what he had actually just missed. She wasn’t even sure herself about what had happened. Still feeling the faint buzz of Miranda’s warm hands on her abdomen, a mix of giddiness and confusion raced through her. She watched as the older woman crossed her arms and took position in front of the few choir members.
“Well how nice of you to finally grace us with your presence,” the conductor said, the voice leaving nasty gashes on everybody’s self-esteem . Andy wondered if Miranda really meant to be so harsh, or whether she just had the habit of directing anger from the actual target, to those who actually did something right. In this case someone else would have been pleased with the few people who had actually shown up, and only displeased with those, who had not. A quick look at her watch told her it was only one minute past three.
“One of the conditions, which Mr. Ravitz placed on this choir’s continued existence, involved giving concerts,” the white-haired woman spoke while striding slowly back and forth in front of the singers.
“You will perform at a Christmas event on December 24th. This means we will have to build a sufficient set-list in just one month.”
Excited gasps travelled through the group and Andy felt very nervous at the thought. It would be her first ever concert and now she’d have to sing much higher and more complicated sections. Trying to get something decent together in only one month, of course, also meant that she’d spend a lot more time at rehearsal and in the presence of Miranda. Hmmm, suddenly it didn’t sound so bad anymore.
------
A cold breeze stole inside and rattled the collection of wind chimes above the entrance as Miranda stepped into the store. She closed the door with a slight shiver, welcoming the relative warmth away from the dreary evening.
“Hello, Ms. Priestly.”
The corners of her mouth twitched briefly in her own version of friendly acknowledgement and she walked up to the clerk.
“The usual?” the kind, old man behind the counter asked.
“Yes please.”
The man nodded and walked to the back of the shop. Miranda took a deep breath, inhaling the distinctive variations of flower fragrances that enveloped her. She closed her eyes and let the scent calm her, easing away the tension of her day.
Working again had turned out a lot more complicated than she had imagined. Somehow she found herself with the impossible task of making an inexperienced and mediocre casual choir sound good enough to perform in a church on Christmas Eve. The old ‘her’ would have embraced the chance to mold and guide a group of singers, and bring them to new heights. She had loved teaching when it came to music. It had always tremendously excited her to discover hidden talent and see the smouldering fires of passion another person’s eyes when they finally discovered their true love for the art.
That young woman, Andrea, had tickled some of those old feelings in Miranda today. Her large, insecure eyes had completely changed once the brunette had found her real sound. The brown orbs had flooded with sudden understanding and she had sounded raw but beautiful.
Miranda had startled herself with touching Andrea. It was something she had done all the time in the past, after all it was a normal method of teaching proper breathing and posture. However, she hadn’t placed her hands on anyone outside her family in the past five years and somehow her impulse to reach out and help the young woman discover herself this afternoon, had won from her carefully constructed defenses.
“There ya go,” the clerk had returned and placed the bouquet in front of her.
She handed him a twenty dollar bill and picked up the flowers. Pink lilies. Like every week. “Thank you.”
“Oh, and, Ms. Priestly, remember that next Sunday we won’t be open. I’ll be up state with my children for the Thanksgiving weekend.”
She nodded, too stricken to offer another smile and turned around to leave. The cold air slammed into her body as she left the small cemetery flower shop and walked down the main gravel path between the rows of headstones. She would have loved to spend the coming holiday with her two children, but that was no longer possible. Her chest tightened and she took faster steps, determined not to give into her ever lurking depression.
She approached the familiar spot under the balding weeping willow and sucked in the icy November air through her nostrils to try and prepare herself. Careful not to kneel in the moist grass she leaned down and removed the previous week’s bouquet. She placed the fresh flowers and then tenderly trailed her fingers along the engraved letters on the marble stone.
“Here lies Cassidy Priestly. 1992-2002. Beloved daughter, grand-daughter and sister. You will forever be in our hearts.”
“Hello Bobbsey,” she whispered gently, “sorry, that Mommy’s a bit late today.”
She rocked back and carefully balanced on her heels, placing both hands in her lap and studying her fingers.
“Your sister’s operation went well. Your grandparents are confident that this time it will...” she swallowed hard, “... will have the desired effect.”
She sat in silence for a while and watched the little flames of the graveyard candles dance behind their red covers.
“I will visit them this Thursday. It’s Thanksgiving already again,” she continued after a while, the coldness of the earth below grabbing at her ankles and seeping up her skirt. Wrapping her arms tightly around her midriff she unsuccessfully tried to suppress the shudder from claiming her body. There had been days where she had gladly wished to let go, where she had wanted to just be taken by the freezing harshness beckoning for her. She had come very close to give up on life once, but thankfully that thought seemed alien to her now.
She knew her punishment was to keep on living, with the pain and guilt she carried as her burden. She had lost one daughter in this world, and the other was physically marked for the rest of her life. A constant, brutal reminder of Miranda’s failure to protect her children.
She aimed her glistening eyes at the darkened sky, seeking out the first stars and revelling in the stinging sensation of the night air softly blowing against her wet cheeks.
------
To be continued...