Free Love at First Note by Jenny Proctor Page A

doesn’t push hard.”
    Mom sat down on the piano bench beside me, her movements slow and intentional. “You know better than anyone what she needs to focus on,” she said, “ but I wonder if it might help if you tried being her sister
without
your violin in your hands.”
    I scoffed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “Talk to her. Take her to see a movie. Ask her about school and her friends.”
    “So just give up on her music?”
    “Of course you shouldn’t give up. But there’s more to life than music, Emma. Your dad and I have been watching her the past few weeks, and we’re beginning to wonder if music isn’t actually what Ava wants to do.”
    “Has she told you as much?”
    “No. But . . . I don’t know. We could be wrong. Just go easy on her, all right? And find a way to be her sister.”
    “Fine. I’ll try. B ut I can’t let her give up on this thing with CIM. If Professor Graham likes her video, she’s in, easy as that. It’s a huge opportunity.” I stretched my neck, hearing the crack as I turned my head to the left, then right. “Here.” I handed Mom my cell phone. “Can you record while I play the Barber? I’ll send it to both of you. Can you just make sure she listens? It’ll help.”
    “I’ll make sure.”
    I pulled my violin up to my shoulder, bow at the ready, and waited for my mother’s nod to start the piece. She hesitated. “Please think about what I said, Em.”
    I nodded my head and motioned with my bow for her to start. I could think about what she said all night, but that didn’t mean it would make any sense. Ava and I had been holding violins since our instruments were only nine inches long and looked like they belonged in a toy store. Music was the only language we’d ever spoken to each other, at least spoken well. Take that away? The thought left me uneasy, to say the least.
    I finished recording the concerto and packed up to head home, stopping in Dad’s office long enough to wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him on the head.
    “You sounded good in there,” he said.
    “Thanks.”
    “So how’s life in West Asheville?”
    I leaned my head against his shoulder, breathing a muffled groan into the still-crisp collar of his Sunday shirt. “Well, my old boyfriend is in my chamber group, my new neighbor thinks I’m crazy, and my entire ward thinks it’s their sacred responsibility to marry me off. So, you know, normal stuff. Also, Ava hates me.”
    Dad chuckled. “It’s okay. She hates me right now too.” He squeezed my hand. “It’ll be all right in the end. It always is.”
    There was something about my father’s unshakable faith in nearly everything that made me smile. Any problem or struggle we’d ever had while I was growing up, his token response was, “Did you pay your tithing? Did you say your prayers? Then it’ll be all right in the end.”
    It might have been annoying if it was all for show, but he really did feel that way. He was always steady, always trusting. The rest of us wavered from time to time, but we never could for long—not with him around.
    I gave him another hug. If I squeezed hard enough, maybe I could leech out some of his faith for myself.

Chapter 7
    Five minutes with Dad went a long way to lift my spirits, but I was still in a foul mood when I made it back to Maple Crescent. Mom wanted me to connect to Ava without music, but how? Besides , I liked it when we played together. While I’d been in school, I’d loved holidays and rare weekends at home when Ava and I had played. We’d holed up in the music room for hours, laughing as much as we’d played, carrying on until well past midnight.
    It was hard to believe that was the same Ava I’d just fought with for two hours. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been around her without the crippling tension that seemed to scream,
I hate your everlovin’ guts!
And your stupid violin too.
    Halfway up the front walk, I ran into Elliott.
    “Oh,” I stammered.