Maestro (22 page)

Maestro had apparently been watching her face. “What are you thinking about?”

“Remember how Elena said she'd help me out if I need it?”

He furrowed his brow and put his hands on her shoulders. “I don't know if I like where this is going.”

“Huh? I thought you kind of liked it that she and I are becoming friendly. I mean, you two grew up together, so there's got to be some kind of bond of friendship there.”

He kissed her cheek, then sighed. “I do wish her well. But our marriage did a lot of damage to that friendship we enjoyed when we were kids. It was a funny sort of friendship, anyhow. As we grew up, we grew farther apart in our interests, and by the time we were adults, there wasn't much left of the friendship. As I look back on it, we married more for physical reasons more than for anything else.” Maestro paused and glanced anxiously at Annasophia, as though to see if his comment had made her jealous.

“Don't worry. I understand, I really do.” She understood a heck of a lot more than she wanted to explain, actually. She'd had plenty of experience with physical urges, but it had only been lately that she had experienced love. And both Maestro and Elena were very attractive people, so no wonder they'd had the hots for each other. Her groupies were plenty hot, too, but none of them could hold a candle to Maestro, in any way imaginable. Thinking now about sex without love, Annasophia had to admit that it would never hold the same charm for her again, were something to happen to Maestro or to their relationship.

What a thought. She pushed it from her mind. It wasn't worth dwelling upon.

“I'm fine with the two of you talking on the phone,” he said. “Friendliness is great. But honestly,
Schätzchen
, I don't trust her enough to leave her here alone with you while I'm gone. You know she could send you back at any time–”

“She's already had ample opportunity to do that, whether in person or on the phone, and she hasn't. And she's being very kind to me. It's as if she has truly realized we're going to stay together. Something about my pregnancy must have driven that home. And it's as if she truly wants to have friends in this world.” Annasophia sighed. She didn't want to tell Maestro about her past, but she would share this with him. “In my timeline, I felt alone a great deal. My only friends were you – the older you – and our son, Matt. Of course, I didn't know he was our son. He was your son and my friend. I have a lot of fans, yes, but I don't know what I would have done without you and Matt as my closest friends. I might have...” She trailed off, not wanting to get into specifics about the excesses of her old lifestyle.

“Might have what, dearest?” Maestro said. “You've never talked much to me about what things were like for you in that other time.”

“You don't want to know,” she said.

“I think it's more that you're afraid to tell me,” he said, stroking her cheek. “Isn't that it?”

She couldn't say a word. If she said yes or nodded, she'd implicate herself. By not replying, though, wasn't she also implicating herself?
Damn it
.

“I love you unconditionally,” he said. “I know about your difficult upbringing, and I know about some of the hurt you've experienced in the past. I also know that sometimes folk musicians lead rather wild lives. I don't expect that's any different in future than it is now.”

She would hardly call herself a folk musician – the 2010 term was
singer-songwriter
– but yes, what Maestro said held true. Not all musicians led wild and woolly lifestyles, but sex, drugs, and rock and roll was a significant part of the day-to-day lives of many performing artists, both now and in the future. For her, it had been sex. No drugs. She had never touched either drugs or alcohol. Life with her addicted mother had taught her that drugs and alcohol were best left alone. But sex? Early on, she had discovered that sex, like music, made her feel alive, so she supposed it had become something of an addiction in its own right.

Annasophia took a deep breath. “I really don't want to talk about my other life, okay? But I will say this. You – the older you – and Matt were like anchors for me. Music was also an anchor for me. The two of you and my music helped keep me sane. Maybe Elena needs something similar from us. She doesn't have anybody else, does she?”

Maestro shook his head. “She isn't close to her parents, she doesn't have siblings, and she doesn't have any close friends. But it's no wonder, because she always winds up getting so negative, hateful, and jealous–”

“A woman often knows another woman's heart,” Annasophia said. “I saw the look in her eyes when she talked about wanting friends and about wanting to be like an aunt to our baby. Maybe my pregnancy has brought her back to earth in a funny kind of way. Maybe it's reminding her of what's important. Love, not pettiness.”

“Maybe.” He stroked her cheek. “I'd like to think so. And you, my sweet Anna, are the most warm-hearted woman in the world. But I don't to test your theory by turning you into her guinea pig.”

Annasophia leaned back into the couch cushions. Her back was killing her. Soon, she would have to go back to bed and lie down. “The bottom line is that we don't have any other options. Your mother isn't feeling well, and besides, she doesn't approve of the fact that we're not married yet. I don't want to feel judged all the time.”

“Okay,” Maestro said. “We'll call Elena. Or you can call her. I don't really care to talk to her. But please, promise me one thing.”

“You know I will.”

“If she starts humming the concerto, do whatever you can to stop her, or to stop yourself from hearing it. Don't take chances. If she starts humming, cover up your ears as best you can, sing over her, or better yet, leave as soon as she–”

“How am I going to leave? I can barely walk.”

Maestro frowned deeply. “I don't like this. Here you are, practically helpless, and the only person we can ask to come and help is somebody who has the power to send you back to your timeline. I just don't like this.”

“She might have the ability to do it, but she no longer has the desire. It's been months. Don't you think that if she was going to do it, she would have done it long before now? She's been consistently kind and friendly to me.”

“Well, what about the photo?” he asked.

That damn photo. Annasophia had studiously avoided thinking about it. Now, the image of Elena's face from the photo situated itself front and center in her mind, where it hadn't been for months. Good grief. Should Annasophia judge Elena on that months-old photo, when her every action since finding out about the pregnancy had been well-intentioned and kind? That hardly seemed fair.

“That was months ago. It was taken when she was still in stalker mode. And it was taken before she overheard us talking about the baby.” Or had it been? Annasophia no longer remembered when the photo had been snapped with regard to Elena's coming up behind them. It no longer mattered, though. For months now, Elena had shown her and Maestro that her attitude had changed, and it had to be because of the baby.

“If Elena still hated me, if she still wanted you back, she would have sent me back to my timeline months ago,” Annasophia said. “Nothing else makes even the slightest bit of sense.”

“Well, I have to admit, I'm stumped about that. But dearest, she can be very conniving–”

“I think you're being overprotective,” Annasophia said. “Look at the evidence over these last eight months. That's a long time, you know. If Elena were as conniving and desperate as she used to be, do you think she could keep up a facade of kindness for this long?”

“I don't know. I can't imagine why she would do such a thing.”

“Bingo,” Annasophia said.

“Bingo,” Maestro echoed, reluctance oozing from his voice.

“Bring me the phone, please,” Annasophia said. She would call Elena now, and what's more, she would go ahead and tell Elena she was welcome to stay here before Maestro left on tour, just to show him that he had nothing to worry about.

On the off chance that Elena did an about-face and reverted back to her old ways, then Annasophia would handle her. She didn't know exactly how, but she'd handled her before, and she could do it again.

###

A week later, Annasophia was wondering why hadn't they let Elena help them out sooner. As she had said, she had been perfectly willing, and when Annasophia called her, she responded eagerly. She had basically moved into their home, with the promise that she would leave as soon as Maestro returned from his tour. He would be on tour for three months, well after the birth of the baby, so Elena would be around to help Annasophia care for little Matt, as well.

How wonderful! Annasophia thought about the future she knew, where Matt had been brought up by Elena, a mother who had resented him, who hadn't even been his actual mother. This timeline was already shaping up to be different. Instead of a resentful mother, Elena, Matt would have a loving mother, Annasophia, and Elena would be a caring auntie figure.

Over the week that Elena had been staying in the house, she had made herself indispensable. Kind and helpful, she let Annasophia get all the rest she needed, and because she was there to help with everything that needed doing, her presence freed Maestro up to practice piano more, in preparation for his tour. Annasophia kept an eye on Maestro, hoping that he would relax and accept Elena's presence. Sure enough, he seemed comfortable with the prospect of leaving for his tour today.

Except that she and Maestro would miss the hell out of each other. When Annasophia thought of an entire three months without having her beloved Maestro around, her stomach clenched.

She could hardly get out of bed. Her belly was huge and swollen, and her back hurt all the time. With her small, slim frame, she really wasn't built to bear children. As labor drew nearer and nearer, she became more and more frightened, despite trying to talk rationally to herself about the fact that countless women had babies and were just fine. The hospital was nearby. In 1974, medicine wasn't as advanced as in 2010, but still, she would surely do okay. Elena would be by her side, which would be nice, should she would need a hand to hold. With her narrow pelvis, Annasophia figured she wouldn't just be holding Elena's hand but squeezing it. She might need a stick to bite down on.

She hated being afraid of the pain, but there it was. And as much as she appreciated Elena's help, she wished it could be Maestro by her side, holding her hand.

Wait. This was 1974, before hospitals allowed fathers into delivery rooms. Even if Maestro weren't on tour, the hospital staff probably wouldn't let him be with her while she delivered Matt. They probably wouldn't even let Elena in. That was a benefit that 2010 had all over 1974. But 1974 was the timeline in which she could enjoy decades with Maestro, so she had to accept it, warts and all.

Annasophia had been having Braxton Hicks contractions over the last week, and a contraction hit her now. She gasped, and sweat broke out on her forehead. Her OB-GYN had assured her that these contractions were perfectly normal – that they meant her uterus was strengthening itself for the upcoming birth. Damn, they hurt. If these hurt so much, what must birth be like?

Elena rushed into the bedroom with a cool cloth and wiped Annasophia's forehead. “Are you all right?”

Annasophia nodded and smiled as the pain started to fade. “It's just my uterus, doing push-ups. Nothing to worry about.”

“Let's get you something to eat,” Elena said. “I bet baby is hungry.”

Elena went out, and Maestro came in, looking heart-wrenchingly handsome in his travel clothes. He was packed and ready to go; all that remained to be done was to say goodbye, then head for the airport.

Concern spread over his face when he saw Annasophia. “Dearest, are you in pain?”

“Not much.” Nothing she hadn't learned to deal with, anyhow. Her doctor had said those contractions were good for her and the baby, and that had been all she'd needed to hear. A little pain was nothing; a lot of pain was nothing, for that matter. Pain could be borne. After it was over, she and Maestro would have Matt. Maybe, once she'd had plenty of time to recover, they might have another child.

In the timeline she knew, Matt had been an only child. Annasophia would like to remedy that in this new timeline they were creating.

Maestro sat down on the bed. Gently, he pulled her up against him in a hug. “I'm going to miss you,
Schätzchen
. And I'm going to do everything I can to get back here as soon as you go into labor. All you need to do is call – or have Elena call – and I'll take the first flight back here. Okay?”

She nodded. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She hadn't wanted to cry when Maestro left. She had wanted him to take on tour a memory of her feeling strong and comfortable in Elena's capable hands, looking forward to the baby's birth. But oh, how it still hurt that Maestro was leaving!

He had to go on tour. It was his job. No, more than his job. His passion.

For an instant, she felt a glimmer of what Elena must have felt, married to a famous, ambitious concert pianist. Jealousy.
He loves his career more than he does me
. But it wasn't true. She knew that with her heart and with her rational mind.

She smiled, hoping her smile would rid her mind of such silly, wayward thoughts. It worked, sort of. “Don't worry about me, sweetheart. I'll be fine. And yes, I love the idea of you getting back here for the baby's birth. Or at least...”

“...as soon thereafter as I can manage,” he added gently.

At that, she burst into tears. Maestro held her and stroked her hair, but he didn't say anything. It was like she could read his thoughts. Confusion. Sadness. What could he possibly say to make it better?