Sweet Trilogy. Susan Mallery
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amazing,” Nicole murmured. “You’re so beautiful and successful. I would think you’d have men hanging all over you.”
“I wish. I seem to scare them off. Not Wyatt, though. So when he said he wanted to have sex with me, I thought maybe it would finally happen.”
Nicole swore. “He doesn’t know, does he?”
“No, and you’re not going to tell him.”
“I wouldn’t know where to start. A virgin. Wow.”
Claire grimaced. “Stop saying that.”
“Sure. I’m sorry. I’m just—”
“Shocked.”
“A little, but not in a bad way. Look, I don’t have personal experience, but I’m sure Wyatt is great in bed. If you don’t tell him, he won’t know to go slowly, but I don’t think that’s a problem. I’m sure he’s very considerate. You could hint that you don’t have a lot of experience. Jeez. I almost wish I could see the look on his face when he finds out the truth.”
Claire didn’t know if she should appreciate Nicole’s honesty or hit her in the arm. “You’re not helping.”
“Again, I’m sorry. I’m just dealing with this. Here I thought you were having all the fun.”
“Not that kind.”
“I guess.” Nicole smiled. “Got any questions?”
Claire laughed. “About a thousand.”
“Fire away.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
CLAIRE PULLED into the side parking lot at Amy’s school, then turned off the engine. “Are you sure?” she asked, speaking directly at the girl.
Amy nodded and smiled. “I want you to meet my teacher.”
There was some signing that Claire didn’t catch, but she understood the major point of the conversation. Amy had mentioned her at school. Claire hoped the topic had been more about how fun she was and not about anything significant… like the fact that she was a concert pianist.
Claire still hadn’t figured out how she was going to deal with her “other” life. Walk away completely? Until she got her panic under control, did she have a choice? People came to see her play, not have a total breakdown. While the writhing and screaming might have some minor interest the first time around, it would quickly get boring. None of which had anything to do with Amy.
“I’d love to meet your teacher,” Claire told the girl.
Amy led the way through the bright and open school. There were wide corridors and skylights. Big signs reminded students that hearing aids were required to be worn in classrooms. That and the students signing with each other were the only indications this school was different from any other Claire had been in.
Amy led the way to the main office where she asked the woman behind the desk to get her teacher.
“They have a meeting every Tuesday,” Amy said, speaking slowly. “They should be done now.”
A meeting? As in more than one person in a room?
Claire told herself not to worry. That Amy would call her teacher over, they’d be introduced and it would be over in a matter of seconds. No biggie. But couldn’t Wyatt have asked her to take Amy to school on a nonmeeting day?
A dozen or so adults filed out of a room behind the main counter. Amy waved and began signing at the speed of light. Her proficiency reminded Claire that her signing still had a way to go before it even got close to being basic.
A woman in her midthirties walked toward them. “Hi,” she said as she signed. “Amy, it’s good to see you. Who did you bring with you today?”
“My friend, Claire,” Amy said. “This is my teacher, Mrs. Olive.”
Claire smiled. “Hi. Nice to meet you. I’ve been looking after Amy while visiting my sister.”
“I heard about Nicole’s surgery,” Mrs. Olive said as she signed. “How is she doing?”
“Better,” Claire signed, feeling awkward and slow. She was really going to have to get better at the whole deaf communication thing.
Amy tugged on her teacher’s sleeve. “Claire plays piano. She played for me. It was beautiful.”
Mrs. Olive looked at Claire. “That’s great. A lot of hearing people assume the deaf can’t appreciate music, but that’s not true. There are a lot of…” She blinked. “Oh my gosh! Are you? You couldn’t be. Are you Claire Keyes?”
Claire stifled a groan as she nodded.
“I have a couple of your CDs. I love your music. I saw you on PBS. I can’t believe it.” She turned to the other teachers still in the area. “Sarah, you’ll never guess. This is Claire Keyes, the famous pianist.”
The other women hurried over and introduced themselves. Claire found herself answering questions.
“Yes, I do travel all over the world,” she admitted. “It’s a lot more work than you’d think.”
“Still,” one of them said. “You’re so lucky. Have you really played with those singers? The three tenors?”
Claire nodded. “They’re charming men.”
“I can’t believe this. A world-famous musician—at our school!”
The crowd increased. Claire grabbed Amy’s hand to keep her close. Mrs. Olive continued to sign the conversation so the girl could follow. She seemed to be doing it unconsciously.
An older woman joined them. “I’m Mrs. Freeman, the principal. What a pleasure, Ms. Keyes.”
Claire shook hands with her. “The pleasure is mine.”
Mrs. Freeman touched Amy’s head. “She’s one of our favorite students. So smart and motivated.”
Claire smiled at Wyatt’s daughter. “She’s pretty special,” she said.
Amy beamed.
“We’ve all heard about you,” Mrs. Freeman continued, “But we didn’t understand exactly who you were. Would it be too much to ask you to play for us?”
Too much? Those weren’t the words Claire would have used. Bone-chillingly horrible was a better choice.
“I know you’re on vacation,” the principal continued. “It’s just most of us will never have the opportunity to hear you play live.”
They weren’t alone, Claire thought, fighting the need to throw up. Until she conquered her fears, no one was going to hear her play live ever again.
“I, ah…”
She looked at all the teachers staring at her. They were so excited and hopeful.
“H-how many people are we talking about?” Claire asked cautiously.
“Just a few of the teachers and some students.”
She could handle the students, she thought. It was the adults that made her nervous.
She wanted to tell them no. She wanted to bolt for the car and never look back. She wanted to not be afraid anymore.
It was the last one that got her attention. Not being afraid would be a miracle. She knew she’d made some progress—she could now work at the bakery without having a panic attack. She’d conquered driving. But did any of it matter if she couldn’t play the piano?
“Only a few people,” she said reluctantly. “I’m ah, resting, and I don’t want to have to deal with a large crowd.”
Mrs. Freeman