Sonata by Moonlight Page 2

  Allison frowned. They were in her neighborhood. A fire or accident, maybe?

  Then it hit, in a hard, cold punch to the gut. She scooted to the edge of the seat and strained to get a better look at the action as they approached. Adrenaline shot cold and crazy through her veins. Her heart pumped hard.

  “Can you see?” she prompted again, a hint of desperation coloring her voice.

  “I can’t pull up to the curb,” the driver said. “I’ll let you off in the street, okay?”

  Allison nodded and paid him, her eyes glued to the scene unfolding in front of her.

  The red lights of a fire truck, an ambulance, and police cruisers cast an eerie glow in the dark night. Neighbors huddled on the sidewalks in groups of two or three, whispering, their breath expelling in thin, puffy clouds of white. Allison stumbled out of the cab, her gaze locked on the paramedics and firemen obscuring her view of the apartment building. Her apartment building.

  Jesus, no. Jesus, no. Jesus, no. Please, no, she prayed, hurrying toward the door.

  Allison turned as a young policeman halted her. “You can’t go in there, miss.”

  “But I have to. I live here, and my brother is visiting. He’s in there…” Terror and desperation draining the blood from her face.

  “What’s your name, miss?”

  ~Chandler, Allison Chandler.”

  His face softened as he asked in a sympathetic voice, “Apartment number 306?”

  She nodded, her eyes riveted to a gurney exiting the building. A shrouded form lay unmoving as it was shuttled down the stairs. Her stomach fell. A fist of fear, cold and dark, settled in her chest and stole the air from her lungs.

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry to have to tell you this…but your brother… He died, ma’am. Your brother is gone.”

  “How?” she whispered.

  “Sorry to tell you this, ma’am. Self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.”

  Allison heard someone screaming Brett’s name. It was her voice. The policeman caught her as she fell. And then…blackness swallowed her.

  Chapter Two

  Four Years Later

  Allison lifted her head to the breeze and inhaled a long, deep breath. The fresh air coupled with the heat of the Alabama sun lifted her spirits and calmed her nerves. She skipped up the steps to the entrance of the Veterans Administration hospital on the edge of the University of Alabama Birmingham campus.

  It looked the same, felt the same, smelled the same.

  Home.

  She was home and beginning a new job doing what she loved best in the world. Helping heal the wounded minds and spirits of veterans who had fought, served, and paid a price.

  Smiling with the knowledge she was right where she was supposed to be, she pushed through the revolving double doors and stepped into the lobby of the VA. She could make a difference here, and that’s all that mattered to her now. After all the losses in her past, she’d undertaken the challenge of devoting her life to the men and women who’d served their country and lost a part of themselves in the process. She owed that much to her brother. She owed that much to them all.

  Having trained to be a certified music therapist during the last few years, she would use her experience as a pianist to help wounded heroes of war re-acclimate to civilian life, restore their shattered minds. She lived for this job. It gave purpose to her life.

  The astringent hospital smells assaulted her nostrils, and the cacophony of familiar sounds was interrupted by a repetitive tug on her jacket. She frowned and glanced down into the elfin face of a small girl with enormous dark eyes. A smile tugged at Allison’s lips as the child brushed brown curls away from those eyes.

  “I know who you are,” the child said, a shy grin on her pretty face. She seemed about eight years old. “Me and my daddy read all about you in last Sunday’s newspaper. You’re Allison Chandler, the famous pianist.” She cocked her little head and studied Allison with inquisitive eyes. “You’re prettier in person. The picture in the paper made you look all splotchy.”

  Allison laughed at the precocious child and went down on one knee to meet her at eye level.

  “Why, thank you. You’re very pretty, too. Where is your daddy, sweetheart?”

  The VA lobby was filled to capacity with patients, visitors, and staff. She wanted to make sure her little charmer’s father was nearby. Sheltered from the crowd near a tall column stood a man in dark glasses, a white cane in his hand. He faced the direction of their voices and nodded toward them, an indulgent expression crossing his face. Daddy might be blind, but he knew where his little girl was, and with the heightened senses resulting from his loss of sight, he could probably hear every word they said in spite of the surrounding noise level.

  “That’s my daddy. Since he can’t see any more, I read the paper to him every Sunday morning. He likes the sports section and the arts and entertainment. That’s where we saw your picture. We read all about you coming here to work at the VA, and about how you gave up playing piano all over the world. I told my daddy that if I saw you when we came to the hospital, I wanted to meet you and say thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, sweetheart. You must be a really smart little girl to read such a big newspaper to your daddy.”

  The child grinned from ear to ear. “Yeah, that’s what everybody says. I like to read, and daddy can’t do that anymore, so I do it for him.”

  “Do you come with him when he sees his doctors?” she asked.

  “Yeah. And for a music lesson with Dr. Leo. She’s teaching me the viola.” She pointed to the instrument case sitting on the floor beside her father. “The article said you went to Juilliard. That’s where I want to go to school when I’m good enough. Dr. Leo says that’ll be lots of years away, but that she’ll help me when the time is right.”

  “She knows what she’s talking about. As a matter of fact, I’m going to see your teacher right now. Do you know where her office is?”

  “Yeah. On the eighth floor. The elevators are right over there.”

  “It looks like your daddy is ready to leave.” The child’s father waved his thin cane near the floor in front of him as he walked in their direction.

  “Yeah. I think so, too. Nice to meet you, Ms. Chandler. I’d love to hear you play sometime.” The freckles on her face ran together as she grinned up at her.

  “What’s your name, darling?” she asked.

  “Suzanna. Suzanna Kay Montgomery. My daddy is Charles. His friends call him C.K.”

  “Well, Suzanna Kay Montgomery, the next time you come for a lesson, ask Dr. Leo to bring you by the therapy room. That’s where I’ll be. You and I can play a duet together.”

  Suzanna jumped up and down and squealed. “Wow! Daddy, did you hear that? I’m going to play a duet with Ms. Chandler.” She skittered over to her father. Knowing he couldn’t see the joy in his little girl’s eyes, Allison walked up to him and touched his sleeve.

  “Mr. Montgomery? I’m Allison Chandler. Your daughter is lovely. You must be very proud.”

  “That I am,” the man answered. “She’s a handful, though. I hope she didn’t bother you. You’re sort of an idol of hers. We read about your musical career. Juilliard. And the European tour. I’m sorry about your brother. Guess most folks have lost someone or suffered something since 9/11.”

  “You’re right.” She replied softly as a melancholy shiver coursed her body. Time to change the subject. “I told Suzanna to let Dr. Leo bring her to my room the next time she has a lesson. I’ll be happy to play for her. Of course, you’re welcome, as well.”

  “Thanks, we’ll do that. If you’re sure.”

  “Positive. It’s been a long time since I had a fan stop me. All that is part of my past, but it’s heartwarming to know there are people who still have an interest in my music.”

  “Ma’am, I know I speak for all the vets here at the VA. We appreciate all you’ve done. Giving up your career, studying to become a therapist, coming home to work at the VA here. It’s amazing.”
>
  “No, Mr. Montgomery. It’s you who are amazing. You and all the others like you who sacrificed so much for our country. I’m only doing my part, fighting the battles at home, so to speak. Thank you for your service.”

  C.K. Montgomery flushed. “Thank you for caring.”

  He turned to his daughter. “Okay, little one. You’ve met Ms. Chandler. Are you ready to go home?”

  Suzanna nodded and took her father’s hand. They said goodbye, and Allison watched them go. C.K. led the way with his cane and a practiced hand. Suzanna skipped by his side, turning to wave as they reached the door. Allison returned the gesture. At least they weren’t alone. They had each other to see them through.

  Loneliness penetrated to the marrow of her bones. There was no one with whom she could share the ups and downs, the joys and sorrows of life. Brett’s death hung like a pall draped over her heart, even after she had dedicated her life to helping others who suffered the same depression and disillusionment he’d had.

  Allison drew in a deep breath, a heaviness in her chest as she turned toward the elevators. She had been completely immersed in her work the last few years and never regretted leaving the stage. She’d always been a small-town girl with big-city dreams, but that was no longer true. Her interest in a professional musical career had died along with her brother. Playing the piano for thousands of adoring people now seemed frivolous. Meaningless. And selfish. Very, very selfish.

  Now her life had purpose. After completing her certification requirements and serving an internship at Walter Reed, she’d accepted this job in Birmingham working with Dr. Mary Leo, one of the foremost practitioners in the field of neurologic music therapy. Birmingham was home. After their parents were killed in an automobile accident, she and Brett had been raised here by their grandparents. She’d always wanted to move back, especially after Brett died. Her roots were here. She loved the South, its customs, traditions, and people, and after so many years in New York and Europe she could no longer resist its call.

  Not wanting to be late for her appointment, she pushed the Up button, then became preoccupied with the names of doctors and offices hanging on the wall nearby. The bell signaled the elevator’s arrival, and, without looking where she was going, she stepped through the opening doors—into a living, breathing brick wall of a man.

  Bouncing off his rock-hard chest, she automatically grabbed his arms to keep from falling. Hard muscles flexed beneath her fingertips. The man instinctively latched onto her shoulders to steady her, uttering a surprised, “Oomph!”

  With her nose pressed into his hard-ridged frame, she caught a delicious whiff of citrus and soap before taking a step back.

  “Mmm.” She inhaled again without thinking. He smelled really nice. Her traitorous heart did a somersault in her chest. Apparently, it had been far too long since she’d been this close to an attractive man. He’d caught her off guard, and she shivered as her body betrayed her. She’d been too busy for too long to have any sort of social life. But his scent stirred her pulse, and she glanced up into the piercing green eyes of…

  “Brodie? Brodie Miller? Is that you, or am I dreaming?”

  Brodie, childhood nemesis, teenage fantasy, unrequited high school crush, skimmed his gaze over her with a look of cool appraisal and glanced away.

  He frowned and pushed her gently aside. “Excuse me, ma’am.” He practically ran over her in his haste to exit the elevator.

  Her mouth dropped open. Her brother’s best friend seemed to have no idea who she was.

  Allison halted, shocked he hadn’t recognized her. Had she changed so much?

  Inside the elevator, she whirled to face the closing doors, and stared at his back. It certainly looked like Brodie. He was older, no longer a boy. His military career had changed him from collegiate to warrior. He may even have grown an inch or two. But she would never forget those eyes. Beautiful. Expressive. Deep emerald shot with flecks of gold. He could freeze you or melt you with one glance.

  As his broad shoulders disappeared into the crowd, she thought him as devastatingly handsome as ever. Should she be surprised that the old feelings, the yearnings and, yes, even the loving was still there? It had always been Brodie for her. It probably always would be. She swallowed, a sinking feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. So not fair, to love a man who hadn’t a clue you were alive.

  Now that she knew he was in town, she would need to look him up. Brett would want her to do that. They’d been buddies all their lives. School, fishing on the river, football at Shades Valley High, and later at Alabama. Many weekends she and her grandparents had cheered Brett and Brodie to another victory for the Crimson Tide. The Killer Bs. Unstoppable.

  It came as no surprise that after college the boys enlisted together. But they’d been sent to different theaters of war and eventually lost touch. Brett’s missions were often classified, and after Brodie was injured, she had no idea what became of him. Busy with her own career, not in his circle of friends, she had heard nothing about him.

  But he was here now. In the flesh. Every tantalizing inch of him.

  The elevator doors swooshed open again, and Allison was met by a small, plump woman with sparkling eyes and a cheerful demeanor.

  “Ms. Chandler? I’m Mary Leo.” She shook Allison’s hand. “Welcome to the VA and the best music therapy program in the country. Reception notified me you were on your way up. May I tell you how delighted we are to have you on staff?” She ushered her down the hall as she spoke. “The entire department has been waiting with bated breath for your arrival. Did you have a nice trip from D.C.?”

  Mary Leo was a force to be reckoned with, and highly respected in their field. Allison was glad to find she was a down-to-earth person, as well. Pleasant. Genuine. Sincere. She liked her immediately.

  “Yes, it was a wonderful trip. So nice this time of year. But long. I can’t tell you how excited I was when you contacted me. Working with my own group of veterans and being able to put into practice what I’ve learned is an answer to my prayers. Thank you so much for the opportunity,” she said sincerely.

  “You’re just what we need here at the VA. And of course, you’ll have to play for us. It’s the first thing the staff asked about when I told them you’d agreed to come on board. But that’s further down the road. Right now, let’s get you acclimated. You can take the paperwork home with you and return it when you report to work. Wouldn’t you like a tour of the facility? Then you can meet some of the staff, and we can discuss your schedule.” Her new boss appeared to be a bundle of energy, charging at a rapid pace down the hall, talking along the way, stopping to introduce her to some of the doctors and nurses, sprinting from room to room.

  They stopped at the therapy room first. “I like this. You’ve set it up just like an authentic family room. It’s so warm and cozy. This is far better than the traditional hospital therapy room; anyone would feel welcome in this space. The patients must love it,” Allison said.

  “Yes, we find the men and women adjust more easily to the idea of therapy if they’re comfortable in their surroundings. They’re reticent to try our techniques, but recent studies have shown our approach effective. We’ve charted a remarkable decline in the usual symptoms of PTSD—the flashbacks, nightmares, night sweats, and anger issues. The success has been encouraging with TBI—Traumatic Brain Injury—as well. I read the paper you published. Impressive. I’m looking forward to seeing how you can implement your ideas on patient exposure to live music and the resulting improvement in stress relief. You’re doing very exciting work, Ms. Chandler. I’m glad to have you on my staff.”

  “Yes, well, my previous career path lent itself to live performances. It was a natural progression from the concert stage to the therapy ‘stage’ after I earned my certification. Hearing the music played on a real instrument as opposed to a digital one adds to the overall enjoyment of the experience, also. Patients respond better and improve faster,” she explained.

  “It was a courageous move on y
our part, Ms. Chandler. The music world’s loss was our gain. After reading your file, I understand your motivation. I’m very sorry for your loss. His name was Brett, wasn’t it?”

  Allison nodded. Sadness clutched her heart. Would she ever stop missing him?

  “I’m sure losing your brother to the effects of PTSD must have been heartbreaking,” Dr. Leo continued in a subdued voice. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am for the circumstances that brought you into our field of treatment, but I’m grateful you decided to do this work. It’s possible that your brother could have benefited from the treatments you now practice.”

  “That’s why I’m here. When I lost Brett, my entire focus changed. Playing the piano and touring with the Juilliard Strings lost its appeal. It seemed shallow and selfish somehow, and I couldn’t go on performing. My heart was no longer committed to the concert stage. I couldn’t muster the interest in long hours of practice or endure the long-distance traveling required to stay with a tour. Once I learned about your work, it became a sort of calling. I owe it to my brother and others like him to do everything I can to help alleviate their suffering.”

  “So you resigned and went back to school?” Dr. Leo asked.

  “Yes. It took a while to obtain my certification, but once I made up my mind to leave the tour and concentrate on earning the necessary credentials, I knew I’d made the right decision.”

  “The work doesn’t bring back bad memories?”

  “On the contrary. When I’m working, I feel Brett right beside me, encouraging me. He’s my silent colleague. I hope that doesn’t make me sound weird.”

  It had taken a long time to progress from anger and bitterness to remembering the love and warmth her brother had brought to her life. In the beginning, the pain was too intense; now, her memories were of the happy times they’d shared. She would never stop missing him, but in a strange way death had made him more a part of her than he’d ever been in life. They were one; he was in the most intimate recesses of her mind and heart, much more than any living person could ever be.