He explained that Clara had once been a professional pianist. A serious hand injury had ended her performing career, and she’d dreamed of opening a music school ever since.
“That’s where the money went.”
“When she told me about it, I remembered your mom. How she taught me to love music.”
“So?”
“So we decided to open a school together. Clara will teach, and I’ve been helping with the building, instruments, and paperwork. That’s where the money went.”
He explained that their hotel meetings had been for planning, while the children helped with decorations.
He pulled the fabric away.
“This school isn’t just for Clara. There’s something I wanted you to see.”
He led me toward a large object covered with a white sheet. Then he pulled the fabric away.
Underneath stood a beautiful wooden sign.
THE EVELYN MUSIC SCHOOL.
I stared at the sign, unable to speak.
Clara returned with the children.
